Fanfic Quest For Your ❤️

[Server Room Gremlin]

Link to Discussion Thread and Chapter List

Prologue:
Once Upon A Time, Far Away​

Éowyn was starting to get mightily annoyed.

The young (he looked young, even if he was not) elf was good looking, she would give him that, but even that could not be enough reasons as to why Éowyn should allow him to keep staring at her like a creepy shadow.

She had tried to ignore it at first, but the piercing icy blue gaze was unrelenting, and it had taken all her willpower to not spit on his face like she had done with that lowly creature, Wormtongue.

But she could not, for he was one of the queen’s companions, and a dear friend of the king, and it was unseemly of the Lady of Rohan to step that low to punish a crime she could not even prove.

She tried to leave his line of sight, but could still feel the weight of it. Elves and their damned heightened senses!

What did he want? A dance? A kiss? Whatever it was, he should just come forward and tell her. The worst she could do is to slap him, if she deemed his request inappropriate enough.

“What is it that has you troubled, my lady?”
She smiled a little, hearing her beloved voice from behind.
She did not turn around, and kept staring ahead. She didn't want to lock eyes with him.

Faramir’s fingers were laced between her own as he stepped forward so that they were eye to eye, and she huffed.
“Will you not tell me, so I can fix it? I'm ill at ease if you are so, Éowyn.”

Éowyn looked up finally, gazing at his stormy grey eyes and found some amusement there, but mostly concern.
She sighed and relented.
“One of the Queen’s companions, the elves of Rivendell, I mean, has been staring at me all through the feast. I tried to move, so that he would stop, but I can still feel his eyes on me. I'm not sure if we can do anything without offending the queen and Lord Elrond.”

Her hopeless tone made him frown, and before she could stop him, he raised his head not so subtly, searching for the elf in question.

It was not hard to find him, as there were not many elves in the great hall to begin with, and not many shared his colorings, except Queen Arwen’s grandfather, Lord Celeborn.

And the fact that he was still staring at he–no, them, didn't help it.

She frowned and followed the line of his gaze. Was he staring at Faramir now? What for?

The look in his eyes was not of hatred and the feeling of rivalry, like she had expected.

She blushed a little. Had she really thought one of the elves and one as handsome as him would look upon her that way?

Her embarrassment of her wild guesses was soon to be forgotten, when the hand holding hers let go, and Faramir began walking away.

Towards the king and the queen.

“Faramir! What are you planning?”
She hissed, but was ignored completely as her lover walked gracefully in between the crowd like it was a game, leaving her behind.

She cursed softly before following after him with more difficulty.

How is he so fast?

By the time she could find his mop of dark hair again, he was by Elessar’s side.
The king’s smile dropped and he frowned as Faramir whispered something in his ear.

Together, they gazed upon the pillar the elf had been leaning against all this time.

He was gone.

=====​

Bilbo was having a very splendid evening, if anybody asked him.

Frodo and the lads were still somewhere in the great hall, celebrating, or to put it in better words, drinking the king's ale supply dry.

Not that Bilbo had anything against ale, quite the contrary. He found it delightfully refreshing after only drinking the wine provided at the table of Elrond.

Not to be taken as a slight against the elvish liquor, for Bilbo would have preferred to have that one at his disposal towards the end, as the lords and ladies of Minas Tirith talked his ears off, asking about his journey with the dwarves, and living all those years, being in the possession of the blasted ring.

Couldn't they all just wait for his book to be finished? Inconsiderate, the lot of them.

Here in his room, though, he didn't have to deal with any of them. Just smoking his pipe and gazing at the moon. It did look awfully nicer from this height, but he still preferred the eagle's back.

The soft knock on his door made him jump.
By his mother's silver spoons! Who was that? Couldn't he be left in peace?

“Good gracious! Who is it? Can't you leave this poor old hobbit alone?”

A familiar annoying chuckle could be heard from behind the door, and Bilbo's frown deepened.
“Well, come in then, your highness. I do wonder why you'd forsake your bride on the eve of your wedding, but I suppose someone as unmarried as me cannot be a marriage expert.”

The door was pushed open, revealing the king of Gondor in all his glory, bearing a fond and exasperated smile, followed by the couple he remembered young Peregrin and Meriadoc talking about; the Shieldmaiden of Rohan and the new Steward of Gondor, the younger brother of the poor fellow, Boromir.

Well, that was a strange meeting all right. What could they all possibly want from him?

The smile on Elessar’s face appeared to be forced now.
“I'm sorry to disturb your peace, old friend. But I fear this could not be delayed. Do not worry for Arwen, I should return to her shortly but first, tell me this. Have you seen your silver shadow at all this evening? I fear I must have a word with him.”

Bilbo's eyebrows raised to his hairline. Now, what was that all about? What had the lad done again?
“And why is that so, pray tell? Either way, I have to disappoint you. I haven't seen him since we broke our fast together this morning.”

Aragorn looked disappointed, and Bilbo noticed the otherwise calm looking Faramir frowning a little, and he spoke for the first time.
“I do not mean any disrespect, but does your friend make a habit of staring at maidens and making them uncomfortable?”

Bilbo's eyes widened, a strange smile on his lips.
“Quite the contrary. I don't think I have seen him look at a maiden twice, ever. But I have not known him for long, and he is by no means young.”

His eyes turned sad though, as he peered at the couple.
“What I do know is the reason for what he had done, but it is a long story, and I am too old to be kept up by you youngsters all night. What I can assure you of is he means no harm to you and your lady, or the love you bear for each other. Come back tomorrow for brunch. I will talk then, and you will understand. Now, if you please,” He looked at his now spoiled pipe in disappointment, before discarding it on the table “I wish to get some rest. You know the exit.”

The bewildered king and couple left wordlessly, closing the door behind themselves.

Bilbo could not go to sleep though, mind occupied with the thoughts of his promise and his shadow who had gotten himself into new trouble in a wedding of all places.

“Stupid boy…”
He muttered fondly, lying on his back on the soft mattress.

=====​

True to his words, Bilbo was ready for Faramir and Éowyn when they arrived an hour before noon, a generous spread of sweet and savory dishes on the table. The grumpy hobbit was not quite as grumpy anymore, now that he had rested, and Éowyn found herself strangely endeared by this.

“Well come in! The tea would get cold. There's plenty of it too, for we need many refills if we want to get through all of my story.”

“Story?”
She couldn't help but exclaim loudly. What story could be behind the creepy stares of an elf?

She let go of Faramir's hand, sitting down on the chair opposite of Bilbo. Faramir took the seat next to her, just as confused.

Bilbo, as if reading her thoughts, gave her a sympathetic smile. Faramir poured them all a cup of tea while Bilbo stuffed his face with sausages at a quite dangerous speed. She was still amazed by how much a hobbit could eat.

He looked up finally, finding their gazes on himself. He sighed, but left the food alone, but not before giving a longing look at the poached eggs he had yet to touch.

“Yes, a story, and an interesting one at that. The lad… he… he did not mean to make you uncomfortable, and I'm sure he's very sorry, which is why he has been missing since last night. He will turn up in his own time, and apologize to you both, but I thought if you know why, you'd be more likely to forgive him.”

The couple shared a look and turned back to the old halfling.
“We will hear you.”

Bilbo nodded contentedly, and cleared his throat.
“Well, this all started back when the world was yet young, and elves were even more numerous than those of your race. Us hobbits were nowhere to be found, which is a pity. We have turned out to be awfully helpful in dealing with the evils of the world.”

He looked at them before continuing.
“Our story begins in the halls of Felagund, lord of the Caves…”

 

[Server Room Gremlin]

[Back to top]

Chapter 1:
The Silver-Haired Stranger​

Edrahil leaned back suddenly, dodging the spear thrust aimed at his face. The spear cut back downwards towards his chest and he brought his sword across, swatting the shaft aside.
The wooden spear head clunked against the floor as Gelnir lowered it. He wiped the sweat from his upper lip with his free hand, visibly out of breath. Nothing much showed in his expression, but there was a hint of mockery in his voice. “Aren’t you tired of not getting hit?”
Edrahil spread his arms wide, sword still in hand. “Not at all. It’s the best I can hope for, defending myself shieldless and with sword alone against a monstrous polearm-wielding orc such as yourself.”
A vague grumbling sound emerged from his friend’s throat.
Edrahil nodded in his direction. “Come now, I’m sure you can sound a little more fearsome than that. One more round? I won’t stay on the defence this time.”

Gelnir shook his head and shouldered his spear. Edrahil shrugged and turned away. It was time they had a rest, anyway.

“Aaarrgh!” The growling yell sounded from behind. Edrahil turned, caught the descending spear shaft on his cross guard, pushed it to the side and stepped forward, his sword hilt scraping down the shaft as its point travelled downwards to rest against Gelnir’s throat covering.
Edrahil smiled cheerily. Gelnir rolled his eyes and disengaged his spear, batting the sword tip away with his hand.
“You caught me off guard,” muttered Gelnir as they headed towards the water fountain.
Edrahil removed his helmet. “I caught you off guard?”
Gelnir spluttered a little. “Well… yes! It was a spur of the moment attack, and I wasn’t prepared to defend myself!”
Edrahil nodded seriously, the corner of his lip twitching. Gelnir sighed, exasperated. “I’m not making any sense anymore, I need a drink.”

Edrahil put his helmet and sword down near Gelnir’s spear, as the latter went to the fountain. Across the training hall, a loud feminine voice laughed all of a sudden. “I believe our king could not have embarrassed us further even if he wanted to.”
Edrahil straightened up, his eyes searching for the source of the voice.
“Saved by your own pets! Such disgrace.”
He found the speaker, one with striking silvery hair, standing by the nearest entrance door. He frowned. Some Sindar indeed despised the Noldor, and pointless conflicts were not uncommon in this troubled time following the disaster of the Flames, but such open disrespect was rare, especially towards Felagund and his kin.
She tossed her hair back, a joking smirk on her face, and her voice somehow grew even louder. “Perhaps sitting behind his pretty desks in his pretty clothes and jewelries has made Felagund too soft, and in his travels he has forgotten that we have a war to fight too.”
Edrahil’s jaw clenched briefly. How could this… stranger… heap such scorn upon the one who had opened his hidden realm to all who fled the ruin of the north?
“Perhaps he needs the lord of Himring to come down and give him some lessons. He, after all, is able to run his realm and rout the orcs with one hand only!”

This was too far. The king’s brothers had borne the brunt of the Enemy’s attack and had been slain. Felagund himself had only narrowly escaped the same fate. Edrahil found himself striding across the hall towards her. He could not stand by and listen to her make light of the deep wounds they had all suffered.

===​

“I never knew your golden cousins were so handsome, my lady. Your descriptions of them never did any justice.”

Nethien rolled her eyes with a fond smile as Tithenes brought up Finrod once again.

Since the other night when her cousin had dropped by for a sudden visit while her young handmaiden was brushing her hair and had yet to depart for her own room in the servants dormitories, the poor infatuated girl had been all but swooning after Felagund.

It was not something Nethien expected, but perhaps she should have. Finrod's charming smiles and ocean eyes had that kind of effect on everyone, even back in Valinor where his mesmerizing colorings were not as hard to come by.

She heard Rinnith, her personal guard, scoff next to her, and Tithenes’ brows furrowed in contained anger.
Nethien elbowed Rinnith slightly, who gave her an apologetic smile before going back to sharpening her sword.

“My cousin is known for his looks, my dear, but I have known him for long enough to be used to his many charms. And you forget who my older brother is. Maitimo is still superior to all in the house of Fëanáro, even if scarred and missing a hand.”

Tithenes looked doubtful, which made Nethien shake her head and hide her laughter.

Rinnith snorted in an unladylike manner at the teasing, and Nethien was enjoying this far too much to want to stop now.

“In fact, Maitimo is superior to him in many things, if you ask my humble opinion. Whose realm is still standing tall, whilst the Isle of Felagund has fallen into the shadows and prey to the wolves? If it was not for Curvo and I, it would have been lost sooner, even.”

She did not realize her tone of voice was getting louder the more she messed with this poor girl's head. She was doing her a favor, she told herself, for Finrod had already promised his heart to another maiden, her head fair as the light of Arien. Tithenes had no chance.

“I believe our king could not have embarrassed himself further even if he wanted to. Saved by your own pets! Such disgrace.”

Couldn't he have waited longer for her to arrive?

Her eyes bright with mischief, she pushed away the disturbing sweat soaked hair from her face with a swift motion of her head, adding a dramatic flair to her rant.

“Perhaps sitting behind his pretty desks in his pretty clothes and jewelries has made Felagund too soft, and in his travels he has forgotten that we have a war to fight too.”

Tithenes looked at her in shock. She, like many others, had heard tales of the king of Nargothrond and his prowess in the battlefield. But shouldn't her cousin know him better than the others? One who had accompanied him in many battles as well?

Nethien, for the final touch of her speech, brought up her brother again just because she could. Finrod would hear this and perhaps it could make him smile a little, being reminded of Tirion's folk and their silly comparison polls between the heirs of the Houses of Princes.

“Perhaps he needs the lord of Himring to come down and give him some lessons. He, after all, is able to run his realm and rout the orcs with one hand only!”

Rinnith burst out in laughter, and Tithenes, realizing she had been messed with all this time, couldn't quite hide her frustrated scowl. Perhaps the Sindarin lass had not expected Nethien to be one prone to pranks and teasing like her guard was, in which she was about to find out otherwise.

She gave her a sweet smile, opening her mouth, meaning to apologize when she felt Rinnith shift next to her, moving away from where she was blocking the entrance.

Nethien felt someone standing behind her. She turned around.

The ellon was not someone she knew, so the cold eyes boring into her face weren't something she welcomed.

What had she done to provoke him? Was he a survivor of Helcaraxë, perhaps, still salty about the events of centuries ago? It made sense. With his height and strong figure, he could not have been one of the dark elves.

The train of her musing came to a stop once the man spoke, his voice stern. “It seems to me that your words of insult are poor repayment for such shelter and safety as our king offers you.”

The distant pain of past losses stung Edrahil’s heart, and his tone grew cold. “And I would wager your own deeds in the battle were not half as mighty as his, stranger. For I do not know your face, and therefore you must be one who late joined his realm, fleeing from the same enemy King Felagund stood and fought against, though he lost his kin and very nearly his life.”

Nethien could feel herself freeze for a moment, shocked by the hurtful words of a stranger who had no business talking to her like that.

Who did he think he was, judging her of all people? Her, who all these hermit folks of Nargothrond owed the safety of their realm for centuries to?

She could feel Rinnith bristle next to her, and even Tithenes felt anger grow in her heart against the unnecessarily rude words against her lady, when all had heard about her prowess in the battlefield.

Nethien's smile was one which could have made even the unbothered Curufin shift nervously in his seat, but this ellon was unaware of what he had gotten himself into.

“My! If I knew Felagund had such loyal lap dogs in every corner of his realm, I would have kept my mouth shut.”

She declared out loud with a faked fearful tone, before taking a step forward. The space between them was all but the length of Nethien’s pinky finger.

“Though I wonder…” She drawled out lazily, looking up at the young one through her lashes, giving him a coy smile. “Where was this dog when his master was in danger of death, hm? Or anyone else, as a matter of fact? Why was it a mere mortal who had the honor of saving the great son of Finarfin, and not his own people? Was it perhaps because they, too, were hiding behind these very walls, waiting for their king in shining armor to trot back to their hidden kingdom so they can live happily ever after?”

Her smile dropped then and her icy blue eyes became as cold as the snowy peaks of Himring, before she poked the ellon's chest with her finger, shoving him a little in the process.
“What do you know of loss, boy? What do you know of war?”

At this last, Edrahil’s matter-of-fact response fled from his thoughts. A vivid recollection came to his mind in its stead.

Stumbling along the soft, sandy banks of the river, running towards the dwindling group of soldiers attacking the flanks of the vast horde of Angband pouring through the Pass—it had taken him far too long to reach and cross the bridge from his post on Tol Sirion—Orcs charge him… Orcs fall beneath his blade… he is wounded, falls in the mud… he cannot move through the haze of pain… another falls beside him… that face! lifeless eyes…Lord Vórimindo…Father. …I was too late.

“Enough.” Edrahil’s voice was low, his tone heavy and bitter. “Enough to know its cost. Enough to know what is worth laying one’s life down for.
“And if you want to contrast the King of Nargothrond with the lord of Himring, then so be it, I shall do the same. Our lord Felagund swore to the Man who rescued him that he would give his aid in every need to him and all his kin. He gives his life away for the sake of others. Whereas the lord of Himring… You know what the children of Fëanor all swore. To snatch away the lives of others for the sake of their own!”

The response of the insolent soldier was barely registered in Nethien’s mind before her body acted on its own whim.

Before she knew it, her fist had collided with the boy's nose and he was lying on the ground, a shocked look on his face as his mind slowly took in what had happened. Nethien didn't give him much of a chance.

In a second, she was straddling him, and the second punch landed on his fine cheekbones.

What, she wanted to yell at him, didn't see it coming? You claimed to know Fëanor and his children very well.

But before she could do anything else, a pair of familiar arms circled around her waist and pulled her away. She didn't struggle as she recognized them to belong to no other than Rinnith.

As the dazed looking youth was pulled to his feet by his own friends, Nethien could not find an ounce of guilt in her heart, and she watched blood being wiped off of his much improved face before the crowd led him away towards the infirmary.

“Well, that's a new record, even for you. How long did it take? Say, two minutes? Curvo would be delighted to hear about it.”

Nethien rolled her eyes with a smile.
“Shut up.”

===​

Edrahil huffed out a sigh as the healer left the infirmary room. The resetting of his slightly broken nose had been unpleasant, though thankfully uncomplicated. He rubbed the back of his head, which was bruised from being smacked against the stone floor with the silver-haired stranger’s second punch.
It had been a while since any elf had tried to attack him like that, he mused. He was still rather in shock from the unexpected force of the blows.

Gelnir and Enedrion, who had been the only people he knew well at the training hall that afternoon, were sitting on chairs opposite him. Gelnir looked serious, and Enedrion confused.
There was a moment of silence. Gelnir rubbed his forehead with a hand wearily and finally spoke up. “What I do not understand is how you managed to get yourself in a fight so flaming quickly. I turned my back for two minutes, two minutes, and there you were getting your nose knocked off by a stranger. Nobody gets themselves into trouble that fast except Brúnon. What happened?”
Edrahil collected his thoughts and winced, remembering his own outburst of sorts, in response to her taunting words. It had been a natural reaction, but he regretted the conflict escalating to that point in the first place.
His voice came out in a thick mumble, as his nostrils were each blocked with a narrow roll of fabric to staunch the flow of blood.
“I heard her quite loudly mocking our King for being rescued in the battle. I confronted her about her disrespect towards the one giving her shelter in his halls. She retaliated with similar harsh words directed at me. I responded in kind, though I am not proud of letting her words affect me so. And that’s when she hit me, the strength of the blow taking me by surprise so that I was knocked to the ground.”

Gelnir hissed softly through his teeth in disbelief. “Still, that’s a violent response for such a short exchange. Though I do not know this stranger, or where she comes from. Brawling in this manner might be more common among her people. Enedrion, have you ever seen her before?”
Edrahil’s young second-cousin shook his head. “I’m just as lost as you are, if not more so. All I noticed was a commotion by the doorway while I was sparring with someone, and then I rushed over when I saw Edrahil on the floor getting punched. I wasn’t paying much attention to his assailant, but I don’t personally know anyone with that shade of hair.” Enedrion looked between the two of them, faking shocked realisation. “Say… it wasn’t King Thingol, was it?”

Gelnir scowled at him, and Enedrion made an effort to straighten his face. Edrahil remained silent and looked at the floor. He was beginning to feel bad about what had happened, though he didn’t know what else he could have done.
Gelnir’s voice sounded again, and Edrahil raised his head. “Oh, and that’s another thing. Edrahil, you’re usually very good at defending yourself, even if someone surprises you. Why didn’t you fight back after that first punch? Surely you were not so stunned as that. You fell on your backside at first, not your head, until you got pushed down by her when she sat on you.”
Edrahil avoided his gaze awkwardly. “Well, she was a woman, and…”
“Don’t give me that, you’ve fought against ellith plenty of times over there.”
Edrahil’s lack of reaction had been instinctual, and it frustrated him to have to explain it. “No, but this was different, it was after we argued! I wasn’t going to fight back out of anger…!”
Gelnir stared at him, then shrugged and sighed, conceding the point. Enedrion got up. “Let’s go get some food, shall we? How about we find a quiet spot somewhere, so we don’t risk running into that lady again in one of the dining halls.”
“That would probably be best,” mumbled Edrahil. Truth be told, he also didn’t feel like answering all the questions which would inevitably be raised by the sight of his injured nose. Brúnon might be back from patrol by now too, and he really did not have the energy for any of it.


Upon returning to the chambers he shared with Talmoth, Edrahil found his friend there, although it was not yet late in the evening. Talmoth was lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling. Talmoth glanced over as Edrahil shut the door, and shifted into a seated position. “You’re back early.” His eyes fell on Edrahil’s face, and he frowned slightly.
“And you’ve been here all afternoon, I take it.” Edrahil had disposed of the material blocking his nose, and his voice sounded rather more normal as a result.
Talmoth made a noise of agreement and looked away. “There are a lot of people around these days...”
“Many of which you’d rather not have to look at just yet, I know.” Edrahil sighed. “But you cannot stay in here forever, only leaving when you’re on duty. You’re on a different schedule than the rest of us, and it means I only see you when I’m back here, and the others almost never. And though you think you don’t contribute much to our conversations, I can tell they miss your presence.”
Talmoth chuckled a bit. “I know I don’t contribute much. But that’s no matter. What about you? What happened there?” Talmoth gestured towards his own nose and cheekbone.
Edrahil went to the washbasin and winced slightly as he saw his face in the mirror. His nose was starting to swell, his cheek had a dark bruise, and the blood pooling under the skin from both injuries was giving him the beginnings of two spectacular black eyes.

Edrahil turned back to face his friend.
“Had a fight with someone in the training hall. She was mocking King Felagund for being rescued by a group of Men in the battle. As I’d never seen her before, I assumed she had fled here from the ruin of the north. So I thought it disrespectful that she would speak in such a manner about the one who gave her shelter. And I went over there and told her as much, saying that he stood and fought against the enemy she escaped from. She, in turn, asked me what I knew of loss and war.”
Edrahil paused, the emotions stirred up by her words returning once more, though more faintly.
Talmoth’s voice was low, his expression unchanging. “That didn’t go over well, did it?”
Edrahil shook his head.
“Indeed not. I argued back without thinking. She had been contrasting our king with the lord of Himring in her earlier mockery, saying that the latter could teach him to be a more able ruler. I responded with another point of contrast, that Felagund swore he would aid those who rescued him in every need, whereas Fëanor’s children swore to take the lives of others for the sake of their own.”
Talmoth stared.
Edrahil grimaced slightly. “I know, it’s not like me. What I said, I mean. I know I couldn’t have avoided this and stayed out of it altogether. But her words stung me before I could stop and think clearly. And I went and worsened the tension between us instead of alleviating it.”
The expression on Talmoth’s face was rather indecipherable, though there was some hint of disgust in it. With a brisk movement, he gestured to the space beside him on the bed.
Edrahil sat down beside him with some hesitation, unsure where this was going.

Talmoth, being the shorter of the two, passed his arm around Edrahil under his shoulder.
Edrahil, still confused, went along with it and lightly wrapped his arm around Talmoth in turn. His friend looked at him. “Never let me hear you doubting yourself in that way again,” he growled. “There are but a few instances where I would say it is fair to return blows for words, and this was not one of them.” He smiled and gave a mirthless snort. “And I know I could have said worse than you. Would have, even.” He tilted his head. “Were I cornered and unable to escape, that is. You know me.”
Talmoth became serious again, turning his face away. “You did better than I would have done on both counts. You went over there and stood your ground, and you weren’t as harsh as might be deserved. Against a supporter of Fëanor’s house, no less.”
Edrahil looked at him, surprised.
Talmoth shrugged slightly. “By the sound of it. Who else would have said such things?”
It did make sense, now that Edrahil reflected on the situation.

They remained where they were for a moment, until Talmoth stirred. “And now, Edrahil, I think it is high time you left for the bathing chamber. You have been training all afternoon, and after sticking myself to your side like that, I think I will have to follow you there.”

After collecting what they needed, the pair left the room for the bathing chamber down the hall.

=====​

It was the afternoon of the next day, and Edrahil had just finished a meeting with three other painters, discussing how they were going to approach the King’s request for a new mural in the area newly occupied by his cousins of the house of Fëanor.

Edrahil could not help but feel somewhat tense as he left the workshop. It was quite the coincidence, he thought, that he should begin work on this project so soon after his… encounter… with a Fëanorian supporter.
He walked a little faster, chasing away his anxious thoughts. Worrying would change nothing. Besides which, one could not tar all people of a particular group with the same brush. Even the children of Fëanor themselves had done what they did out of loyalty to their lord and father.
And come to think of it, he was already acquainted with Fëanor’s grandson. They crossed paths with each other fairly regularly in the supply rooms near the workshops. They only spoke to each other about their current projects, but still, he seemed alright.

Anyway, he wouldn’t need to think any more on it until later. To minimise disturbances in the hallway, the group had decided to work one by one on the mural throughout the day, from before dawn to a couple of hours past sunset, with a four hour shift each. Edrahil had the last shift of the day, and he had offered to begin that very afternoon.

===​

“You're still thinking about the nér from the training fields, aren't you?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Then why have you been staring at that poor cookie batter like it has wronged you and your family?”

Nethien was indeed staring at the batter in front of her with a dark scowl. She rolled her eyes before sighing.

Why was she still thinking about him? What were the ignorant words of a commoner to her? Nothing.

Yet, she couldn't quite control the forceful splash of the poor egg she added to the mixture before mixing it forcefully with the rest of the ingredients.

Rinnith passed her the bottle of almond extract, and she took it with more gentleness than she had treated the egg. It was not as easy to get their hands on this one.

“Are these for Tyelpë?”
“Hm.”
“And the king's share?”
“In the oven already. Can you check on them?”

Rinnith sighed but obliged. She didn't enjoy baking as much as she did, yet she helped her out whenever she got into one of her moods, when she had a lot of things in the oven all at once.
But that didn't mean she didn't whine about it constantly.
“I'm your guard, not your assistant.”
“No one said you can't be both. Be a lamb and check. I don't want them to burn.”

Another sigh before Nethien heard the sound of the oven’s door being pulled open.
“Well, you called it. They look done to me. Should I pull the tray out?”
“Yes, put them on the– Huan! Where do you think you're going? Those aren't yours.”

The hound whined before settling by her feet again, huffing in annoyance.

Nessa is mean. Nessa only gives her cousin treats.

She rolled her eyes at him before looking back at the bowl of batter she had been whisking and winced. She had been mixing it for far too long, and the egg white had puffed up a little.

Rinnith was standing next to her again, putting down the giant tray of at least two dozen walnut cookies.
“Aren't you making any for Huan this time, you heartless mean mistress?”
She bent down to pat the hound's head who whined and licked her hand.

Nethien frowned, adding the flour mixture slowly.
“Do you think he'd have let me do anything before I did? He's had his share for today. He's just being a puppy.”

The dog barked in denial and she gave him a look, resulting in him settling back down with a frown.

Rinnith looked up in surprise from where she was glazing Finrod's cookies with honey.
“Just how long have you been here?”

Nethien shrugged, adding in the rest of the flour mixture.
“Eh, early morning, I guess? Oh, that reminded me, I also made some sour dough bread for your ammë. Make sure to take them with you before leaving.”

“Early morning? What have you been doing all this time? It's almost sunset. Have you had anything to eat at all?”

The answer was a big no.

Rinnith was looking at her with worry. Not that it was not deserved, of course. She loved baking for her family, but the last time she had spent so much time in here without rest was when they had arrived, and Finrod had barely been spared the same fate as his brothers.
“Are you really okay? You know you shouldn't care for what he said, don't you? He doesn't know you or your brothers. He was just an ignorant boy, repeating what he had heard from others.”

Nethien smiled at her weakly, before shaking her head. It was not him, she told herself. She just wanted to do something nice for her family, and maybe apologize to Finrod if she had offended him in any way.
“It's not that. I just… it has been some time since I've done it, and I guess I failed to notice the passage of time. And I wanted to make sure Finrod is not upset with me. You can never tell if the other person takes the words as you meant them.”

Rinnith nodded, still a bit uncertain, but she dropped the subject altogether.

They worked for another hour in silence. Finrod's cookies and bread loaves were packed, and Tyelpë's share was put in the oven and later filled with cherry pie filling, his favorite.

Curufin’s ginger biscuits were the last. She pulled them out of their hiding place and drew on them with lemon icing.

Rinnith was looking at the intricate design she was doing with frustration and Nethien chuckled.
“You can go ahead and leave. I'm almost done anyways. I'll drop these off myself as well. Good night.”
“Are you sure? I can stay.”
“You can, but you don't want to. Go, and tell your ammë I said hi.”
Rinnith nodded, before taking the basket of bread Nethien had made for Lady Torien, shutting the door of her kitchen behind herself.

Huan barked.
“No, you can't have Curufin’s biscuits because they don't have milk in them. You can't eat ginger either.”

The hound huffed and rolled on the ground, lying in a depressed mood, mourning his allergies.
Nethien just laughed.

===​

Edrahil stood in the hallway outside the chambers of the king’s cousins, in front of one of the doors. He had not brought many supplies, as he was only going to paint around the doorways first. Later on, he would need larger paint pots and a stepladder, but for now, only his paintbrushes and a palette holding small pots of a few different colours would do.

Intricate patterns would be painted around the doors, allowing them to stand out from the larger designs which would stretch across the wall.
The door pattern here should suit the one who dwelt within in some way. He had asked the other painters about Felagund’s cousins. The princess Nethien was a hunter, with a huge hound of Oromë. Her hair and complexion were unusually pale, alike to those of Finwë’s departed queen.
Perhaps a pearlescent silvery white pattern upon a background of deepest blue, then. These colours went well together. And into the basic white pattern—similar to the curling, criss-crossing lines that adorned the margins of pages—he would twist simple, stylised animal designs of the same colour, which would only become recognisable as such when viewed up close.


Edrahil had just finished the white pattern, and was about to start filling in the rest of the door frame with dark blue, when he had a sudden thought. He stepped back and looked up at the empty expanse of wall above the door. There would also be a design matching the occupant in the space above each door, fitting into the main design of the mural if possible. He would have to think about that one too. But he knew so little about Fëanor’s children… Would Celebrimbor tell him more about his family, if asked? It would be an awkward question, of course, but hopefully he would understand…

===​

“Well, what do you say? You have been a good boy all day. Should I give you another treat, hm?”

Huan deserves all the treats!

“Well, that is some big claim. How am I supposed to know you're telling the truth?”

You're a tease! Just give Huan one already!

“I was planning to. But you have to wait until I drop these off at Curvo and Tyelpë's chambers. I only have two hands, after all.”

Huan has four.

“True, but you don't have thumbs, so there.”

Huan shrugged beside her, agreeing with the statement.

As they made a turn towards the hallway leading to her and her brother’s chambers, Nethien spotted an ellon standing in front of the wall next to her door.

The man held a paint brush and a palette in his hands, gazing up at the wall in concentration.
She frowned. She didn't remember seeing anyone in the morning when she had left, or anyone mentioning there would be a mural painted in their hallway.

She took a few steps forward, her feet barely making any sound as she shortened the distance between them.
“Excuse me, what are you doing–”
The man froze in his place before turning, and Nethien flinched despite herself, seeing the purple shadows under his eyes and the swelling nose.

It was him.


Edrahil looked at the newcomer, still somewhat frozen in surprise. The voice sounding suddenly in the hallway had seemed familiar to him at first, but upon turning, he did not recognise the person to whom it belonged. She wore a shin-length pale pink dress with a floral pattern, and an apron dyed with a clumsy, colourful design, probably painted by a child. She carried a basket in each hand, and had likely been baking, judging by the flour dusting her face and the silver hair pushed back from it with a bandana—
He did know that voice.
The one who attacked him in the training hall…
But even if she was a follower of Fëanor’s house, what would she be doing right here at this hour? Edrahil’s eyes widened. Pale complexion… house of Fëanor…
As his shocked mind slowly put the pieces together, he raised his gaze and saw the massive hound waiting several paces behind, in the shadows of the hallway.
…princess Nethien.

 

[Server Room Gremlin]

[Back to top]

Chapter 2:
Quips, Qualms and Inquiries​

Edrahil carefully laid his paintbrush down between the pots on his palette, then took a brief shallow breath and relaxed his posture a little.
He bowed his head slightly before looking the princess in the face once more. “My name is Edrahil, chieftain of my own house, and painter by trade. Our King requested the painting of a mural along this wall of the hallway, and I am the one tasked with working on it towards the end of the day. My fellows will each take their turns working here during the day, starting from perhaps an hour before dawn. You will have me here for a couple of hours yet. But it will not be long before I am finished with your doorframe, and I will then move over to prince Curufin’s, if I have time.”

Edrahil fell silent. He had calmly stated his reasons for being here, and in the current tangled situation, it was really all he could do.

Nethien could only stare at the ellon for a moment, her pale eyes wide. She wasn't quite sure how she was supposed to react.

Well, you can start with not looking like a frightened rabbit.

The gruff voice of her hound resonated in her head and her shoulders stiffened for a moment before they relaxed, and so did her eyes.

What was his name again?

“My name is Edrahil, chieftain of my own house…”

Right.

“...And painter by trade.”

Well, that was really hard to guess. She wanted to roll her eyes.

By Eru, what were the odds? Why did he have to show up just as she had started to forget about the incident?
She focused on his face again. Well, perhaps it had its own merits. She felt her lips curve up slightly, eyeing the purple masterpieces she had left on his face.

She put down the baskets and warned Huan mentally before she walked up to him slowly. Still holding on to her smile and staring up at him, she gingerly reached out to hold his chin in her hand, and felt him freeze in shock as she touched him.

She gently turned his head from side to side, admiring his features from up close. He was not a bad looking fellow, as despite the black eyes, his face was bearable to look upon.

Edrahil remained silent, an unsettled, cloying sensation in the pit of his stomach, as her eyes searched his face. The feeling was soon replaced by one of shame. Why hadn’t he moved away?

The wince Nethien let out was so fake that even the lifeless walls could have picked up on it.
“That looks rough, comrade. Need some ice? Although, I'd say your face looks much improved. Oh and no need to thank me, of course.”

Edrahil’s expression remained impassive at her words. Though he was still wrestling with his disquiet, he had to stop himself from raising an eyebrow. Mockery again? Could she not change her approach a little? A somewhat more humorous thought came late and unbidden. Rather uncreative, for a daughter of Fëanor.
And with that last thought, the ridiculous aspects of the situation began to stand out to him. The corners of Edrahil’s mouth twitched up in a slight smile, a sudden glint of chaotic humour in his eye. His tone was light and warm, providing a strange but not unpleasant contrast. “You shouldn’t go around offering your poor suffering subjects ice, my lady. I should think we had quite enough of it the first time around.”

Nethien froze in her place for a moment, the small, boyish smile leaving her unsettled. This was not what she had expected of the one she thought was a stuck up Finarfinian.

The more she stared at him, the more stupid the whole situation appeared. The fight, the punches, the teasing. Everything about this sounded quite ridiculous.

And to think I've been slaving away all day and fuming about it…

She and Edrahil stared at each other for another moment. The ellon looked uncomfortable. She let go of Edrahil's face unconsciously, her other hand clinging on to his shoulder for support.

The giggles climbed up her throat without her notice and once she started, she couldn't stop.

By Oromë, when was the last time she had laughed like that?

Her shoulders shook slightly and if she was in a state of mind to care, she'd have blushed at the unholy sounds she was making.

Is he a friend, Nessa?

The amusement in Huan’s tone was what pulled her back to reality.

No, no he wasn't. She looked at her hand and back at Edrahil's face. She could feel a blush creeping up her neck and face.

She straightened, attempting to retrieve her hand from her confused companion’s shoulder, until she noticed the powdered hand print she had left on his shirt. She looked back at his face again.

And his face.

Her pitiful attempts of wiping off the flour only had Edrahil's eyes widen in confusion, especially when she practically slapped him on the chin to get rid of those marks.

She had to leave before she did more to embarrass herself. Huan had enough to laugh about already.

Picking up the discarded baskets, she all but bolted out of the hallway and inside Curufin’s chambers, squeaking out a quiet goodbye. Huan followed her with more grace.

Huan thinks he is a friend now.

She heard Huan’s mocking voice in her head when she closed the door behind them, the confused face of the painter the last thing her eyes caught.

Edrahil blinked. Nethien’s subdued, awkward goodbye, so markedly different from her bold words the previous evening, had caught him entirely by surprise. He followed the princess with his gaze as she left, wondering if she had not indeed knocked his senses out of order.

But no, there she was, hurrying away with a blush on her face, her demeanour entirely altered as well.
Edrahil returned to his painting, dipping his brush in the dark blue and beginning at the top of the doorframe. He frowned. Also entirely different from the way she had walked up to him, touched him without a care, then burst out laughing at his words.
…At least she had a sense of humour…?
There was something vaguely irritating under his chin. He wiped it with his sleeve and noticed flour residue left there. Oh. Well, at least there was some reason for her seemingly entirely random… slap… on his chin…
He paused, wide eyed, then shook his head, deciding he had thought quite enough about the King’s strange cousin.

He looked up at the blank expanse above the door again. And yet he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He still needed to decide what he would paint up there.

Just then, the other door opened again and Nethien hurried back towards her own chambers. Edrahil stepped aside a little so she wouldn’t have to squeeze past him. She spoke not a word to him, her gaze fixed straight ahead and shoulders set determinedly as she disappeared inside, shutting the door rather more strongly than was strictly necessary.
Edrahil’s lip twitched upwards in faint amusement. It was almost sweet, really.

He then wondered what he was doing, thinking of the daughter of one of their kings in such a familiar manner. He buried his face in his palm, winced at the contact with his swollen nose, realised too late he still held his brush in hand, then wiped the dark blue paint out of his hair with the paintbrush rag. Well, she started it. He thought, irritated. Then remembered how he had walked up to her, not knowing who she was, and had said what he did to her.
…Or I did. Because even if I had known her identity, I still would have acted, though my approach would have differed. He shifted uncomfortably, but returned to his work without any further distracted mishaps, his own embarrassment held at bay by his staunch conscience.

As he crouched down to paint the lower portions of the doorframe, his work nearing completion, he could not help but mull over both of his brief meetings with the occupant of the rooms. In the space of a day, she had changed her appearance so well that he almost failed to recognise her. In the space of a few minutes, she had not only changed her treatment of him, but also her entire demeanour. And she had seemingly flitted between opposite emotions in the space of a few seconds.
And yet she was so clearly the same person. Curious.

Suddenly, he had it.
Edrahil carefully painted in the last few strokes of dark blue. He slowly rose and stepped back, looking at the completed doorframe. Then his gaze was drawn upwards. Hunters. Oromë. Pale and silver. Changeable.
He knew what he would paint on the wall far above the door.
The Moon.

=====​

“My Lady? Are you awake?”

Nethien sighed and rolled on to her back, huffing.

Not a blink. She hadn’t been able to sleep even for a second last night, and all for a boy she didn’t even know or like. What was wrong with her?
“My Lady?”
Tithenes called again, and Nethien clenched her eyes shut before whining low in her throat. She was exhausted. She didn’t want to get up. And she didn’t really want to explain to her brother why on Arda she had left her dog in his chambers.

Because you were too distracted by a boy who had insulted you and just happened to have a sense of humor you like.

Yes, she would definitely tell him this, if she wished to be relentlessly teased until she combusted.
“Oi, Nessa! Ammë wanted me to thank you and say the breads are very good, but I told her she should tell you herself because I think your ego is already big enoug–”
“Was Lady Nethien baking without me?” Tithenes sounded hurt. Nethien sighed. Curse Rinnith and her mouth she wouldn’t shut.

“I’m here.”
She slowly got up from her bed, running a hand through her still braided hair, cursing when her fingers got stuck.

The pair appeared at her doorway after a few seconds, Rinnith’s grinning face making an unsettling contrast with her handmaid’s sour features.
Rinnith whistled annoyingly, looking her up and down.
“You… don’t look good. Did something happen?”
“No. Just couldn’t sleep well. You know, nightmares and all.”

She lied through her teeth, and only felt a little bad when she saw both of their faces fall a little at her confession. Nightmares were normal. They all had them. What wasn’t normal was spending their nights thinking about insolent, handsome and surprisingly funny ellyn, and Rinnith’s teasings and Tithenes’ subtle, sly glances were not something she could appreciate at the moment.

“Ah… then, would you like to rest a little longer, my Lady?” Tithenes appeared worried.

Nethien smiled weakly and shook her head. She pushed off the comforter and stood up, stretching.
“I have much to do, and one sleepless night isn’t going to bother me all that much. Worry not, my dear.”

Rinnith was frowning, though, looking around, as if searching for something.
“Where is Huan?”

Nethien tripped over nothing on her way to her bathing chamber, which would hopefully count on her exhaustion.
“He stayed the night over at Curvo’s. Missed the father and son, probably.”
Rinnith’s frown didn’t disappear.

She couldn’t really care at that point.

“Is the water drawn, Tithen?”
Tithenes looked at her and nodded, rushing inside to prepare the bath for her with scented salt and oils.
After a minute or so, she exited, and with a final smile at them and receiving a weird look from her guard, Nethien disappeared into the room, closing the door behind herself.

She pulled off the laces of her dress one by one, taking it off as she stared at the water. Something itchy and irritating filled in her nose, and she sneezed. She looked down at the collar of her dress, grimacing once she saw the flour dusting it.

The images of herself slapping the young ellon’s chin flashed in her head and she whimpered pathetically.

“Could I have embarrassed myself more?”

===​

Tithenes’ help was not needed as she dressed herself in her usual shirt and tunic. Her handmaiden dried her hair, braiding it out of her face, leaving her bangs covering her forehead only.
She passed her the only jewelry she wore daily, her Atar necklace. The purple ruby shone with a light of its own and as always, she breathed out a silent good morning to the little piece of her father she still held on to, and put it around her neck herself.

“Do you want to go to the dining hall for breakfast?”
Rinnith quipped from where she was sitting on a sofa.

And risk running into him with you tagging along?

Nethien’s only response was a shake of her head.
“I think I’ll join my brother and nephew this morning. Maybe for lunch?”
Rinnith shrugged nonchalantly, dipped her head in a mocking bow, and headed out of her room. Nethien shook her head in exasperation and smiled when she heard Tithenes huff in annoyance.
“You are dismissed for the rest of the day as well, dear. I know you don’t enjoy the training halls all that much, and that is where I will be for the most part. Take the day off. I’ll be fine.”

Tithenes looked like she wanted to protest, but her disdain for the training halls and Rinnith’s teasing overpowered her self-employed sense of duty and she nodded.

They headed for the door together, and Nethien tried not to stare at the painter by her door much after she made sure it wasn’t Edrahil.

Edrahil… even his name is strange.

She huffed and bid her handmaiden a half-hearted farewell, heading towards the chamber next to hers.

Huan perked up from his place on the carpet by the fire once he noticed her.

Why did you leave Huan here? Mean puppy Curvo did not even share his cookies with Huan.

Thank Eru for that. You’d have gotten a rash.

Speaking of her brother. Where was he?
“Curvo?”

Curufin smiled from where he was sitting, almost unseen against the backdrop of a tapestry and cloaked by the shadows flickering at the edges from the firelight.
He selected another ginger biscuit from the basket on the small table beside him, and wiped the crumbs from his mouth with a sleeve before answering.

“Good morning, sister.” He took in her shadowed eyes and strained expression, and immediately turned the smile to his most cheerful and innocent one. “You slept well, I trust?”
He paused, only long enough for her to register his words.
“Or were you kept up by art?” He held up the cookie in his hand and studied it. “These are very good, and I thank you for the gift.”
He frowned for the briefest moment, belatedly realising how his sister had jolted in reaction to his second question—how unexpected—before moving smoothly onwards. “I also thank you for the generous loan of your hunting hound,” he smirked lazily, returning his sharp gaze to her face. “Though he seems rather put out about it.”
His mind having latched on to her unusual response, he decided to alter the course of his teasing and probe a little more for the possible source. Art? “The painters started their work last night, did they not. What, did they arrive soon after you dropped these off in my chambers? And seeing this, you left the poor hound shut in here, fearing they’d drop paint on him in the short walk back down the hall?”
Curufin raised his eyebrows, biting his lip in repressed amusement at the nonsense he’d just spouted.

Nethien knew for a fact that there was no way for her brother to have gained some knowledge about what had happened between her and one of the painters, but she couldn't quite help the slight flinching of her figure.

He might not have known, but damn did his sixth sense always hit the bull's eye even though his arrows rarely did.

There had to be a way for her to avert his attention to something less embarrassing for her. Why had she left Huan there? She didn't know either. (She did, but she wouldn’t dare to bring it up even in the safety of her own thoughts for the fear of what look they'd bring upon her face.)

She could always scold him for eating cookies for breakfast, or comment on the tidiness of his chambers. Yes, that was her way out.

She cleared her throat and raised a brow full of judgement.
“Care to tell why you're having cookies for breakfast, háno? How old are you, five? What example are you setting for your son? And what's up with all the mess here? Even if you don't want maids messing with your things, you should take the time to clean yourself. I just hope Ingo has yet to visit you here…”

Her voice trailed off with complaints after complaints as she began picking up discarded pieces of clothing on the ground, all too small to be Celebrimbor’s.

Curufin popped the last bit of his biscuit in his mouth, quite ignoring his sister's remonstrations. He raised his eyebrows. Deflection? Hmm. Interesting. No doubt something embarrassed her. Quite deeply too, if the apparently unrestful night she had spent was caused by the same incident.
Had she embarrassed herself, then?
He eyed the growing pile of clothing tucked under her elbow and found himself growing somewhat miffed. “I have a system,” he scoffed.

Then he recalled something he overheard a few of his soldiers gossiping about when he and Celebrimbor had gone to the training hall last night. Ah… That could be it.
“Look, Nessa, if you beat up one of our cousin’s people the other day, and the consequences are only now coming back to bite you, that’s your business.” He rose from his seat and calmly walked over to her. “All I ask is that you stay out of mine: I was going to wear this to the forge again today.” He snatched a smudged off-white shirt from her hand. “Thank you.”

Nethien stumbled at her brother's teasing quips and almost dropped all the dirty laundry she had in her arms. She threw him a stink eye before dropping the dirty pieces of clothing in a basket next to his sofa, hoping that it was indeed where he usually put his laundry and nothing else.

She opened her mouth, ready to retort with something half as clever but twice more condescending than Curufin, but her brother had already disappeared back in his bedroom to change and get ready for the day.

She sighed.
“Such a disgrace.”

Huan thinks it runs in the family.

=====​

It was just past midday, and Edrahil had returned not long ago from his patrol of the Guarded Plain.
Having bathed and dressed himself in fresh clothing, he spent some time combing out the tangles in his dark hair: it had been remarkably windy that morning.

Finally, he was finished. Edrahil collected his belongings and opened the door of the bathing chamber. Only to be confronted by a tall and somewhat lean elf, with straight brown hair of an unusually light shade for a Noldo, and an unnervingly bright smile. Oh no. Then a wave of resignation washed over him, as he knew he had been lucky even to postpone this moment up until now. “...Mae govannen, Brúnon.”

“Well met yourself, dear leader.” The elf tilted his head, a triumphant look in his eye. “You’ve been avoiding me, haven’t you?”
Edrahil sighed. “I have been busy of late.”
“Busy with painting outside the Fëanorian princess’ chambers? So soon after getting in a brawl with her?” Brúnon shook his head. “Dear me, current events are really getting ahead of me. And none of my news is directly from the source! Quite unacceptable.” He frowned and made a dismissive gesture. “Gelnir might as well know absolutely nothing. He saw little, and probably told me even less, knowing him. And your silly cousin only made inane remarks about King Thingol whenever I tried to get something out of him.”
Edrahil suppressed a smile. Enedrion likely knew the truth of the silver-haired lady’s identity by now, but his ability to play daft was second to none.

Brúnon switched back to looking at him expectantly. “Anyway,” he smiled. “I was hoping you would enlighten me on the facts of the matter. It would be a crying shame if your poor comrades were left to rely on mere gossip, would it not? For you see, I am having immense trouble believing you publicly proclaimed your, ah… desire to court her personal guard, provoking the princess to defend the elleth’s honour and knock the living daylights out of you.”
Edrahil stared at him, wondering if this truly was a piece of gossip, or if Brúnon had just made it up on the spot for a laugh. Because with him, it was often impossible to tell.

Brúnon looked pensively towards the ceiling. “For one—and do not take this the wrong way—you are far too awkward, and I have not so much as seen you flirt, in all the time I have known you. Second, I do believe you forget the existence of the female kind at times, given that I have noticed you almost call Tavorien from your patrol group ‘brother’ on a number of occasions—”
Edrahil clapped a hand over his friend’s mouth, damming the verbal torrent. “Peace, Brúnon!”
He exhaled briefly, somehow feeling short of breath himself just by listening. Then resumed speaking, calmly. “Now, I shall tell you everything—aye, and answer all your questions—as long as you leave me well alone for the rest of the day. I am wearied today after my patrol, and this subject is not the lightest one on my mind. Are we agreed?”
Brúnon nodded.
“Good.” Edrahil released him, then started down the corridor towards his chambers, in order to put his things away. Brúnon walked by his side, and Edrahil began his recount as they went.

===​

Edrahil made his way to a different dining hall than usual for his midday meal. Being grilled by Brúnon had sapped his energy, and he did not feel like joining the rest of his friends.

Having collected a full plate of food, he went and sat down at the deserted end of one of the tables. Well, there was one good thing about this, at least. Brúnon would quite adequately do the job of apprising his friends (and everyone in the vicinity) about what had really happened in the training hall. Everyone’s curiosity would be sated, and no-one else would feel the need to interrogate him about it. Hopefully.

With this settled in his mind, he began to eat, and his thoughts soon drifted off towards his own personal artistic projects.

=====​

Rinnith’s attempts to find her in the training grounds would be futile, for there Nethien was, back in her chambers, lying on the sofa with her bare feet raised as she examined her clean and trimmed toenails.

Huan’s are sharper.

“Well, they're supposed to be, you know? With you being a dog and all, and me being… not a dog.”

Huan can hunt better.

“That one is up to a debate, you see. I might not have sharp toenails, but I have weapons.”

Huan scoffed if dogs could. But hers wasn't just any hound, to be fair to the other, much more well-mannered dogs.

“What? You want to test that one?”

You don't have the guts.

“I very much do, mister! What do you say? Shall we do it today?”

We need a judge.

Nethien hummed and was a little bummed out she hadn't thought of it first. That was the cons of having a smart dog. Sometimes, they were smarter than you, or everyone for the matter.

“Can't be Rinnith. She'd be on your side. Curvo and Tyelpë are more likely to tease us than take it seriously. And…”

There was no and, because Nethien’s stupidly short circle of friends and acquaintances ended there. It was sad, when she thought about it.

It was like she was an adolescent all over again, with no friend but her own brothers, other little girls from the court too intimidated by her station and her father to approach her.

Even with her father gone, she had her own reputation now to cause most people to avoid her.

Not everyone, though.

Her silly mind drifted back to the memories of the last two days. A face began forming in her mind, quite handsome when she thought about it but most importantly, it was his reluctance to shy away from her like almost everyone that caught her eye this time.

Bang!

The ellon was splashed on the ground, brave eyes squeezed shut against the pain.

Nethien flinched despite herself, a dazed look setting upon her features.

Where did all this come from? Was she that lonely to not be able to let go of this young warrior? There was nothing between them but bad blood, so why did she keep thinking of him?

She got a face full of fur the next second. Huan whined, not in the mood to tease her for her strange thoughts.
“It's all right, boy. I'm all right.”
She tried to comfort him, petting his head and kissing his nose. Huan growled in contentment, turning around to lick the hand petting him.
Nethien laughed a short laugh before her face sobered up, the gears in her head turning towards a thought she might regret at some point in the future, but not at that moment.

“Are you still on for that contest?”

Huan is always ready for a good hunt.

“Well, I might have found our judge-to-be.”



She found the artist had changed yet again once she opened the door. How many people did Felagund have working on the walls of their rooms?

The poor ellon was so immersed in his work, he almost dropped his paintbrush when he heard her clear her throat.

Nethien mentally asked for forgiveness for wanting to laugh.
“Can I ask you a question, my good sir?”

Her voice was impossibly soft and her smile sugary sweet, and the young boy’s flush crept up the longer she pinned him down with her stare.
“O-Of course, princess.”

Her smile widened a little before she leaned away from the wall.
“Where do you think I can find your peer? I believe his name is Edrahil, isn't it?”

She watched his wide eyed gaze hardening to a frown. She couldn't quite pinpoint the reason for it. Not everyone could have heard about the incident yet, could they? Edrahil didn't seem the type to tattle and whine about it either.

His hesitant voice brought her back to the present.
“I… I believe he'd be joining the rest of his patrolling party in the dining halls, your Highness. Is… is he going to get into trouble?”

He asked, suddenly unsure of his truthfulness and the consequences it could hold for his colleague.

Nethien’s smile was genuine when she answered him.
“Thanks, and no. At least, not the bad kind.”
She winked at him, and whistled for Huan to follow along. The pair left the sputtering youth behind, heading towards the dining hall.

 

[Server Room Gremlin]

[Back to top]

Chapter 3:
Looking For Trouble​

Aglaron scanned the busy dining hall, looking for his friend. A movement caught his eye. Ah. There he was. Brúnon was sitting at one of the long tables, cheerily waving him over. Opposite him were seated Gelnir and young Enedrion.
Aglaron set his plate down beside Brúnon’s, and as soon as he sat down, the taller elf grabbed him and ruffled his dark chestnut hair affectionately.
Aglaron chuckled a bit and pushed him away. Then he smiled at Edrahil’s cousin. “Well met, Enedrion. Not keeping the other youngsters company today?”
Enedrion pulled a face. “Oh… Aeglos has gone and roped them all into hunting with him. And now that’s all they ever talk about. This dusty little calligrapher prefers ink-stains to bloodstains.”
Brúnon grinned. “And here I’d thought you’d fallen for Gelnir’s irresistible charms and sparkling conversational skills.”
Gelnir snorted. “Keep that up and I’ll charm your face in, you silly old coot.”

Aglaron’s amused smile faded as he noted the others' absences. “Edrahil’s missing again, I see.”
Gelnir frowned. “Yes, it’s odd. Enedrion and I left him in the bathing chambers some time ago, after we returned from our patrol. What on earth could be holding him up?”
Brúnon sipped from his bowl unconcernedly. “Talmoth’s finally persuaded Edrahil to join him in his impregnable blanket fort, no doubt. We’ll never see either of them again.”
Gelnir choked and Enedrion slapped him on the back. Aglaron managed to fight down an undignified hiccup of laughter.

Gelnir wiped his streaming eyes and gave Brúnon an exasperated look. “Really, now.”
He paused for a moment. “Though, there might be some connection. Edrahil’s been a bit distant ever since that incident with the daughter of Fëanor. And Talmoth… I’d wager he has some deep grievance against the Fëanorians. He only disappeared after they arrived here. He has no family that we know of, either. I wonder what happened to him, poor soul.” His voice grew gruff with concern and suppressed anger.
Aglaron bit his lip. This indeed seemed likely. At least Talmoth was not entirely alone, with Edrahil around. He decided he would have to keep a closer eye on Edrahil, just to make sure he was alright.

Enedrion’s eyes grew wide as he stared at a point in the distance over Brúnon’s shoulder. “Ah… speaking of Fëanorians...”
Brúnon and Aglaron turned, only to see Nethien and Huan standing just inside one of the entrances. The princess’ gaze slowly moved over the hall, as if searching for something. After a moment, she turned on her heel and left.

Brúnon turned back around. “Speaking of Fëanorians indeed,” he said with a smile. “I wonder if she was looking for him.”
Aglaron tilted his head, though he suspected he knew the answer. “…Looking for whom?”
Brúnon straightened in his seat, looking quite like the cat who knew where the stash of cream was kept. “Why, Edrahil, of course. He told me everything when I cornered him outside the bathing chambers earlier. About what provoked the princess to fight him in the training hall.”
The volume of his voice was such that several others at nearby tables whipped around to look at him. Brúnon appeared not to notice, but his lips twitched up in amusement.
Aglaron raised his eyebrows. Enedrion stifled a nervous giggle. Gelnir stared at him, mouth open in shock. “Wh— you—“
Brúnon resumed just as loudly, his smile widening and his eyes gleaming. “And you three be good, now. Don’t go looking for him and pestering him with any more questions: he needs some peace and quiet.”
Aglaron buried his face in his palm, at once shaking with repressed hilarity and feeling sorry for his friend and chieftain.
Brúnon did not cease projecting his voice. “It all began when Edrahil had just finished a sparring match with our dear Gelnir, here present…”

===​

The first two halls were a bust, and they were nearly caught by the wandering eyes of Rinnith.

The third one though, the third one was the real charm.
At first, Nethien hadn't meant to linger there much longer than a passing glance, her mood dampened by her failure to locate the young artist.

She had never been drawn to blondes in her life and preferred her ellyn as Noldorin as they came, but for once she wished the little insolent boy had less plain features. Maybe that way she could have ignored whatever it was drawing her to him.

Which was why if it wasn't for Huan’s sharp senses, she would have gone through the rest of the many dining halls and not located a hair or a hide of Edrahil.

There he was, sitting by a table in a corner as if he was actively trying to not be found which, to be fair, he was probably entitled to. She had not missed the murmuring gossip and not so subtle glances thrown her way passing through the halls. While she was used to the attention on her, good or bad (mostly bad, though), she wasn't sure how Mr. Reserved Unless the King is Insulted felt about being the center of gossip.


Edrahil pushed his empty plate to one side. He sipped the remaining cider in his cup, still feeling somewhat wearied. Perhaps he would spend the afternoon in his chambers. Talmoth needed the company, and he needed the companionable silence.

A movement by the door caught his attention. A large grey shadow. He glanced up. The hound of Oromë. And beside him, the princess Nethien. She was scanning the hall with her gaze.
After a moment, she shrugged and turned away. Then something appeared to catch her eye and she whipped back around, looking straight at him.

Nethien eyed Edrahil for a second, giving him enough time to squirm in his place if he wanted to. She didn't know why she felt a sense of pride when he didn't give in to the urge like most people did.
Here we go.

Edrahil blinked. Here she was, striding past the other tables. Heading straight for him.
He found he could not muster any great feelings of surprise. He folded his arms and leaned back casually in his seat.
Well… This might as well happen.

Nethien watched him breathe out deeply but his passive demeanor did not change even as she slid into the empty seat in front of him.
Definitely not what she was expecting.

Huan rounded the table behind her and sat somewhere on her side after nodding his head towards the artist.

Nethien leaned forward, planting her elbows on the table.
“Hi.”
She gave him a sweet smile, which only widened the longer he remained silent.
Edrahil threw a wary glance at Huan as the hound huffed and shook his head, itching to get out of the confine of these walls.
“Don't worry. He doesn't bite. Not like I do.”
She raised an eyebrow, her head tilting not so subtly at the fading bruises with a good humored twinkle in her eyes.
Still, no words.
Nethien cleared her throat audibly then, the silence beginning to wear her down.
“Don't worry, though. Not here to pick a fight or argue. Kinda the opposite, actually.”
She scooted forward suddenly, her eyes big and shiny when she spoke next.
“How do you feel about settling one between me and my hound, huh? You see, he thinks he's better than me at hunting because, well, he's a hound, but I'm calling it nonsense. Care to be the judge of that?”

Edrahil looked between the daughter of Fëanor and her hound once again. Her sudden change in facial expression had taken him quite off guard. Again. Because now, for some unknowable reason, she appeared pleased, excited and interested. Truly, he had never met anyone quite like this before. Well… except… maybe Brúnon. …The unpredictability is similar, at least.

Then his mind fully registered her request. His eyes widened, and his question came out, immediate and unbidden. “Does your hound then speak, my lady?”
For a brief moment, he considered the strangeness of his surprised response, in response to the surprise of her bizarre question. Then he decided he might as well go all in. Join in with her game for a bit, in order to understand where she was coming from.
It was what one did with unusual, unfamiliar people, after all. Especially if they were so determined to talk to you.
Without missing a beat, he raised his eyebrows and turned to Huan. “Does your companion speak true, Hound of Araw? Have you a bone to pick with her?”

A slight crease formed between Nethien’s brows.
She looked at Edrahil, cocking her head to the side at the same time as Huan did, confused by his confusion.
His words did not make much sense to her. Of course Huan spoke! Hound of Oromë? Magical spirit dog?

I thought it was common knowledge.

You'd think between all the gossip and talks with way more private topics, someone would have mentioned this.

Perhaps not.

The confusion soon gave way to amusement, though, for this time, the ellon was addressing Huan instead of her.

Huan turned to her, mischief swimming in his dark orbs.
Oh, Nethien was tempted, but it was not the time. She had come in peace, and such a prank was not part of the plan.

Can we…?

Perhaps later.

Nethien turned back to Edrahil, and began explaining.
“He does, actually, but not in the way you might think. I found him in the woods as a child, and from the start, we had an ósanwë connection. I could hear his voice in my head, unlike the other birds and critters of the forest. Lord Oromë saw this and decided that I could keep him, and later when I joined his host, Huan's ever been my hunting companion.”

And your best friend.

She smiled.

And my best friend.

She cleared her throat and continued.
“As for others, he understands them, as he understands all tongues. He can only speak to me, though. So, sorry, but I had to fill in and answer your question.”
She leaned back, enjoying the slight shock in his face while it lasted.

Edrahil wondered at the glance shared between the princess and her hound.

Ósanwë? Well… that explained something, at least.

But it was still bewildering to be talking so casually to the daughter of a king of the Noldor, and one who had spent much time in the presence of one of the Powers. Something which Edrahil had never done himself, having left Aman as an adolescent.

Or... well... listening to her. Now that this was cleared up, he was not entirely sure what to say next.
Nethien fell silent, observing him. She looked… faintly awkward. He was also beginning to feel faintly awkward.

A few moments passed without any response from Edrahil, and Nethien was beginning to feel disappointed.
It had been a stupid idea to begin with. She shouldn't have done it.
She knew this stupid competition was just an idea her mind made up so she could seek him out again. She wasn't blind.
Something sank in her heart and her eyebrows furrowed a bit.
She should just leave, let the poor guy enjoy his food in peace.

“I… sorry. Shouldn't have interrupted your lunch. We'll be leaving now. Huan? Come.”
And she stood up, fully intending to keep a walking pace until she was out of sight.

Edrahil did not know what to make of all this. Her matter-of-fact response and subsequent subdued silence spoke of some degree of sincerity, despite the strangeness of the situation.

But why…?

She turned to leave, looking… definitively… disappointed?

Never mind why.

Clear as day, the princess just wanted someone to talk to. It was not much to ask, and hardly the most difficult thing to give.

“Wait a moment, princess.” Edrahil stood up, rounded the end of the table, and stopped before her, blocking her path. “…I had only just finished, and I will not be occupied for the rest of the day. …That is, until I must resume my painting this evening.”
He paused for a moment. “You were wanting me to act as judge in a contest between you and your hound?”

Upon her confirmation, he nodded his head. “I do not think it shall be any trouble.”

Nethien’s eyes widened a little as he accepted her silly request. She could not make sense of it.
He was free for the rest of the day, yet chose to spend it with her and her hound over a silly competition? Chose to spend it with her? Why?

He was looking at her strangely. His eyes looked a little brighter and his posture more relaxed than it was just a few seconds ago.

Never mind why.

He had offered his company, the thing she was trying to seek here, and hadn't made her look like a fool. Why should she turn him down now?

“Follow me.” She muttered under her breath and looked down.
She led the way out of the hall, heading for her favorite hunting grounds. Edrahil followed, walking by Huan’s side in silence. And if Nethien had a small smile lighting up her face, no one had to know.

---

Note:
Araw – the Sindarin name for Oromë