Summer was beginning to wane in Eryn Galen, the leaves just starting to fade from vibrant green to golden reddish brown. The preparations of the festivities which would mark the end of the season and the departure of the sons of Elrond were heavily underway. There were to be many competitions including an archery contest where Prince Legolas was expected to take first place. There would also be jousting, hand to hand combat, masques, market stalls, playacting, with all manner of delicious culinary delights and plenty of wine free flowing, concluding with a ball.

Legolas had been incredibly busy and yet still insisted on keeping Herenya to a vigorous training routine, leading to them occasionally practice at the break of dawn, much to her distaste. The early mornings coupled with the ever-present aches and unattractive purple bruises she now sported made her slightly regret her decision. Daugon and Herenya had spent very little time together as occupied as she was with her duties and extracurricular activities, and Daugon found himself growing increasingly jealous every time he spied her in Legolas's presence, which was more and more frequent as the days passed. Elrohir and Nesseldë had continued with their ruse, Nithron now aware of something suspicious afoot that he could not put his finger on, resulting to stalking about with a permanent glower. Elladan had publicly kept his distance from Herenya with deference to Legolas, however he kept an eye on her from afar and had watched her grow closer to the Prince, the beginnings of a friendship forming. It was obvious that desire still bloomed between the two of them, but Legolas had kept himself restrained.

For Herenya, whilst the polite, gentlemanly Legolas was pleasant to be around, there was still an undeniable tension that existed between them. She found herself oddly bereft of some of Legolas's less redeeming qualities. She missed the Prince who was arrogant, deliberately antagonising and who looked at her in such a sensual manner. It was fair to say that this multi-faceted Prince had filled her with such contradictory emotions and desires and had stolen whatever peace she had once had in Mirkwood, replacing it with infuriating, intoxicating excitement of such she had never known before.

'I've been meaning to tell you,' Legolas told her a few days before the festivities were due to commence as they walked down together for some final archery practice. 'When the others leave after the ball, I am going with them.' Herenya looked up at him in surprise.

'Back to Imladris my Prince, for you have only returned so recently?'

'Yes,' he affirmed with a laboured sign. 'Unfortunately, with the growing darkness, my father has decided he only entrusts communications with other realms to me. Some of our soldiers have returned with reports of more stirrings at Dol Goldor,' Legolas did not miss how Herenya shivered and made a rudimentary protective gesture with her finger and thumb at the mention of the Witch King's domain. Many of his subjects, thankfully, had had no dealings with the threat so close to their realm, however their superstitious behaviour, borne out of ignorance, never failed to irritate him; him, their Prince, who frequently defended his kingdom against all manner of horrors, with no option to remain ill-informed. It was his duty and he was glad to do it, but at times wished he had a true confidant in amongst his people. Even Nithron, his childhood friend, was too far removed from Legolas's own station to be able to empathise with his burdens. His father, when he rarely attempted to speak to him, would implore him to show strength, or hint strongly that a wife could offer him the support and companionship he yearned for. Legolas was of the opinion Thrandruil was too appraising of the top candidates for the coveted position as Mirkwood's future Queen, himself deeply sceptical that the ladies of the court so often thrust in his path could ever understand his innermost fears. Whilst Herenya's innocence was tantalisingly appealing in most circumstances, he found himself exasperated with her.

'My Prince?' Herenya prompted, for Legolas's gaze had become unfocused. With a blink, he let go of his melancholy and irritable musings and met Herenya's puzzled gaze.

'Apologies, I was far in thought,' he continued, schooling his tone into something lighter and easier. 'What I meant to say is that, due to this unsettling news, I am to journey to Imladris and then return to Lake Town to deliver further messages, before returning to our borders, where I plan to enact some of our plans to strengthen and better protect our realm.'

'How long will you be gone?'

'8 maybe 9 months, perhaps a year,' he replied. 'As long as is necessary.'

Herenya was silent as she digested the information. The time he described was nothing really in the life of an elf, merely a blink. However, the idea of being without the consistent presence of Legolas for that amount of time strangely seemed rather bleak. He had become a constant in her life and for someone with few friends, that was important. She also couldn't ignore the deep sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as he spoke to his travels through dangerous lands. He may be a heartbreakingly attractive condescending pig, but she would be devastated if he were to come to any harm.

'Don't tell me that my little she-warg is going to miss me?' Legolas teased, unable to help himself at her pensive expression, poking his tongue out and nudging her with his shoulder. She glared back at him in response, conscious to hide mask her feelings on the matter.

'Of course not, I'm merely curious as to how long of a respite from your positively annoying self I get. A year is a blessedly long time.'

Legolas's lips quirked at her transparency.

'If you say so.'

'You will be careful?' The question was asked before she could help herself and Legolas was pleased to hear genuine concern in her voice, his irritation at her lack of understanding ebbing away.

'I always am Herenya, I do not take unnecessary risks.' She kept her eyes on her boots, concentrating on moving one foot in front of the other.

'Good.'

Meanwhile, aware that they were finally starting to make an impact on the cloth-headed Nithron, but conscious that his time in Mirkwood was rapidly running out, Elrohir decided to step up the game. Whilst Herenya and Legolas were walking to the training fields, Elrohir had stolen silently into Nithron's private quarters above the stables. He planted his sketch of Nesseldë at the river right in the middle of Nithron's wooden dining table, ensuring it was highly visible before disappearing just as quietly. He had been keeping an eye on Nithron's movements for some time and knew that on this day of the week he would retire to eat his midday meal alone followed by a brief rest and would inevitably see the drawing. Now to find Nesseldë and drag her down to the riverbed ready to be 'caught in the act!'

'It is useless Elrohir,' Nesseldë sighed an hour later from her reclining position by the river. 'He is not coming. He is clearly more oblivious than you have given him credit for.'

'Hush my dear, have patience,' Elrohir insisted, his eyes firmly fixed on the empty pathway, willing his plan to work.

'He is not coming and my lord, you and your brothers leave in days,' she persisted. 'I am incredibly grateful for your efforts and it has been most pleasant to spend time with you and I am fortunate to now call you a friend. However, our great endeavour has failed. If I were not such a coward, I would simply walk up to him and tell him how I feel, but alas I cannot bring myself to do it,' Nesseldë could feel tears prick her eyes and rose blindly to her feet to leave. However, the next instant she found herself swept into his powerful arms, enfolded in Elrohir's embrace, her lips caught in a searing kiss that banished all thoughts of failure or despair from her mind. She melted against him, enthralled by his potent masculinity and demanding lips. They'd been dancing around each other all summer, and despite her nativity and obsession with Nithron, Elrohir's teasing had been slowly driving her wild and it was no hardship to allow him to hungrily pry apart her lips with his urgent tongue which proceeded to pillage her mouth quite thoroughly until she was trembling against him with an unfamiliar need. He released her suddenly and she fell into his chest, dazed in the suddenly too bright light.

'Why did you stop?' She managed, glancing up at him. To her surprise and slight consternation his eyes were not on her but rather fixed on a point behind her.

'Good day to you horse master,' he spoke loudly and confidently. 'A rather compromising position you have caught us in I am embarrassed to say.' Nesseldë spun out of his arms to face the new arrival in abject fear. There indeed stood Nithron, who had clearly seen their embrace, his face twisted into a horrible expression, in one clenched fist the drawing that Elrohir had left for him. The look upon her beloved's face instantly made what she had previously thought was a fool proof plan seem incredibly devious and cruel. She was mortified. Nithron seemed unable to respond to Elrohir's greeting so Nesseldë took a tentative step towards him.

'Nithron,' she said gently, her eyes wide and entreating. 'I can explain.' Nithron's gaze snapped from the elf-lord to the shaking elleth before him.

'There is nothing to explain, forgive me for intruding,' his voice was curt as he turned to leave, his coldness stabbing at her heart.

'Wait!' Shouted Nesseldë desperately, lunging forward and grabbing onto his sleeve. Nithron pulled away forcefully and looked down upon her, taking in her tousled hair and swollen lips with jealous and disdain.

'Do not touch me slut.'

'What? Nesseldë recoiled from this uncharacteristic explosion of temper and felt Elrohir bristle behind her.

'Look at you, cavorting with nobility, thinking yourself above your station, shaming yourself in public. If you're stupid enough to have fallen prey to a notoriously immoral philanderer, then I want nothing more to do with you. 'Nesseldë was stunned by his callousness; why do you care, she begged inwardly. Tell me why you care. Outwardly, she stood silently, gazing up at the currently unrecognisable face of an elf she had dreamed of for so many years.

'Mind your tongue horse master,' Elrohir cautioned. 'I will not have you demean the lady or suffer your insults concerning my own person.'

'What are you going to do? Beat me my lord?' Nithron replied mockingly, meeting Elrohir's gaze above Nesseldë's golden head. 'Go on, have at it, after all I have the gall to criticise the almighty heir of Elrond and his most recent grasping whore and clearly should prostrate myself before you and lick the mud off your boot.'

'If you do not apologise to Nesseldë instantly, that can be arranged,' Elrohir threatened darkly advancing towards Nithron. Nesseldë placed a restraining hand on his chest, her eyes still fixated on Nithron.

'Stop it,' she murmured finding her voice again, tears flowing freely down her pale cheeks. 'Both of you stop it! Nithron, please look at me, we are supposed to be friends, you are not this cruel.'

'Friends do not hurt each other like this!' Nithron shouted in return, turning on his heel and rushing back in the direction he came, the crumpled drawing falling slowly to the ground in his wake. Nesseldë's sobs grew in intensity and Elrohir wrapped his arms comfortingly around her waist as she stared after her love.

'Do not cry my dear, believe it or not I think we got through to him.'

'He hates me,' she mumbled into her hands.

'He does not hate you,' Elrohir corrected. 'He is hurt and angry, which means what he saw has made him jealous. That was quite a kiss after all!'

Despite herself Nesseldë snorted at his arrogance.

'Yes well, a good deal of trouble it's landed me in.'

'Things will work out in the end. If he truly loves you, he will forgive you. Have faith,' Elrohir reassured, releasing her warm, far too enticing body before he overstepped the boundaries he was already pushing and instead clasping her hand. 'I suggest we leave now before I'm tempted to kiss you again, I am but a simple elf and you are far too lovely and distracting, even with those ghastly puffy eyes.' She smiled weakly at that and allowed him to lead her back to her rooms, where she knew she could retreat and nurse her breaking heart.

Unbeknownst to the heartbroken elleth, Daugon, who was returning from the armoury, had spied the Lord Elrohir escorting Nesseldë back to the accommodation she shared with Herenya, and it was painfully obvious even to his usually oblivious male awareness that she had been crying. However, she did not appear upset with the son of Elrond, returning his affectionate embrace before retreating to the privacy of her room. Elrohir's expression was stoic as he strode away, but Daugon knew that could be deceptive. He stood awkwardly in the afternoon sunshine for a moment, debating what he should do.

His secret devotion to Herenya had led him to become quite close to her cousin Nesseldë, the two of them oft thrown together when Nithron and Herenya disappeared into their own private little world, where nothing else mattered so much as the wellbeing of a mare sick in pregnancy, or a stallion injured on patrol. Nesseldë, like himself, allowed herself to take second, third, fourth priority, an elleth used to being overlooked. Daugon regarded her as a rather downtrodden, vulnerable sister, and as had been demonstrated numerous times in the past, he cared about her wellbeing. He had heard the rumours of Elrohir's infatuation with the unassuming elleth but had disregarded it as meaningless gossip; the Nesseldë he knew was not so flighty as to simper after a lord, or as shameless as to have an intimate relationship with someone outside of a betrothal; such things were simply not done by respectful ladies. Regardless, something was indeed amiss with her and whilst he valued her privacy, he could not just pretend he had not seen her. It was clearly something that needed the delicate touch of another elleth. Now, Herenya was as delicate as a mead-swilling dwarf at the best of times, but she did love her cousin. Besides, Daugon mused, seeking her out with a legitimate concern for Nesseldë's wellbeing would be a good excuse to speak with her; ever since the Prince took her into his service, the limited time he got to spend with the object of his affections had become even more diminished. He frowned to himself, he admired Prince Legolas as a good subject and solider should, but he couldn't help the gnawing resentment that was growing with each passing day Herenya was kept away from him. Resolved to his course of action, Daugon made his way to the royal quarters where he begrudgingly knew he would find his love.

Indeed, approaching the Prince's closed door, he could hear Herenya's light, melodious laughter through the heavy oak door and his stomach churned at the sound. Schooling his features into a blank expression he tapped his knuckles against the door.

'Come in,' answered the Prince's smooth deep voice. Daugon braced himself and opened the door, stepping just over the threshold.

Legolas looked up from where he was seated at his writing desk. Herenya, who had clearly been sweeping something if the broom she was holding was any indication, was standing looking over the Prince's shoulder, mirthfully smiling at whatever it was they had been reading.

'Ah Daugon,' Legolas greeted, his eyes bright with repressed laughter. 'How good to see you.'

'Daugon!' Echoed Herenya warmly.

'I hope I am not disturbing you My Prince,' Daugon said tentatively. Legolas shook his head.

'Of course not, we were being highly inappropriate and giggling like a pair of old gossips.'

'Daugon, Daugon, you must hear,' interjected Herenya in a rush. 'It's quite hilarious, as soon as we got back from archery practice, we were positively ambushed by Lord Telrion, you know, the pompous one, brandishing a formal complaint directly to the Prince and his father concerning the twins! He was determined to betroth his daughter to one of them, despite her being barely of age and in love with someone else. They quite sabotaged what was supposed to be a civilised dinner party two nights back by spiking the soup with some exotic spice that had all the old lords running for the privy every ten minutes and enabled the daughter to make a quick escape out of her bedroom window.'

'Hush, hush!' Commanded Legolas through his renewed tears of laughter. 'The Lords have been quite embarrassed enough without us spreading the tale further. Although I would have paid a King's ransom to see Telrion's face when he made to pursue his daughter and leapt onto a saddle covered in honey!'

Herenya clutched at Legolas's arm as another wave of mirth overcame her and Daugon felt increasingly uncomfortable at their increasing intimacy. Legolas seemed to notice his discomfort, turning his attention back to the soldier.

'Apologies Daugon, you wished to see me?

'I was actually hoping to speak with Herenya My Prince,' he replied, and the elleth in question stood up straight and turned her beautiful face towards him.

'I'll be free from supper time Daugon, we can speak then?

'I'm afraid it can't wait,' he insisted. 'I saw Lord Elrohir escorting your cousin back to your rooms, and I am sorry to tell you that she appeared most distraught.'

Herenya's pleasant demeanour shifted immediately, as was her way.

'I knew that scoundrel would hurt her, I swear by the Valar I will rip his dark-haired pretty head from his body,' she snarled. Legolas looked up at her, bemused.

'I do not believe it is Lord Elrohir who has caused her harm,' Daugon corrected soothingly. 'For she seemed quite cordial with him. I thought you would want to know the truth of it.' Herenya's gaze flickered to Legolas and before she could ask, he covered her smaller hand with his own.

'Go and tend to her, but please return post-haste; if Elrohir's games have caused discord amongst my people I must know of it.'

'Thank you, my Prince,' she replied, abandoning the broom carelessly with a loud clang that had both elves flinching, before taking a hold of the soldier's hand and pulling him with her. 'Let's go!'

Herenya only relented of her firm grip on his hand when they reached her shared accommodation as she suddenly realised that she had been about to drag Daugon into her innermost sanctuary, which would have been highly unorthodox and would certainly result in even more gossip. She felt herself growing warm with embarrassment at the thought and turned jerkily to face him, her back barring the door.

'Maybe you should not come in,' she said awkwardly. 'It is not proper behaviour, and Nesseldë will likely not want to see anyone else if she is as upset as you say.'

'I understand Herenya,' he replied affectionately. 'I would have raised the same concern.'

'Thank you Daugon, you are a good friend.'

'A friend who has been denied your company as of late,' he said, trying to keep the inferred reprimand light-hearted.

'I am sorry,' she replied contritely. 'I have been incredibly busy tending to the Prince, I swear he goes out of his way deliberately to give me more work and longer training sessions. Some days I seldom see anyone but him.'

'How awful for you,' Daugon resisted the urge to sneer.

'Let's go to the summer solstice together,' she offered. 'We all have the day off from our duties and it should be an enjoyable event. Would you please accompany me?' She smiled up at him through her eyelashes and some of the black cloud of jealously and resentment that had been following him began to lift.

'I would be honoured to be your escort my little fire-tongue,' he took her hand and bowed over it formally, and she rolled her eyes, removing her hand from his grasp and punched his arm, none too gently.

'You're utterly ridiculous! Now, shoo, I must tend to my cousin.' With that dismissal, she disappeared swiftly through the door leaving a placated Daugon, to find herself in stifling darkness. Nesseldë had drawn the heavy curtains and closed the windows, blocking out the late afternoon sun and shutting out any refreshing breeze. Herenya's eyes adjusted quickly to the light and she could see her cousin's huddled form under her bedcovers.

'Sweetheart, whatever is the matter?' Herenya asked gently, sitting down alongside Nesseldë and rubbing her back.

'He hates me,' came the despairing reply as the weeping elleth rolled over and buried her head in Herenya's lap. Herenya, perplexed, began stroking Nesseldë's hair.

'Lord Elrohir? I'm quite positive he does not hate you my darling.'

'Not him!' Wailed Nesseldë. 'Nithron! Nithron hates me!' With another heart-wrenching sob, Nesseldë proceed to detail to Herenya exactly what had happened.

'I will have him castrated,' Herenya seethed when the story was told. 'How dare he say such terrible words to you.'

'After how I behaved how could he not,' sniffed Nesseldë, snuggling deeper into her cousin's embrace.

'Well it is a little out of character,' Herenya admitted. 'You are never this impulsive. Regardless, it does not excuse Nithron's reaction and I must agree with Lord Elrohir; Nithron would not behave as such if he did not deeply care for you.'

'How am I to ever face him again?' another flood of tears overwhelmed Nesseldë and Herenya hurriedly reached for a handkerchief from the bedside table, spilling a full glass of stale water over her cousin's curly head. Nesseldë bolted upright, spluttering.

'Herenya! Ever do I despair of your total lack of self-control!'

'I'm sorry,' Herenya squeaked, inwardly cursing herself, using the handkerchief to dab away what she could. Nesseldë, soaking, her already wild hair now plastered to her forehead scowled at her cousin, batting her hand away.

'Oh, just stop it,' she grumbled. 'I'm tired, heart sore and wish to rest in peace without you making everything worse as you always do. Leave me be Herenya.'

'It was an accident Nesseldë,' Herenya protested. 'That self-obsessed, horse-loving dolt has upset you and you're taking it out unnecessarily on me. I told you this ridiculous pretence would end badly and now look at the mess you're in, if only you had listened to me.'

'Self-obsessed,' laughed Nesseldë bitterly. 'That's an ironic insult coming from you. You are the most self-involved elleth I've ever met. I mean it Herenya, go away.' With that dismissal, Nesseldë turned on her side to face the wall. Herenya stood, setting the upended glass back on the side table forcefully.

'I am sorry to have been a bother cousin,' she hissed, before turning and departing with a slam of the heavy oak door.

Daugon, who had been curiously awaiting Herenya's return gossip that he was, pushed himself away from the wall he'd been leaning against as the copper-haired elleth burst through the door.

'Fire-tongue, what – '

'Not now Daugon,' she threw over her shoulder, with neither the time nor inclination to explain the situation to her stoic, supportive friend.

It was Legolas and Legolas alone she wanted to speak to, him alone who could convince her not to clobber together the heads of both Lord Elrohir and Nithron. Thus, it was an enraged slightly wild Herenya who returned to the royal chambers, quite forgetting herself as she stomped up to a perplexed prince and slammed her hands onto his desk. Legolas looked up at her, leaning above him and panting slightly from exertion and rage, and willed himself not to notice the way her ample chest heaved with the motion.

'Lord Elrohir's games have caused more than discord, damn all ellons who are led by their pricks to Mordor!'

After Herenya had relayed her tale, with numerous uncalled for expletives that had Legolas torn between wincing and laughing, he sighed, his expression turning serious expression.

'What would you have me do, she-warg?'

'Do not call me that infuriating name for a start!' She growled, slumping ungracefully into her favourite armchair, kicking off her shoes in the process.

'I will call you whatever I wish, especially if you could see how completely uncalled for these dramatics are. You must learn some semblance of self-control,' Legolas reprimanded.

'I would have you take this seriously,' Herenya grumbled, her anger abating and, in its absence, embarrassment creeping in steadily at her overzealous behaviour. 'Although I know this is probably the least of your worries my Prince.'

'Nithron is a childhood friend of mine Herenya and he has clearly been injured by these games, of course I take this seriously,' Legolas countered. 'Whilst I admittedly do have other concerns that cloud my mind, I will do what I can to rectify this ridiculous situation.' He stood, feeling the unwelcomely familiar pressure start to settle across his neck and shoulders, irritable with the twins, Nesseldë, Nithron and Herenya, now looking up at him anxiously contrite whereas barely a moment ago she had been behaving like a mortal child. He crossed the room in two strides and wrapped his hand around her slender wrist, yanking her none too gently to her feet.

'Put your shoes back on and get back to your duties. Now. I've indulged you quite enough for today.'

Herenya opened her mouth as if to argue and the Prince was overcome with the violent urge to slam his lips against hers, forcing his tongue into her mouth, until the only sounds she was capable of making were keening, wanton moans. He settled for pressing one finger firmly against her distractingly plump lips, Elbereth this elleth would be his undoing. Herenya silently yanked her wrist out of his loosening grip, her eyes burning with renewed rage as she picked up her earlier discarded broom. She glared at the floor as she began erratically sweeping, the sound of the door opening and closing the only sign of his departure.

Legolas stalked down to the stables, ready to knock Nithron's head against a stall wall until he saw sense, completely taken aback then to find his friend, an elf so measured and calm, slumped in an empty stall with bloody knuckles, swilling from a bottle of elven wine.

'What on Arda are you doing?' Legolas demanded harshly, glowering down at the prone ellon.

'Drowning my frustrations in the bottom of this rather tasty wine,' Nithron grunted in response, slumping even lower down into the hay. Legolas crouched down and with little effort pulled the bottle out of Nithron's resisting grip. Sighing he took a deep drink. 'See,' Nithron laughed as he snatched the bottle back. 'The best way to handle even one of Herenya's tantrums, for I am as sure as the sun will rise it is her that has sent you to find me.' Legolas ignored his accuracy.

'What did you do to your hand?'

'Punched a wall thinking of that damnable cad's smirking face,' the prince tried to take a hold of Nithron's hand to heal it, but the horse master scrambled backwards out of reach. 'No, leave it be, I want to feel the pain.'

'Do you have any idea how ridiculous you sound? Legolas said, exasperated beyond measure.

'I don't care,' Nithron retorted, pushing his matted hair out of his face roughly to see his Prince clearer. 'I am disgusted by the behaviour of an elleth I held in high esteem, that she would be so foolish as to let that swine of a noble put his hands all over her,' he trailed off, gesturing in Legolas's direction. 'Why are you here? You cannot possibly empathise with how furious I am, you who toys with elleths as you please, taking what you want without a thought of the mess you leave behind you. You and Lord Elrohir besmirch the good name of your houses!'

'Nithron, you do not know the truth of what you saw,' Legolas replied, his voice strained as he forced himself not to react to such a grievous insult, whatever truth there might be to it. 'Nesseldë loves you, not Elrohir, this whole charade between them was all to make you realise your true feelings for the girl.'

Nithron, sluggish from the wine, stared up at his friend in disbelief and Legolas continued.

'It is all very well for you to wallow here in self-righteous anger, but have you ever so much as looked at Nesseldë with more than friendship? I wager the answer is no. She took matters into her own hands determined to make some imprint on your oblivious heart. You cannot excuse your behaviour as morality. Indeed, why are you so angry if it is not jealously?

'I am not jealous,' Nithron said instinctively, although wondering if the hollow feeling in his stomach he'd been nursing since the arrival of the twins was indeed envy. 'I do not care for Nesseldë. Especially not now she has disgraced herself so thoroughly.

'Hardly,' Legolas shrugged dismissively. 'Elrohir's reputation might be one of ill-repute but I know him to be an honourable elf. He would never lie with an elleth so deeply in love with someone else.'

'It cannot be as you say,' Nithron shook his head vehemently. 'Nesseldë does not love me. She was a good friend, that is all. And I certainly have not considered her in that light before.'

'Then why, mellon, did you rush to the riverbed with her portrait in hand?' Nithron was silent. He couldn't be in love with Nesseldë, and not know about it. Such things were simply ridiculous. He was a plain thinking ellon with a passion for horses and a quiet life. Nesseldë was a friend and nothing more, he was certain of this. And yet, as he sat slumped in the very same stall that he had watched the first trembling steps of a new-born foal with Nesseldë by this side, many years ago, her face was all could see. The unsymmetrical dimple on the left side of her cheek that always gave her a tentative, timid air, the roundness of her expressive eyes, the soft curls of her golden hair. Her image had been so well captured in the likeness he found in his quarters, he was overcome by an urge to see her and had departed immediately for that secluded spot by the river where she took her washing. Witnessing the perfectly architected tableau of their kiss, her leaning against Lord Elrohir's chest, his hand resting possessively far too low on her spine, her ill-concealed moan as he pillaged her mouth, drew out a temper in him that he was quite unaware existed. Lord Elrohir had broken away from her at his arrival, a self-satisfied smile plastered over his handsome face. How dare this reckless, disrespectful elf touch his Nesseldë? As she had turned, tears in her eyes, entreating him, his anger refocused.

How could she be so stupid? Swayed by nobility and standing, when he thought her to be miles above the other grasping, silly elleths of his acquaintance. His heart seared with an unknown pain that he threw back at her with his harsh words and by baiting the elf-lord, yearning for the chance to wipe that smirk off his face. He'd stumbled back to the stables, surprised to find his eyes full of hot, treacherous tears, as they were again in this moment. He came back to himself, and to a watchful Legolas, with a gasp.

'How can I have been so blind to my own heart?' He lunged forward and grabbed a hold of Legolas's arm, the tears freely running down his cheeks. 'All these many years, I did not see what was right in front of me, and now I have ruined everything. There is no hope.'

Legolas embraced his childhood friend.

'There is always hope.'

'What should I do Legolas, tell me what I should do?'

Unseen to Nithron, the prince smiled a mischievous smile.

'Marry her.'