Title & Chapter Number: Circles and Rings: Part 1, 4/?
Author(s): - Author's Index
Fandom: Tolkien
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I couldn't even begin to claim ownership of any of the wonders of Middle Earth. I've borrowed them for some personal edification, and to get to know a few of the inhabitants better, but they aren't mine. No copyright infringement is intended. All content and original characters are the intellectual copyright of the author.
2nd Disclaimer: I don't speak elven; I wish I did. Therefore I claim no accuracy of the words and phrases I've used. What I've used, I pieced together using Dragon Flame, which can be found HERE.
Also, much of my understanding of things Elvish and Middle Earthen have come from many hours perusing The Encyclopedia of Arda
Warnings: None
Betas: Gypsy
Cast: Gil-galad/OFC
Timeline: Takes place before the Last Alliance and makes no reference to any events Tolkien wrote of.
Spoilers: Nope
Summary: Every course of action, every path chosen, affects the course of history, and, sometimes, changes otherwise unchangeable events.
Notes: My apologies for any errors; I'd be happy to work on rectifying them (within the framework of the story) if anyone can point such errors out to me!
Special Thanks to: Char for her beta help and all of the elven research she did and passed my way, not to mention the plot bunnies she kept throwing in my path. Also to Gypsy for her beta help, as well as a jolly good game of Grope-the-Elves. Elvish used: Arwen en amin--My lady. Heruamin--My lord.
"Pardon, arwen en amin," said the young she-elf that entered the room. "I have been sent to serve you in any way I can this day. His Lordship has been called to Council and will be unable to attend you till evening, so he thought." She stopped speaking when the King's guest turned away from her with a wounded expression. The position of servant had been hers for many years, long enough that she was proficient at reading the moods of those she served. This stranger with the amber hair was annoyed and hurt, but what it was that had upset her, the servant could not tell. "Arwen en amin?"
Trying to unclench her jaw, Mithluin took several deep breaths. This flare of anger and pain at being brushed aside once again was in some ways irrational. She had come into his world uninvited, after all, and as much as she had toyed with the fantasy of having him to herself, she had known well enough that it simply could not be. Duty and responsibility were brutal taskmasters. Kingship did not step aside for anyone, especially an orphan.
But she had been optimistic that his obvious interest last night would spawn at least one uninterrupted day.
Mithluin shook her head at the servant to indicate that nothing was amiss and resumed brushing her hair. She tried to feign neutrality. She was hoping this servant would leave her; Tawen and the occasional guests or patients were the only people she had dealt with, and then only briefly. She certainly had never had anyone wait upon her and found this moment, with this seemingly younger woman patiently eyeing her, awkward at best. If she could not pass time with Gil-galad, she would be just as content to be alone.
When she did not speak, the servant began again. "I can show you to the library, perhaps, or to one of the gardens."
With a sigh, Mithluin realized she would not be rid of this girl so easily. Gil-galad had sent her in his stead; he might be offended if she did not accept the girl's company and aid. "I should like to see something more of Mithlond than I have thus far seen."
"That is not possible." She shrank back beneath the woman's gaze; the stranger had gone so swiftly from shy to angry, almost too quickly to catch the change. Rapidly, the servant continued, "It has been required of the staff that we not allow you to go about."
"If he thinks I am to be his prisoner."
The servant's green eyes flew wide open. "Oh no, arwen en amin! He would never.not a prisoner! He is mindful of your safety, tis all. There are agents of the Dark Lord everywhere, and there is concern that you, in particular, will be at great risk from him, should you be caught alone and."
Trying to temper the annoyance, Mithluin interrupted, "Then I shall not go alone. You shall come with me."
The servant laughed lightly. "I am hardly a protector. I have no skill with the sword or bow and fear that this," she patted the ornamental dagger at her hip, "would be sorely insufficient against either Orc or Man."
Though doubting she would be facing the dangers that Gil-galad believed she might, Mithluin was aware that she was lacking in means of self-defense. She was a healer, a caregiver, one who tended injury rather than dealt it. She knew the bow, the necessity of the hunt had made that skill crucial. And she handled a knife well enough. Beyond that, however, she had few skills that would stand her against any real enemy in close combat. Nor had she ever trained for fighting, so any weaponry skill she had was likely of little use to her.
But having lived all of her life with the freedom to come and go as she pleased, she was not willing to give up that freedom to anyone. Not even the King, who had no right or hold upon her life as she saw it.
"What is your name?"
"Eruiel."
Laying the hairbrush upon the table, Mithluin stood up. "I am going out, whether you come or not. I did not come here to be kept. I will see what I please. If you think it necessary, or think Te'Valishar shall be displeased if you do not follow his wishes, find someone who is willing to escort two women through Mithlond. I have heard tell of public gardens, public baths, and a vast hall meant for public gatherings. I know stories of art and music.but I know experience of none of these things. I will see them with my own eyes, today, whether he is there or not, for I shall not linger in Mithlond long. Come or stay.but I am leaving now."
Eruiel chewed the inside of her lip, pushing her straight blonde hair behind her ear. She watched this lady, this one who would dare defy the wishes of the King, take her brown velvet cloak from the peg upon which it hung and wrap it around her shoulders. There was something different about this woman, something that had, if the rumors were true, caught the eye of the King. She was lovely enough, yes, but Eruiel suspected there was more to it than that.
And despite the bravado, she seemed fragile to Eruiel, lost and unsure of herself. A combination, she suspected, that would draw upon the King's protectiveness.
Eruiel decided it was best to do as the lady asked.
"If it pleases you," she said softly, wondering if she would regret what she was about to do, "I will fetch my money purse and accompany you." She curtsied a little, not missing the shy smile of her new mistress, and scurried out of the room.
When she returned, it was to find Mithluin at the head of the stairs, gazing out the window at the overcast sky, the gray of which very nearly matched the shade of the woman's dress. Mithluin sensed her approach and faced her before she drew to near, some shadow crossing her face but disappearing quickly. Eruiel swallowed nervously and led the way.
As the morning wore on under an ever-darkening sky, Mithluin grew grateful to her escort for her company. While she could have made her way around the city center easily enough, and would have enjoyed the opportunity to peruse the great library longer, or sit in the public bath alone, she found the press of so many elves, male and female, and even a few men, to be more than she cared to tolerate. There were simply too many of them, and every time a new set of eyes raked across her, she wondered if all of these people knew who she was. Surely they knew Eruiel, if she had served the King's household for as long as she had earlier claimed to Mithluin, and she had lived in Mithlond all of her life. Thus they would know that anyone in the servant's company must be a guest of the great King.and that made Mithluin automatically the subject of attention. There were no whispers within her hearing, but she knew each one wondered who she was, where she had come from and why she was here.
She wondered if any of them knew that the King was her benefactor. She wondered if anyone knew anything about her at all.
Eruiel clearly didn't. Nor did she ask questions to appease her curiosity. She did, however, answer all those questions put to her as best she could. Questions about her years of servitude, questions about Mithlond and the history of its founding back at the beginning of the Second Age when the High King had been little older than Mithluin was now. And while Mithluin understood the basic immortality of the elfkind, the revelation of just how many winters Gil-galad had seen pass before he had found the orphaned elfling in the forest, was a bit of a shock.
No wonder he had pushed her away. Her one hundred and seven years was but a fly's life in comparison. And as sheltered and peaceful as her existence had been, what had she to offer such a worldly elf that could possibly keep his attention.
Deep in thought, Mithluin sank into the public bath beside Eruiel and closed her eyes, shutting out the noise around her. Perhaps it would be wise to rethink her path in life. This serene setting seemed ideal for doing just that and Eruiel was content not to interrupt her musings.
For the earliest part of the day, Gil-galad had found it easy enough to concentrate on the business at hand. The final war funds had been procured and portioned out as seemed appropriate and the last of his greatly expanded army was being outfitted as the Council spoke. There were horses to be shod, weapons still to be constructed or repaired, and the last of those joining him from the surrounding territories were still to arrive. It was expected that these things would take another week, at most, to complete and then the march east could begin. It would be a long trek to Imladris, days of marching and picking up new recruits as they went. Lord Elrond would be awaiting them there, with his own contingent of militia, and then there would be the long treacherous mountain passes to contend with.Spring should have arrived by the time they reached the passes, and thus the crossing should not be as dangerous as it could be. The morning had passed with a heated debate about the wisdom of taking the mountains when they could ride south along the mountain range and then travel north to Lorien from there. But doing so would add extra travel time to the journey, and would take the elven army deep into the lands of men. It would make it too easy for Morgoth to learn of their movements too quickly, and so the Council gave in to Gil-galad's decision to take the mountain road.
Once clear of the mountains, they would stop at Caras Galadhon to receive whatever aid Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn had to offer the Last Alliance. After that, they would leave the lands of the elfkind behind, marching on into Gondor where King Isildur would be waiting for them with the Armies of Man.
It was quite likely there would be skirmishes along the way, though none of those at the table believed that the Elven armies would meet any serious resistance until after they left Lothlorien. That King Isildur's forces would receive the brunt of Morgoth's wrath until Gil-galad's army reached them, the Elf King had no doubt. His only hope was that the race of Man could stand against the shadow long enough for Gil-galad to arrive.
As the morning's discussion wore on, with each reiteration of plans already decided upon, the High King's focus strayed more and more towards the woman he had left unattended. The difficulty of focus grew more difficult when it was made clear that within a week he would be leaving Mithlond for an indeterminate frame of time.
Mithluin had only just come back into his life, in a very powerful way, and he would be forced to bid her farewell.
His Council more than once had to redirect his attention, and all too frequently he felt Melandur's eyes burrowing into the side of his head, until at last the Council took pause for the noon meal, at which time Gil-galad secluded himself to regain whatever semblance of kingly dignity and decorum he could manage. He would be leading the army once again. A solid, focused, resolved front was what he needed to project. Anything less would cause disarray.
To the Council's approval, his focus did not stray visibly the remainder of the day.
But always in the back of his mind, the image of Mithluin's angry face haunted him. He would have to tell her tonight. There was no way around it.
In seven days or less, he would be gone.
When Mithluin and Eruiel paused for the noon repast it was more to escape the light misty rain that was beginning to fall than because either was hungry. Troubled by the earlier talk of Gil-galad's age and experiences, Mithluin finally asked the question she had been most dreading the answer to: the story of the war against Morgoth. Eruiel offered up a lesson in history, the story of a war that sounded more and more like the great separating obstacle between Mithluin and the King. For Gil-galad had been at war with the Dark Lord for more than seventeen hundred years. A war that continued to drag on, nearly as immortal as the elves themselves. A war that the High King was struggling to bring to an end, thus leaving little opportunity for any of the luxuries of life. Only recently had Morgoth led an assault upon Minas Ithil, an assault that marked the fall of that once great city.Though Eruiel knew little of the details, she knew the gossip; it was rumored that a great army would soon march east towards Mordor, that men and elves would unite and fight as a cohesive front against the ever-thriving shadow of evil. Her father had died many years ago in a previous conflict with Morgoth. The fall of Minas Ithil, where Eruiel's brother had died in battle, had sparked the rise of the Last Alliance, which was now entering the final stages of preparation. Very soon, all the kingdoms of Men and Elves would be in the very center of war.
That was where the High King was today, discussing this alliance with his council, putting forth the final plans for the imminent march eastward.
Pensive and melancholy now, Mithluin chose to return to the palace, no longer in the mood for a tour of the greatness of Mithlond. In her previously sheltered life, she had heard little of this war. Tawen considered herself above such things, her only interest being in healing those who came to her, and when Gil-galad had come, the focus of his visits had always been something other than the realities of war and leadership. That he had been away at war was all Mithluin ever really knew, although occasionally someone injured in that conflict would come to them for healing and small bits of news would be garnered then.
It had never been enough, however, to give Mithluin any idea of the magnitude of the events in the outside world. To learn now how long this war had lasted explained much of the weariness Gil-galad shouldered. It explained the lines of worry around his mouth and the great troubled expression that always lingered in his blue eyes. She found herself wondering if the visits to her had been a burden upon his already encumbered mind, or if he had viewed those visits as a welcomed respite from the world.
Perhaps she would ask him that some day.
The rain had begun to fall harder as she and Eruiel walked back to the palace, a cold winter rain blowing in from the sea that cloaked the city in mist as it ran from the rooftops and splattered off of the stone streets. Eruiel thought perhaps she had said misspoken somehow, but Mithluin finally persuaded her that she had not, that it was largely the bustle of the city streets and the cold that caused her to wish for her room once more.
Eruiel knew there was more to it than that, but fortunately she did not press for any explanation and was summoned to other duties as soon as they came into the entrance hall. Assuring her that she could find her rooms alone, Mithluin waited until the servant was out of sight, taking the time to gaze about her at the tapestries as she waited for some amount of warmth to reach into her fingers and toes.
Then, always working her way west through the maze of halls and rooms on the first floor of the palace, seldom hindered by servants or sentries, she found her way into the back garden that she had been able to see from the window of her room. The rain was falling still, but lightly, so within the folds of her heavy cloak, with the hood raised to cover her head, she barely noticed the moisture at all.
What had drawn her here, however, was not the lush verdant beauty but the sound of the surf upon the shore. She stopped at the garden's edge, hands upon the low stonework wall, gazing down at the sea for the first time in her life. The water was the color of the sky today, not the deep blue Gil-galad had long ago described to her. Tumultuous waves clawed at the sand, churning white as they broke and resisted being pulled back into the main body. Calling to her, bidding her come. And somewhere, far beyond the horizon, Valinor. Tawen had told the tales, but they were never more real or personal than when Gil-galad had told them to her. Had his father truly been there? Was it really possible to go back? Would she want to, if it meant leaving behind what she knew and loved?
She shivered and lowered the hood of the cloak now, better to listen to the sea-voices.
She sensed no one nearby, and a quick visual scan of the windows she could see revealed no one. The wall was not so tall, and the slope upon which the palace stood not so steep as to make climbing down it dangerous. Eruiel's admonitions had been about traveling in the city alone. She had not spoken a word regarding the beachside.and the pull of the sea was such that Mithluin saw no harm in going there.
Unclasping her cloak, as its heavy folds would make the descent more awkward than necessary, she allowed it to fall where she stood. With a swift easy movement, she was over the wall. The damp earth was slippery from rain however; she slid and fell, but as it was only a short distance she was unharmed. The feel of the sand beneath her bare feet, a novel sensation, made her forget about the dirt now upon her gray gown.
And still the sea called.
She moved closer, the spray of salt water intermingling with the misty rain so that her dress now clung to her skin. Only when the first wave grasped at her feet, the iciness of the water sending shivers up her spine, did she stop. Staring across the water in awe, she could not even will her mind to think. It was so much simpler to simply allow herself to feel, as though the rain and sea were purgatives meant to empty her heart and soul of poison. She wrapped her arms about herself tightly and wept, watching the sun's light fade slowly from the sky.
Her gifts, as Tawen had always taught her, were those of healing and empathy. The pains of others, whether physical or emotional, rarely went unnoticed. Nor did the joys. Standing beside him last night, she had felt what Gil-galad felt. He had not known this, of course, for she had been trained to keep such knowledge from her face. 'Never allow others to know that you know,' Tawen had said. 'Give, and when the time is come, let them go.'
With patients and strangers it was easy enough to do. With Gil-galad, she made mental notes of everything. She could keep the knowing from him, if she chose, but she could not let him go. Not with ease, anyhow. There was a connection, an attraction that spoke to both of them. She had been careful to hide her feelings from him for fear of the rejection he had cast upon her once before, but she had sensed that something was different for him now. Perhaps the decades apart had lessened his fears. Perhaps she had matured enough that he no longer viewed her as a child.as a daughter.
And perhaps, she admitted grimly, squeezing her eyes shut against further tears, he had come to the realization that this great war he fought would be the death of him, maybe even the death of them all. Such a realization would be enough to give any elf pause, give him cause to think of the things in his life that he had not done, things that he longed for and had not yet achieved.
He wanted her. She did not doubt it. But thus far he held her at arms length. For how much longer, if departure for Mordor was forthcoming? Would he hold to his honor, and some notion of hers? Did she dare keep up the pretense of apathy when soon he might be gone from her life forever?
"Guide me," she whispered into the evening air. There was no measure to the minutes she stood there, waiting, wanting some reply, some ancient truth to come to her that would end the doubt and confusion. A rush of wind swept around her at last, curling up from the sand and snaking about her cold, wet body. She closed her eyes, listened to the sound of it, the sound of the sea-voices, the cry of a gull in the distance.
The suddenness of the thought was an omen, an answer, and with abrupt joyous abandon, she flung her arms out as though to embrace the sea itself, spun in dancing circles, and laughed with delight.
She knew what she must do. And she would do it.
Tonight.
Having spent much longer in Council than he had expected or planned, Gil-galad was in no mood to learn that Eruiel had accompanied Mithluin about the city, unguarded. That they had been unharmed he put up more to luck than anything else, even though there had been no violence in his city in quite some time. He could have admonished the servant for her disobedience but did not. From what he had learned of Mithluin in the short time she had been in his home, he understood that she would have gone out regardless of his wishes, and he supposed it was better that she had at least accepted Eruiel's companyHe would rather it have been his.
Nor was he pleased to discover that Mithluin had been alone since her return from the city center, and that no one was certain of her whereabouts. With each reply of "I don't know, heruamin," and "I've not seen her, heruamin" he felt the anger and fear growing. He had been unable to keep his word, unable to tend to her today as he should have done, and she had left. He had no doubt of it, even though Eruiel reported that the few belongings Mithluin had brought were still in the Blue Room. Gil-galad felt it likely that there was little of enough importance in that pack to keep her here, should she decide he had hurt her once too often.
Word that she had been seen entering the west garden was, therefore, most welcome. He waved off Melandur's call to dine and hastened past him, much to the steward's chagrin. Gil-galad suspected that Melandur, and perhaps others on the Council, were beginning to question his judgment, but he did not care. He had to find her. He had to know she was still here. Most importantly, he needed to know she was safe and not any angrier with him than she had been. But there was no one in the garden when he arrived, nothing except the leaves dripping with twilight rain. He wondered what he should do, whether he should go back indoors and relish last night's dinner as the only part of her he would ever have, or if he should continue to search for her, find her, beg her for forgiveness as he should have done many years ago.
And while she had, for the briefest moment, seemed eager last night to see him again, there had been nothing else in her demeanor that gave him any real hope. She may have loved him once, and might still feel gratitude and appreciation to him for the act of saving her life, but it was clear to him she no longer felt as she once had.
He had realized his own love too late.
If she felt anything stronger than gratitude, anything at all, she would not have fled him at the first opportunity.
He tilted his head as the scent of her drifted past. Yes, she had been here, not that long ago he mused, as the peppermint seemed too fresh. He followed the trail of it west through the garden, beginning to hope, as the scent grew stronger, that she was here still.
"Mithluin?" he called softly.
There was no answer.
Since he could not see her, he began to fear that she might be here somewhere, injured or worse, and so he quickened his step. Finally he saw the dark shape upon the ground, near the wall at the western edge of the garden, the flat puddle of brown velvet. Her cloak. Heart in his throat, all manner of fears tumbling through his mind, he picked it up gingerly, wondering why it was here and she was not. Though the exposed side was damp and cold, underneath still held warmth.
She had been here not long before!
Where was she now? Why was this here when she was not?
It wasn't until he stood up again, with the cloak held to his face to better inhale the smell of her, that he caught sight of the statue-like figure at the ocean's edge. Gray, motionless, with arms wrapped about her body, she stared out to sea.
He held his breath.
The sea was a powerful magnet for the elfkind. The pull of Valinor was strong, always seeking to lure them home. He had no doubt that she was feeling that very thing now. Watching her there, her lithe, compact body draped in wet folds of pale fabric, she appeared so lost, alone, and as fragile as she had appeared to him the day he had found her. Now, however, the fault lay with him, and he struggled with the pain in the core of his being.
Why? Why could he not simply tell her that he loved her beyond rational thought? Why could he not tell her she was beautiful, that he wanted her with him always, that he needed her in a way he had never imagined needing anyone in his life?
She shifted her weight a little, steadying herself upon the shifting sand as the surf carved its way around her feet. He watched her head tilt ever so slightly upward, as though she were looking at the sky or catching the rain in her mouth. Then she was motionless again.
He knew the answers to his own questions. He was afraid. Afraid to pull her into a world at war. Afraid to hurt her any more than he already had. Afraid of the Seer's words, words that he did not understand and fate he dared not tempt. But though he tried to tell himself that his fears were largely on her behalf, he knew that to be false. Mostly he was afraid for himself, afraid that she would only spurn him now with anger for having realized too late what he could have had if only he had taken what she had offered.
He was afraid of being hurt, for being denied by her would break him.
He would rather die at the feet of Morgoth than of a broken heart.
Satisfied that she at least had not yet left Mithlond, he thought to turn away then, to give her some measure of privacy in her communion with the Valar and nature. Suddenly she flung her arms out wide and spun around, laughing like a happy elfling. A smile tugged at his lips at the delighted awe of seeing her truly happy just once, but with a startled yelp she collapsed upon the sand.
"Mithluin!" he cried, sailing over the low wall and down the embankment easily. He reached her quickly, but not before she had already risen most of the way to her feet, laughing still as though finding the fall amusing. Judging from the surprised expression upon her face at seeing him, she had not heard his cry, but she accepted the hands that offered to steady her.
"Are you injured?"
"No. Merely clumsy. In my exuberance, I have tripped over my own feet." She was still laughing softly as she attempted to straighten her dress.
With one shaky hand, he reached for her face and pushed back stray strands of dark hair that clung to her cheeks and forehead. His fingers brushed delicately across her skin and then over the tip of her ear as he tucked the hair there. Her eyes were wide, their blue dark and smoldering as she searched his face. He did not notice it at first, his attention being focused solely upon his actions and the feel of her skin, but he became aware of her trembling when his fingers moved behind her ear and slowly down her neck to her shoulder. He blinked and refocused upon her face, noting then the look in her eyes.
The fear clamped around his throat and refused to release him. He backed away just enough to remove any previous intimacy, without jeopardizing her balance, and gave a slight cough.
"You are cold. Come, let me take you inside."
He thought she might fight him but she did not. They walked south upon the shoreline, she beside him but having pulled free of his touch. Neither spoke for some minutes. The joy she had so recently exuded had dwindled away now, leaving only a slump to her shoulders that he might have called defeat if it had been upon a warrior. On her, he did not know what to call it, but it made him feel sad.
Hoping to rekindle her brief moment of joy, he asked, "Might I inquire as to.what made you laugh?"
"Is laughing forbidden."
"No. Of course not. But in all the years we have.the last time I witnessed such merriment from you, you were still an elfling."
"I have had little to laugh about."
Thinking that the end to the discussion, berating himself for once more spoiling everything for her, even something as simple as a moment of solitary joy, he gestured to a set of wooden steps that lead up the embankment back towards the palace. The steps stopped upon a short balcony, but there was only a wall there.
Mithluin stopped and looked back at the sea. This moody interlude was but a setback. It did not change what she knew must be done.
Hearing him speak softly and place his hand upon the wall, she waited until the movement of heavy stone against stone had stopped before turning back to him. A dark passage waited where there had only just been wall. She wondered if anyone other than Gil-galad knew of this passage.and why he had shared the knowledge with her.
"I was.I had the answer to a dilemma given me when I thought there was no answer. The simplicity of it amused me, that is all."
Gil-galad studied her face in the near darkness, wondering what that dilemma was and why an answer amused her, but he thought it best to say nothing more on the matter. He had said too many wrong things already, and done too many questionable things as well. Instead, he gestured for her to enter the passage, which she did, and he followed her, closing the passage behind them. They walked straight for a time, then he said, "Right." Soon it was "Left," and they came upon a staircase. They climbed for a distance that seemed to Mithluin much further than it had been from the shore to the garden, and when they stopped once more and Gil-galad moved past her and opened the panel, they stepped into the room he had greeted her in only the night before.
It was an odd realization that that moment seemed so far away to her now. It rather felt that she had always been here.
The notion that this place, his home, now felt like home to her too was a sobering one.
Perhaps this was all happening too quickly. Perhaps she should delay her plans another day or two.
But not knowing how long she might have, with war snapping at their heels, it seemed folly to wait. The chance might never come again.
It had to be tonight.
Again she followed him into the corridor and up the stairs, back to the Blue Room though she could have found her way there without his guidance. He opened the door for her and then stoked the hearth fire until it blazed hot while she stood silently watching him.
"Shall I request a hot bath and dinner be sent."
"I do not." She changed her mind about denying him. Give in, the voice in her head bid. Capitulate, allow him to assuage his guilt if he must. It will be for the best. "Yes.both would be.welcome."
He looked pleased to be able to serve her; he nodded his head and bowed fractionally. "I shall see that it is done."
"Will you not." She paused. She wanted to dine with him, continue last night's dialog, but it seemed he was weary and troubled and none too eager for company.
Gil-galad found himself taking an eager step forward. "Yes?"
Lowering her gaze, she sighed. "Shall we share breakfast together, at least?"
He tilted her chin up so that he could look into her eyes. The earlier firestorm in them had passed back into neutrality. What she was asking was nothing more than a courtesy. He hoped the disappointment did not appear on his face.
"We shall. I promise. My presence is not required in Council tomorrow and I have been lax in my duties as your host."
"Till morning then," she said, shivering again as the warmth of his touch cooled when his fingers left her face. She watched him leave the room silently. Dawn might be a long way off. But by the time she bathed and ate, morning itself would not be so far away.
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