When Alliances Fell - Leader_In

Chapter 1 Chapter Text

Elizabeth reclined in her plush throne, a rather large wooden affair with accents of silver. To her, the chair seemed luxurious although it paled in comparison to the one on her left where the king sat. King Tirgon of Gondor sat on a magnificent throne of red velvet and gold embroidery, gazing down on his audience. When Elizabeth first arrived in Minas Tirith, his throne had been stone and raised so high up, he could only speak with others by shouting. It had been Elizabeth who suggested that he lower his throne a bit so that his advisors and guards could whisper to him and that by having a grander throne commissioned, he could retain his sense of authority. Such suggestion had been a large step into gaining her spot on the King’s right.

Although Elizabeth usually thrived on the fascinating conflicts and avid debates of Gondor’s court, today she found herself utterly bored and doing her absolute best to feign interest on the exact price that rose perfume should be sold at. Looking to the King, she could tell that he was bored as well. Although to most, King Tirgon held a hard exterior, Elizabeth knew him to be a wise though stubborn man. He had a good heart, but like all people she had met so far in Middle Earth, he was set in the old ways of his kin.

As the balding merchant dressed in garishly bright robes continued with his diatribe against the other man whose dusty brown attire made him appear more akin to a roving bandit than a merchant, Elizabeth decided that if she heard any more of his endless prattling than her ears would begin to bleed. She leaned over and the King, seeing her intention to speak to him leaned in as well.

“My lord,” she whispered. “I say that we should allow the market to decide. If this other merchant is truly watering down his perfume and selling it at a lower currency, then people will certainly find it lacking in quality and will be more than willing to spend more on the other merchant’s more potent perfume. If people wish to purchase cheap, watered down perfume however, who are we to argue?”

The King nodded along as she spoke and granted her a small and grateful smile before clearing his throat and lifting his hand to indicate that he was ready to speak. Both merchants, who at that point were trying to speak over each other, shut their mouths and waited to hear their King’s words.

“Sirs,” he began in a stern yet warm voice properly befitting a king. “It seems that there is a simple solution to your quarrel. I hereby grant both of you the right to sell your perfumes at whatever price you see fit.” He paused and looked pointedly at the scruffier looking merchant. “Be warned however that the people of Minas Tirith are no fools and if they find one product of a lesser quality, they may be less inclined to purchase it no matter the price.” He then fixed his eyes on the slightly smug looking merchant who had brought about this entire affair. “And be warned that price does not always beget quality.”

Both men gave their thanks and bowed low to the King before being dismissed with a light wave of his hand. As the men were walking out, a servant stepped forth and brought a tray of pastries for the King, his advisor Elizabeth, and Captain Adrinal of the guard to select from. The King and Elizabeth both made their selection from the tray and as the King brought the delicate pear tart to his lips, a small whimper sounded. Elizabeth turned her head and feigned an interest in a small corner of her gown that had somehow acquired a tear so that she could avoid the scene before her.

The King glared down at the figure chained to the left of his throne. It was an elf of Silvan origin with pale blond hair and eyes the color of spring leaves. A thin collar of mithril wrapped around his throat as he sat on his knees, gazing up at the King, searching for mercy. He was one of the King’s personal slaves, one of the kin of Orophin, one of the eleven kings who turned his back on mankind and agreed to a truce with Sauron several generations ago. That truce between elves and Sauron sealed the fates on thousands of men who died in a long and bloody war. King Tirgon still blamed the elves for the death of his great great great grandfather who fell at the base of Mount Doom at the hands of Sauron himself.

This elf, related to Orophin in some way was once a prince. Now he was the King’s slave having been passed down from Tirgon’s great grandfather who had long ago broken most of the elf’s spirit. Said elf was on his eighth day without food as punishment for breaking a rather expensive piece of pottery in a manner that seemed suspiciously purposeful. Elven spirits were rarely broken in their fulfillment ever since men learned to forge collars that prevented their Feas from escaping. However, enough years in captivity usually broke them to a point of obedience.

Elizabeth’s gaze was forced back to the scene as the King pointedly ignored the hungry creature and continued to eat his pastry. When the elf opened his mouth, the King backhanded him before he could speak. No one in the Throne room even blinked and Elizabeth, like usual, did her best to act as uninterested as everyone else. Hatred for the elves ran deep and the betrayal of their kin still stung sharply in the hearts of mankind on Middle Earth. Elves were no longer the untouchable creatures of power that Elizabeth once read of in Tolkien’s works. In this version of Middle Earth, they were slaves and criminal rebels to be hunted down.

“Perhaps your hunger will teach you to not break my things in petty tantrums,” the King growled. The elf, who at his full height would likely be nearly eye to eye with the King, lowered himself further until his head touched the floor as he trembled slightly.

Elizabeth once again turned her gaze elsewhere and tuned out the scene before her. When she had first arrived in Middle Earth, lost and afraid, she found help in the kind people of Minas Tirith. A lovely family allowed her to stay in their inn and in return she helped with some of the chores. Eventually she found a job as a healer and enjoyed the challenge of pitting her knowledge of modern medicine against archaic resources. She thrived in the challenge and fell in love with the simple lifestyles of the people around her.

The first time she saw an elven slave however, she was horrified. Being no stranger to history, a part of Elizabeth knew that slavery was a likely possibility in a population as archaic as that of Middle Earth, however she had never imagined it like this. The elves were treated worse than slaves, worse than animals, they were the utter epitome of what all mankind hated. They were traitors, and many considered them to be merely orcs of fairer visage for years ago, when according to Tolkien's books, the Last Alliance of Elves and Men occurred, something went terribly wrong. The elves agreed to fight alongside the men, however at the las moment they lost their nerve. The High King Gil-galad thought defeat to be inevitable and so signed a truce with Sauron that the elves would not raise hand against him if only they were granted their lands after his victory. Just like that, the elves signed away all of Middle Earth, all the lands and peoples of all races so that that main elven kingdoms could remain.

Although mankind eventually won the war, such treachery is no so easily forgotten; and, without the aide of the elves the war was long and bloody. Many kings of man fell during that war, and it was the ancestor of King Tirgon who finally cut the Ring of Power from Sauron's hand. The young soldier named Tirgenon became the new King of Gondor and his people re-built the great kingdom from the ground up. Once the kingdoms of man recovered however, the elves came back out of the shadows.

Gil-galad himself went to Minas Tirith to greet the knew King and offer the city gifts to "honor their victory." King Tirgenon, whose father fell in the long and drawn out war, was outraged by this visit. The elves who turned their backs on mankind, who forged a truce with a being of pure evil who they were largely responsible for, now chose to act as if it had never occurred. On the spot, King Tirgenon ordered for the execution of Gil-galad and the enslavement of the elves who accompanied him. From then on, elves were hunted.

The entire race of man sought revenge for it seemed that there was not a family left that had not lost someone in the war. Elves became a popular commodity on the slave trade and Minas Tirith was the heart of said business.

Elizabeth was torn. She came from the modern world, where slavery is considered archaic, brutal, and in every way wrong. She still feels that way, but she know she can also do nothing about it. Mankind suffered much at the hands of the elves, and they relish in the fact that the immortality of elves gives them the chance to punish the very individuals who failed to come to their aide even after the course of several generations.

When Elizabeth became the Head Advisor to the King, a large part of her wanted to change things, to outlaw slavery and restore some sort of peace between elves and man. But the damage, the damage done to both was too great. She had yet to find a single human in all of Middle Earth who still held sympathy for the elves, and to protest outright would result in her banishment and a waste of all the good things she could do for these people.

And so, Elizabeth bit her tongue. She ignored the whimper of the cowering Silvan elf chained to her King's throne, she ignored the way several noblemen's elven slaves would limp after a brutal beating or be sent to the hard labor camps once they had been broken into a mindless toy. Instead she focused her attention on spreading education to all the children of Gondor, crafting aqueducts similar to those she studied of Ancient Rome so that farmlands could be watered and thousands would never starve again, and she developed and taught medical techniques that she based off of her modern medical skills.

Elizabeth's mind was drawn back to the Throne room as another set of men entered. Thus, the day continued. More and more men and women alike entered the Throne room and requested audience with the King so that their voices could be heard, or their grievances settled. Elizabeth, as her role warranted offered advice freely to the King who would often, though not always, agree. In many of the moments where there was a disagreement, the two would hold their heads close together and discuss, weighing the positives and the negatives against each other until they came to a conclusion that was more often than not a compromise of both positions. The day however, was coming to an end and soon the Throne room was emptied of visitors. Just before the large, oaken doors could close however, a soldier came sprinting in.

"My King," he gasped, dropping to one knee. He was a young man, barely past seventeen winters and obviously of lower ranks. His armor was a light leather and his overall lean appearance made it obvious that he largely served as a scout and messenger. He heaved for breath between syllables and was practically dripping with sweat from what was no doubt a long run.

"Rise and speak young scout," King Tirgon spoke with what appeared to be a scolding tone for the unruly entrance of the young soldier, but his slight smile betrayed the soft fondness that he held for this young son of Gondor.

"My King, my unit, the Northern Patrols found a small party of elves traveling under the cover of night. We launched an attack utilizing the new protocol to minimize casualties when obtaining elves and three elves escaped. We launched a chase and they disappeared into the night, but one elf remained behind for we had him pinned by archers. We took him my Liege, and Captain Gerlandin believes him to be their leader. We lost no men and a party bearing the prisoner marches to the castle as we speak and should be arriving any minute now My King." The scout finished his report in almost a single breath and both Elizabeth andCaptain Adrinal blinked slightly as they attempted to process his hurried words.

The King however, smiled in glee. It had been many months since an elf of any apparent importance was apprehended by his soldier as he had established a protocol crafted with the help of his Advisor and Captain to minimize casualties when dealing with elves. They were dangerous and immortal so it made no sense to waste lives haphazardly catching them. Mankind can take its time, all elves will be captured eventually.

"This is brilliant news, well done," the King beamed. "Call upon the rest of my Court to convene here at once," he ordered to the nearest servant who bowed quickly before running off.

Soon, the entire Throne room was filled with all the Lords and Ladies of importance who dwelled within Minas Tirith. There was a light chatter of curiosity as all were eager to see the latest prisoner who the esteemed Captain Gerlandin believed to be of importance.

Then, a knock sounded on the solid doors and a hush fell over the room.

"Enter," the King ordered.

The doors opened and a score of soldiers led by Captain Gerlandin walked forth in tight formation around a lone figure. The captain bowed low to the King and announced loudly so that the whole room could hear.

"I bring forth an elven prisoner, a traitor and a being underserving of life who my King yet grants the privilege of breath so that my esteemed King may judge him as he sees fit," he spoke the lofty words of one presenting a newly caught elf.

Then, he stepped to the side and the soldiers on either side of the elf stepped back to reveal the figure in the center.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply, doing all that she could to maintain her composure.

It can't be,her mind raced. But yet, it was.

Chapter 2 Chapter Text

There, before her very eyes, in robes slashed with blood, torn, dirtied, and frayed, bound by both wrists and ankles, stood the elven lord whose face exactly matched that of and actor who she had watched over and over again. He looked exactly as he did in all the films, the same stern gaze, however it was marred with a slight wrinkle to his brow, wideness to his eyes. Elizabeth almost couldn't believe herself, but he was frightened.

The elf was forced to his knees and fell down with only a small token of resistance. On his forehead still sat his mithril circlet and his face perfectly matched the actor who Elizabeth knew of so very well. She swept her eyes around the room, gauging the reactions of the gathered nobles. Some held the look of curiosity while others held cunning in their eyes as they tried to determine what made this elf so important. One however, worried Elizabeth.

Lord Drendon was staring intently at the bound elf with what could only be considered hunger in his eyes. He was practically leering at the immortal creature and Elizabeth feared for the elven lord. Lord Drendon was well known by all members of the court for although he was extremely efficient with sums and a near genius when it came to determining trade agreements, he held a brutal streak. He had a habit of spending all his extra funds on elven slaves who he freely took his pleasure in, beating them into submission, and torturing them until they became naught but hallow shells. Then, he would simply discard them and find another. Now, he was looking at an elf who Elizabeth, in her heart, truly admired.

The King of course was watching his court with rapt attention. He quickly noticed the hungry stare of Lord Drendon and noted that in his mind should the desire for gifting the elf away come. He also noticed how Lady Elizabeth's eyes lingered on the elf. She was largely considered to be Gondor's foremost scholar on the history of Middle Earth up until the Great War Against Sauron. She also seemed to posses a large quantity of otherwise unknown information about elves. The King locked eyes with Elizabeth and nodded his chin to urge her forward so that she could examine the newly caught elf.

With the King's permission, Elizabeth stood and walked down the few steps to examine the elf. Even kneeling, he seemed tall as he kept his back ramrod straight and proud. Elizabeth's mind was torn. The elf's face nearly broke her heart as it was far too familiar. He was obviously weary and bore a wound in his side from a arrow. His chest heaved silently as he fought for breath and the thin set of his mouth and wideness of his eyes betrayed his fear. Elizabeth felt that she was gazing at an old friend as she recalled how kind, how just, and how noble he always was. Then again, she knew that all those good deeds were yet to be done, that the King was always just in all matters aside from elves and that she owed her allegiance to him.

She slowly walked circles around the elf as if inspecting him, trying to stall for time. He bore no binding collar and still lived, so it was obvious that he remained undefiled. How long that lasted though, would be difficult to say although Elizabeth knew that unless she did something, it would not be long.

Then, she had a plan.

With one last deep breath Elizabeth began to speak, still walking slow circles around the bound elf. Her dress trailed behind her on the marble floors and the whisper of motion was the only sound beside her voice that echoed in the Throne room.

"He had ears of a softer point than most elves... he is half-man," she said as she ghosted her fingers across the gently pointed cress of his ear. The elf below her inhaled sharply at the touch, but did not speak. She continued with tangling her fingers in his hair saying, "his hair is as dark as and empty night and his eyes are the grey of storm clouds, a Noldor elf no doubt." She continued to circle him and grasped one of his bound hands, pulling it towards herself and forcefully uncurling a fist. She gently caressed his palm. "His hands bear the calluses of a swordsman and yet," she took a half step forward and inhaled deeply near his neck, causing the elf to close his eyes and shudder slightly. He knew what humans did to captured elves. "He smells of kingsfoil, chamomile, and willow. He is a healer."

By now the entire court was entrapped by her show, by her slow steps and pointed motions, by her utter and complete dominance over the bound figure who was far to wise to strike against a Lady whilst bound and surrounded by a score of soldiers. Then, with a flourish, Elizabeth stepped back and gestured to the bound elf in a voice of complete confidence.

"A half elf of Noldor decent bearing a circlet of mithril, a warrior and a healer. I present to you King Tirgon, Lord Elrond Perehdel, Herald to the long dead High King Gil-galad."

A hush fell over the court as the Head Advisor's words sunk in. An elf, and elf lord who was likely there the very day the Dark Truce was signed. An elf who could be held directly responsible for the betray of mankind.A sweeping murmur arose from the Throne room as everyone immediately began to discuss this new revelation. The elf, Lord Elrond, for his part did not visually react to being identified. However, it could only be assumed that he was as surprised as everyone else.

Silence fell once more as King Tirgon stepped down from his throne waltzed across the floor until he came before the fallen Lord. He reached out a hand and grasped the elf's chin with an iron grip, yanking its face until he could gaze into those ancient eyes. The Throne room held its breath as the King inspected his prize. On Tirgon's hand sat the Ring of Power which once belonged to the elven king who his ancestor slayed, and on his head was a crown forged with shards of a broken circlet. A slow smile spread across his face before he carelessly slapped the elf, who righted himself without a sound.The King turned his back to the chained elf and walked back to his throne, leaning back into the picture of ease before exhaling a sigh, leaning into the palm of his hand.

"So, LordElrond," he spoke the word "lord" with utter contempt and no small amount of sarcasm. "Have you nought to say in your defense, proponent of Sauron?"The peredhel paused for a moment before speaking in a voice that sounded as noble ancient as the elf was known by Elizabeth to be.

"I do not defend myself as I wish not to waste breath," he paused, his eyes drawn towards the cowering form of Aragar, a nephew of Oropher who he had last seen as an elfling when visiting Greenwood the Great- he doubted said elf could even remember his visit. "However I must ask how long this violent war against my kin shall continue for? We did not raise hand against mankind until your ancestor slayed our King in this very room. It is true that elvenkind chose not to engage in the War Against Sauron, but so did the hobbits and many men shirk from battle and yet you hunt not them." He ended his speech, his chin drawn slightly downward as he exhaled slowly. To most he would appear slightly obstinate, how Elizabeth could see his truth- he had laid down his last cards.

"Your words amuse me, elf," the King barked a laugh. "The hobbits have always been cowards at heart and many men who initially fled later joined us in battle- they could not bare to face Sauron whilst the elves signed a truce with the being they helped rise to power. Fear not elf, for though the lives of men may be short our memories last. We have not forgotten the race who forged the Rings." If possible, the hostility of the room grew as all all present recalled that it was indeed the elves who aided Sauron in first crafting his darkness. "As for what we shall do with you," his grin returned as he leaned forward, sweeping his eyes up and down the elf's form. "Well to send you to the labour camps would be a waste. I think I shall keep you in the White Tower." As he spoke those words, Tirgon twisted his fingers into the hair of the elven slave shaking at his side, a clear message of menace.

All eyes in the Throne room were upon him as they waited for the King's will. There was no shortage of Noble who believed such a gift to be their right as the honor of obtaining and breaking and elven lord would surly be great. The King's eyes however, easily slid past the Lords and Ladies who had so hastily gathered that day and settled upon the one whose gaze slipped from him to the elf. He thought back to the way she had caressed his face, had inhaled his scent. Perhaps it was time for him to reward an ever faithful servant.

"My Lady Elizabeth," he spoke slowly as said maiden looked up to meet his gaze. She had moved aside when he walked forth to inspect the elf and had not moved since. "It has come to my attention that though you are among the highest in my household, you have yet to obtain an elf of your own. It is my will that this fallen lord be given to you to do with as you please." The elf in questioned twitched slightly as the Lady who had inspected him so thoroughly, who had revealed his identity and sealed his fate stepped towards the King, curtsying with a low bend to her head.

"I am honored by this gift My Lord," she rose from her curtsy and met his eyes with a slight smile on her lips. "I shall enjoy him well."

"Strip him of his possessions, collar him, and lock him in the elf quarters attached to Lady Elizabeth's chambers," King Tirgon ordered the soldiers who immediately dragged the elf away. It had become standard practice for any individual of a certain status or wealth to have elf quarters attached to their private chambers. Such quarters were always devoid of windows, warmth, and light with most also containing manacles to chain up unruly elves.

Elizabeth walked back to her own throne and watched the guards pull Elrond away. Said elf put up little resistance, only turning his head backward to gaze at the pitiful elf slave who watched him with unrecognizing eyes. Elizabeth could not help but be haunted by Elrond's silver eyes, his deep set gaze which spoke of so much history and anguish.

Once the elf was removed, King Tirgon listed to the rest of the report. Elizabeth interjected a question as to the appearance of the three elves who escaped and the honorable Captain gave a description of one broad shouldered and blond elf who fought well with a sword and two elves of dark hair who were identical to one another. According to his report, the three elves seemed to be quite capable fighters, but were apparently ordered to flee by the captured elf. If they had not run when they did, the superior numbers and positioning of the unit of men would have eventually wearied and captured the elves.

At the completion of the report, King Tirgon dismissed the court and turned to Elizabeth. He smiled to her with the gaze that one may hold for a daughter as he instructed her in handling her first elf.

"You must be certain keep him in the cell for several days, give him not food or drink. The lack of such shall make him easier to bend," he said in a rather calm manner. "He is an elf untouched and noble as well. He will be difficult to train and I would never have given such an elf to a first time owner save you."

"I am honored that you bestow this gift upon me," Elizabeth's voice quivered ever so slightly and she hoped that if the King noticed he would interpret it as nervousness at her inexperience. "I shall not fail in my task."

Tirgon nodded and stood, bidding his farewells to those present he left the Throne room in a rather cheerful mood. Elizabeth, for her part, held her composure well. Once the King exited she followed shortly, quick steps taking her down several corridors until she reached her own private chambers. The King had been generous when appointing her quarters and she practically had a wing to herself complete with a bedroom, an office, a private parlor, and her very own elf quarters. Unlike the rest of the rooms, the latter held no trace of luxury and was merely a miniature stone dungeon complete with iron chains and no lighting to speak of. She had actually never been in the room before and had always kept it empty for she found it too distasteful to even form a storage closet.

Now, as she walked into her parlor she could not help but find her eyes drawn towards the heavy door behind which she knew the elf- Elrond- laid in chains. Where she knew he sat alone and isolated from the start that was his father, where no light and no sound could break his lonliness. The walls of his cell, like all the walls of her chambers, were spelled with ancient magic to prevent sound from spreading and thus presented the sensitive ears of elvenkind from eavesdropping in.

Part of Elizabeth desperately wished to open the door. However, a greater part of her knew such to be a fool's plan. What would she say to him? Would she offer her hand in friendship? Her loyalty most certainly lied with the King and she could not quite bring herself to betray him when she had seen the goodness of his heart and the fairness of every other decision he made. At the same time, could she trust this Elrond? The things she knew of in the books and movies she loved, the character who she admired, this was not he.

There was also the matter of appearance. If she seemed too kind, too sympathetic to the elf then she would be considered a threat. Sympathizing with elves was seen as far too close to sympathizing with Sauron to Gondor and Elizabeth knew that not even her position made her immune to such claims. Also, if she were to remove him from his cell so soon, she would be ignoring the words of King Turgon and would appear either a obstinate child, a fool, or both. She could not risk it.

And so, Elizabeth pulled a text on medicinal herbs from a bookshelf in her parlor, which she used often for her studies and in her free time, and sat at her desk with a piece of parchment and stick of charcoal. She worked diligently on making notes and writing up theories of the best method of creating a poultice for burn while trying desperately to ignore the black painted door to the left of her hand.

She would deal with the elven lord later.

Chapter 3 Chapter Text

Four days... It had been four days since she received the slave as a gift from her King and she had spent those four days staring at the door to the "elf quarters." She could only imagine the type of agony that Elrond was going through, to be captured, have his fea bound, locked away from the stars, and starved of both food and water. She knew elves to be a hardy lot, but even so, such conditions would strain the best.

A small, teeny tiny, cowardly part of Elizabeth was glad to leave him in his cell as it meant avoiding him. It meant that she could pretend that the elf was not there and that she could ignore the elves as she had done for the many years she had spent in Middle Earth. By turning away, by reminding herself that the world can't be perfect, that she couldn't judge a people who had yet to discovered electricity by modern standards of morality. She told herself that she would simply not engage... and yet now she had no choice.

A choice.. she would have a choice on what to do with the elf, with Elrond. Yet, at the same time she did not have choice. If she was too kind, too generous, or too gentle with Elrond, then it would surly arise suspicion. Part of her wanted to keep him locked in his cell as then no one would know what she did to him, but such in itself would cause suspicion. He is a high ranked elf among his kin and as such, any other human to poses him would want to show him off, would display their mastery over this powerful lord for all to see. If Elizabeth did not, people would surly wonder why. Therefore, she would have to bring him into the public eye, would have to allow people to see him. Then though, she would be forced to be cruel. She would need for all to see her mastery over him, to watch her strike him when he spoke out of turn and force him to bow and scrape to her. If she did not do this, then whispers would surly spread through the court, whispers that she could not control an elven slave, that she is weak and unfit to stand by the King's side.

Elizabeth brought her hands to her face and groaned in a most unladylike manner. In moments like these, when alone in her own chambers she often found herself dropping the closely guarded visage of a court Lady of Gondor. Now, her head ached. She was completely torn on what to do and she knew that it would not be long before she would be forced to make her decision.

Just as she pondered on the thought, a loud knock sounded on the parlor door.

"Enter," she called out, quickly straightening her back and smoothing her dress.

"My dear Elizabeth," King Tirgon entered the room and Elizabeth immediately stood to curtsy before being waved at to sit by Tirgon. "How fare you this day?"

"I am well my Leigh," she smiled lightly, rearranging her paperwork. "What brings you to my office?"

"Would you care for lunch?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes. "I have taken the liberty of asking the servants to bring enough for two to your parlor."

"Of course," she replied. "I would be delighted."

No sooner than she spoke, the servants arrived bearing several trays laden with food that seemed to better befit a banquet. They quickly set the trays down on the table that they carried in served the King and Advisor who sat at the small table in Elizabeth's parlor that was better suited in size for tea than such fare. Nevertheless, the King was delighted by the affair.

Elizabeth's parlor was a bit different from that of most court nobles. While most simply used their parlors as a sitting room to receive guests, Elizabeth thought of such as a waste of space. Instead hers functioned more as a library and office with bookshelves lining all the walls with space only for windows, doors, and a fireplace. For furnishings she had a large desk where she did the majority of her work, a small table with three plush chairs for taking tea, a large wardrobe for the storing of medicinal herbs, and a couch beside a long mid level table where she could perform her experiments and procedures in the case of an emergency. Her parlor was equal parts receiving room and workspace as she only truly used her office for the handling of sensitive information.

King Tirgon's eyes swept across the entire room as they ate the hearty lunch fare until his eyes landed on the blackened door. He tilted his head in curiosity before locking gazes with Elizabeth.

"Have you allowed him out yet," he asked.

"I haven't had the time," Elizabeth replied. "I was however, considering doing so today. Being only half-elven, he likely requires more substance than the average elf and it would be a shame to kill him before I have a chance to... play."

"Of course," Tirgon replied. He swept his eyes across the room once more and a thoughtful expression came into his gaze. "Perhaps I can have the smith install a fastening for his chains to the outside of his door. Then, you can have him tethered directly in your line of sight and out of the way."

"That would be wonderful," Elizabeth's mind began to race. It seemed that Tirgon might have stumbled into a solution to at least part of her problems. He quickly strode across the room, opened the door, and ordered a servant to fetch the smith at once. Then he turned to Elizabeth once more and offered his arm.

"Would you care to join me in the garden my Lady, whilst the smith works in your parlor?"

"But of course," she replied, taking his arm.

Together they walked down the corridor to the palace gardens and spent nearly an hour winding up and down the paths. They spoke of many things, of history and poetry, of the recent harvest and how to best distribute excess grain to the villages that were less than fortunate, and even how to ensure that the families of guards who were killed in their duties were taken care of. All this they spoke of for great length until it came time for the King to attend his appointment with a diplomat from Rohan and for Elizabeth to greet her slave for the first time.

King Tirgon escorted Elizabeth back to her chambers and wished her luck with her new slave. She, for her part, put on her most charming smile and assured him that she would enjoy the challenge of a lord. Once he was gone however, she locked the door and slid the key into a hidden place in her desk drawer. She would have no interruptions.

With measured steps she approached the foreboding black door, hesitating only slightly before drawing forth the black, iron key which she slid into the lock. She then picked up and lit a small oil lamp sitting on her desk before opening the door and stepping inside.

It's freezing, she thought as she realized that without the light of sunshine or a blazing hearth, the tiny stone chamber was as cold as the drafty halls in midwinter. She held the little oil lamp in front of her and gazed at the figure huddled in the corner. He was naked, chains wrapping around ankles, wrists, and neck his only garments. The chain around his neck however was the cruelest. It was a collar forged of iron, salt, and magic meant to keep his fea bound within his body. Mankind had learned in years past that the elves, under torture too great- too intimate, had the power to release their souls from their bodies. With the collars however, they could do no such thing and were thus forced to endure any torment brought upon them.

The elf, Lord Elrond, Elizabeth reminded herself for he hardly looked to be a lord, cowering in the corner, had not moved since she entered. As she approached however, he turned and brought his gaze upwards. He was not looking at Elizabeth though, no, he was looking at the light she carried. He was gazing at it with awe and desperation.

Elves crave light, Elizabeth reminded herself. For several moments, Elizabeth allowed him to take in the sight of the small glow emerging from the oil lamp, allowing time for his eyes to adjust. Then, she worked up the courage and spoke with as much severity as she could muster.

"Stand," her order rand loud and clear in the tiny, cramped space. The elf seemed not to hear her as he remained with his grey eyes fixed upon the lamplight. Elizabeth steeled herself as she knew that this moment was her first impression as a master, if she did not establish authority and expectation now, then it would be a far bloodier process later. "I said Stand, Elrond. Do not make me repeat myself again."

Her biting words seemed to wake Elrond from his trance and his eyes, now piercing, landed on Elizabeth. They remained frozen for several seconds, each appraising each other and judging the others' strength. Finally, Elrond moved. In slow and steady motions, he uncurled his body until he stood at his full height, back as straight as possible within the confinements of the chains. If he noticed his bare body he did not seem to care. In that moment: filthy, chained, starved, and wounded, he appeared every bit a noble and ethereal as the legends told of. This was an ancient being, a creature who had watched empires rise and fall, generations of kings flying past him like leaves dying at autumn's end.

When Elizabeth stepped forward to unlock his chains however, he seemed suddenly aware of his nakedness, shirking back with fear clouding those storm grey eyes. One of his pale hands reached upwards to feel along the length of his collar, no doubt understanding the reason for it. There was only one act known to be so terrible to elves that none survived unbound; otherwise, there was no real reason to bind an elf in such a way.

Elizabeth merely ignored his flinch and instead grasped at his chains, unlocking him from the wall and tugging on the lead attached to his collar, pulling him from the tiny cell. She then unlocked the binds connecting his wrist and ankle manacles so that he could move his limbs once more. Before he could move however, she withdrew a dagger from her belt and held it to his throat. The silver steal glinted in the dim light and she pressed it so firmly, a mere flick of her wrist was all it would take to slit his throat.

"Before you even think about killing me," she whispered, voice a hiss as smooth as silk. "Know that should I be found dead by your hands, King Tirgon will inflict pain upon you in ways you can only imagine, he will pass you around the barracks until you bleed from every orifice and beg for death. Then, he will find every Noldor elf in all of Gondor and torture each and every one of them to death before you as he knows that some will be your subjects, some your kin. Then, know surly that he will force you to live, to spend the rest of eternity knowing only pain and torment. Know that I do not make idle threats. Do you understand this?"

Elrond froze, inhaling sharply and searching her gaze for truth. When he saw the fire in her eyes and the severe set of her brow, he knew her words to be true. He bowed his head in defeat, nodding silently to show his understanding.

"I expect you to respond with words," she growled.

"Yes, I understand..." he hesitated, not knowing how to address this girl who now held dominion over his life.

"My Lady," she filled in after a moment of hesitation herself. Truly, she had not thought this far ahead and she knew that hearing the once so noble elf lord call her "mistress" would make her sick. "You shall address me properly as your Lady."

"Of course, My Lady," his voice, though crackling with dryness and disuse still held a musical lit to it.

Wordlessly, Elizabeth slid back and fetched a cup of water from the pitcher on her desk, holding it out for the elf to take. He accepted the offering and hesitated for but a moment, wondering if the water was drugged. He quickly dismissed the worry as he determined that the Advisor would do what she wished to him, whether or not he was drugged. His thirst won out and Elrond drank greedily, throat parched from the days without water. When he had drunk his fill three times over and thanked Elizabeth with genuine gratitude in his eyes, she moved the cup away and lead him by his collar's chain to her bedroom. He paused slightly in the doorway upon seeing where he was being led, that fear returning to his eyes. Yet, Elizabeth merely gave a sharp tug and stern glare in his direction. He was weary, injured, and hungry; it did not take long for him to lower his head and follow.

Elizabeth pretended not to notice Elrond's hesitation and tugged him directly to the side of her chambers set up for bathing. A warm bath filled with fragrant herbs she selected to ease aches and prevent infection of the arrow wound which had yet to fully heal was already prepared. She ordered him into the tub and he obligingly obeyed, slipping into the warm water and taking the provided cloth to scrub himself thoroughly. The days in the cell had taken their tole on him for he ached greatly and felt defiled by the darkness. Elizabeth watched all this with an apparent dispassionate expression on her face, however internally her mind was whirling.

She gave orders and he obeyed, few words save those absolutely necessary for communication passed between them. She was the confidant and sure master, he was the meek and obedient slave; they were both playing roles. Elizabeth was certain that the former lord would not break so easily after a few days without light, however she suspected that he was merely biding his time, watching and waiting in an attempt to find a window for escape. Elizabeth could not allow that to happen. She could not allow for him to be confidant enough that he would dare to disobey her in public as she knew that she would be forced to punish him in a way that the court sees fit. She did not think she could bare to do so. No, she would have to nip his rebellious nature in the bud no matter how much it pained her.

As Elizabeth withdrew from her thoughts, her gaze became more critical as she watched the elf wash his body, sliding the cloth ever so gently across the areas of skin which remained tender from the metal cuffs and cold stone. He was unable to wash underneath the manacles which remained attached to his limbs, but he carefully slid water beneath each cuff to wash away the dirt. Elizabeth's eyes were those of a healer, she watched the spots he was careful to avoid touching and examined the still open arrow wound on his side. It appeared that the palace healers had stitched the wound, but the area was flushed a bit too red and remained more swollen than she would like.

Of course, whilst Elizabeth only watched to discern the status of her patient, Elrond felt something else entirely. Vulnerable and bare with only the slightly sudsy water of the bath to cover him, the former lord saw the human Advisor's eyes as hungry. He did his upmost to ignore the gaze, to ignore the way she stared openly at him like a bird of prey finding a mouse already caught in a snare. He closed his eyes briefly to steel his nerves, to control his breath and stop himself from trembling. He was no fool. He could feel the oppressive weight of the collar bound around his throat, he knew that there would be no mercy at the hands of mankind. He could only pray to Eru, who may have abandoned his firstborn children long ago, that if he played the part of a meek slave well enough, then perhaps the novelty of dominating an elven lord would disappear; perhaps he would be spared from this one torture. Anything else he could endure, but not this.

It soon however, became apparent to Elizabeth that her elven slave was stalling. He was rewashing every part of his body in some futile attempt to delay what would come next. She merely walked over to the chest, which had not been there four days ago, and found it filled with everything a new slave owner could want. She quickly selected a simple tunic of deep purple and silver, her own colors, and bearing the tree of Gondor. It was a modest though bold piece as it showed that the elf wearing it was a possession of Elizabeth, Chief Advisor to the King of Gondor. This tunic would mark her property, it would show her possessive intent over her slave.

Elizabeth took both the tunic and a soft towel over to the tub, holding the latter our for Elrond who took the hint and slowly stood, grasping for the towel like it was a lifeline. Elizabeth allowed this and watched him wince slightly as he scraped the fabric too quickly over the still tender wound. At this she frowned, realizing that the wound may perhaps be worse off than she initially thought.

"Stop," she ordered, voice stern and warning. Elrond froze, mid motion with the towel still wrapped partially around his waist. His hair was still dripping scented bath water down is chest and he looked up, holding his breath. "You may wrap the towel around your hips, but follow me."

She turned without looking back and strode out of her bedroom followed by a rather confused slave. When they reached the parlor, Elizabeth ordered Elrond onto the rapidly cleared table and he hesitantly complied, watching with interest as she opened a beautiful armoire that was a rather well stocked herb storage. She walked over to his side and with firm though not cruel hands, examined the arrow wound. Upon finding that the bath water seemed to have cleaned though wet the stitches, she immediately moved back to the armoire and began pulling ingredients for a salve. Plucking leaves, grinding stems, and stirring together the paste allowed Elizabeth time to think, to contemplate her next actions. She looked to the eyelet attached to the exterior of the black door and knew what must be done.

Once Elrond's wound was dressed, Elizabeth ordered him to stand. She then walked around him in a circle, looking him up and down, pinching, pulling, and tugging on him as she pleased. In truth, she was checking for further injuries, for any signs of infection or fever; he however was not aware of this and grew more nervous by the moment.

Finally, Elizabeth worked up the courage and began to speak, still tracing errant hands possessively over his form.

"You will be chained in that corner," she indicated with her chin to the black door with the newly set iron ring. "From here on out you are no longer an elven lord, you are my slave. You are to decorate these chambers, obey my orders, and act in a manner that befits your new status. Failure to do so will result in whatever punishment I deem fit." Elizabeth paused, placing her hands on his shoulder, she pushed the rather tall elf to a kneeing position so that she could whisper into his ear. "And remember this, elf. You belong to me and only me." Elizabeth took a step back and looked at the elf, at Elrond. His chin remained high and his jaw clenched. He was angry, maybe he was also scared or mourning, but the one thing Elizabeth was certain of was that he was angry. "Do you understand?" she asked.

"Yes my Lady," he replied, eyes not quite meeting hers.

With that, Elizabeth threw the tunic she had selected earlier at him, clearly implying for him to put it on. She then grabbed him by the chain which still trailed from his collar and secured said chain to the metal eyelet of the door. She then picked up two new chains, both of thin but incredibly strong mithril, and attached his wrist cuffs to each other with about three feet in between and his ankle cuffs to each other with about four feet in between. The thin chains were not too cumbersome or restrictive, but would keep him from fighting or running.

Elizabeth stood up and walked back over to her desk drawing forth the key to her door and unlocking it before sitting down and preparing to return to her paperwork. She did however, take one last look at Elrond. There he sat on the floor, hair and brow still a bit damp and wearing that purple and silver tunic, marking him as undeniably hers. Around his neck was the wrought iron collar chaining him to the wall like some common dog, and around both wrists and ankle were cuffs attached by yet more chains. Although the point of his ears, the slant of his forehead, and the ethereal glow which exuded from him were the markings of a lord, he was undoubtably a slave.

At the last moment, in what would appear to any other to be an afterthought, Elizabeth tore off a large chunk of hearty bread which had been left behind by one of her maids who was always worried about Elizabeth working too hard and skipping meals. She threw the bread at Elrond like how one might feed a stray dog to appease it, not looking to see if he would accept it. He did.

And thus, the former Herald of High King Gil-galad sat on the floor, chained and wearing the colors of his enemy, eating a hunk of bread from the table of the house that killed his king. What upset him most perhaps... was that he was grateful for it.

Chapter 4 Notes:

This one get's a little dicey with the angst and a bit of torture. Elrond pushes just a bit too far and well...

Chapter Text

Elrond was ravenous. He had not consumed a single morsel of food in over a week as the soldiers who captured him refused to feed him. The bread, though of primitive human make was hearty and filled his stomach with warmth. He ate with caution however, as his eyes were constantly flicking towards to young maiden sitting at the desk before him. It seemed that her parlor was simultaneously a sitting room, office, and healing centre. She was a peculiar Edan.

The arrow wound that he took to his side was beginning to dull in its ache and he perceived that she must know something of healing as he recognized several of the herbs that she added to his poultice. Now his goal was merely to bide his time and wait for the correct opportunity to escape. He still feared what was to come with this strange human girl and knew not of what her plans for him may be. He could only prey that his sons and Glorfindel, who he had ordered to run at the time of his capture, were not foolhardy enough to come after him.

A firm knock at the door pulled Elrond from his thoughts.

"Enter," Elizabeth spoke firmly.

"My Lady," a man who Elrond recognized from the day in the King's court stepped into the room. It was the man who had eyed Elrond up and down like he was a particularly appealing piece of meat. The man sent a shudder down Elrond's spine which he viciously suppressed- he could not afford to show weakness.

"Lord Drendon," Elizabeth's looked up with a polite smile on her face. "I assume that you are here to discuss the recently arrived Easterling caravan."

"Indeed," he grimaced lightly. "These men are exceedingly insistent on a trade agreement ever since they fully surrendered to Gondor. I am unsure if it is wise for us to trust them."

"Please, sit," Elizabeth gestured gracefully to the chair before her desk. She then reached below her desk and pulled forth a deep, amber colored bottle of wine with two silver goblets. She poured the amber liquid into both glasses and handed one to the Lord who sat gently in the plush chair. Elrond found his eyes glued to the wine, his elven senses allowing him to pick up every subtle note of flavor in the rich liquid, the hints of berries and deep oak. It had been many years, hundreds even, since he last tasted wine.

"The Easterlings have never been of an exceedingly peaceful kind," he said while sipping the wine. "I fear that by trading with them, we offer them too much a chance to gain in strength to once again pose a threat."

"It is true that their kin has sided with evil in the past," Elizabeth spoke slowly, weighing each word with care. "However, trading with them and providing them with the food that they lack is a sign of goodwill likely to shape their people to more kind opinions of Gondor. Although they often started those wars with us, Gondor still burned their cities and ravaged their lands. The people of their kingdoms have seen us as vengeful destroyers. Let us show them that we can be merciful."

"And if this mercy is too generous?" he questioned.

"Ensure that it is not," her smile became predatory and her eyes lit up with the glow of a scheming plan. "The Easterlings are in need of food before anything else and Gondor's lands have proven more fertile than ever before. Though the Easterlings are not so rich as the Haradrim in mithril and gold, their mines bear more than Gondor. Ask them for mithril, steel, gold, and silver in return for food for their people. I shall ask for the King to inform them that we do not wish to trade in weapons for we have not the raw materials to make such things in excess."

"So this way we are the heroes of the famine, gain in wealth, grow our forges, prevent the Easterlings from growing theirs, and keep Gondorian steel out of their camps," Lord Drendon smiled as he reviewed the plan.

"And... by trading with the Easterlings, we can easily keep out eyes on their lands. It will be nearly impossible for them to plan anything without our knowledge," Elizabeth finished before raising her goblet to her smirking lips.

"It will be a hard document to draft," he said. His words however held no doubt or argument in them.

"Yes, it will indeed. Although I am certain that a man of your capabilities will ensure it completed, Lord Drendon."

"Yes, indeed." He spoke with a smile, tilting his head slightly to observe the easy posture with which Lady Elizabeth held herself. There seemed to be an obvious reason why the King has selected her as his head advisor. As his eyes veered away from their discussion however, he spotted Elrond in the corner for the first time. The elf averted his eyes and pretended not to notice the open staring. "I see you brought your pet out."

"Oh, yes," Elizabeth replied as if just noticing him there herself. "He has been rather well behaved so far, although I suspect that discipline will become necessary sooner, rather than later."

"He is quite the specimen indeed, an elf of such age and position," as the Lord spoke, he stood from his chair and began walking slowly towards Elrond. "The rumor is that was the one who delivered the letter, offering the Dark Truce."

"I wouldn't be surprised if such were true."

"Remarkable indeed," he whispered, hand reaching forward slightly. Elrond cringed back, averting his eyes after seeing the look of lust in the man's gaze.

"You may look freely, but I ask that you do not touch as I am not inclined to share what is mine," Elizabeth's voice held a slight edge to it.

"Of course."

As he spoke the words however, Lord Drendon set his gaze to staring at Elrond, boring into his head with the weight of his eyes. Finally, Elrond could no longer hold himself back and met the Lord's challenge. Their eyes locked and Drendon stumbled back slightly under the weight of the elven lord's eyes, an ancient and wise force that had seen more seasons than years he had lived.

Smack

Elrond's head was forced to the side by a sharp sting on his cheek. He raised a hand slowly to cradle the already bruising side of his face and looked up to see Lady Elizabeth standing before him with a short crop in her hand.

"You DO NOT challenge freemen," she spoke through gritted teeth, eyes blazing.

Elrond kept his head averted and nodded slowly. She did not shout when she spoke to him, she did not curse or act crudely as other men had done upon his capture. However, she spoke with a glint of danger in her voice, she held a fierceness and a fury that he did not want to test.

"My deepest apologies my Lord Drendon," she turned her back on the elf and spoke sweetly to the lord. "It seems my slave is in need of some reminders as to his place in this household. Rest assured that he will be punished for his impertinence."

"Oh I have no doubt," he smiled with no joy in his eyes, watching with fascination as Lady Elizabeth idly stroked the crop in her hands. "If you'll excuse me, I must work on drafting that agreement so that I can get it to His Majesty before he meets with the Easterlings."

"Ensure that you do not take the draft to the table first," she spoke while escorting him towards the door. "We mustn't seem overly eager. I will meet with the King before the negotiations to discuss our exact approach, but have a servant, not a lord or lady escort them."

"Of course."

The door slammed shut and Elizabeth leaned her forehead against the solid wood, breathing heavily. Apprehension wrung through Elrond's frame as he was finally let alone with the Advisor.

***

Elizabeth took as much comfort from the solid coolness of the door as possible. She spent that time gathering her breath and more importantly, gathering her thoughts.He was going to see the King... oh I'm so f*cked.

If Lord Drendon went to see the King, then he would certainly not fail to mention the little incident, the way the elf's eyes challenged a Lord of Gondor, the way he was entirely and absolutely unbroken. She also needed to meet with the King before the negotiations, so that meant that he would likely arrive at her parlor in just a few hours. If he didn't see any visual signs of a punishment, he would surly become suspicious.

"Well, it seems we have a problem here," she spoke, turning around to pierce Elrond with a furious glare.

"I have never acted against you or any member of Gondor's court," he spoke evenly, ever the lord, ever the wise and sage elf. It made Elizabeth furious. Those words broke the facade of calm that she held for so long.

"You acted against all of Man, all of Middle Earth when you delivered that letter," she cried out, bringing the crop down sharply across his other cheek.

She used the fury and the anger of his proclaimed innocence to ease her conscious as she beat him with the crop. Each strike broke a sharp snap as the hard leather made contact with the elf's pale skin. Elrond brought his arms up in an attempt to cover his face and Elizabeth used that move as an opportunity to strike at his forearms, his wrists, and those long and elegant fingers. She watched as pale skin turned red with bruises, as bruises turned to welts, as blood seeped out when those raised welts and trickled down his body.

Her entire world became consumed with rage as she recalled the scrolls she read upon her arrival in Middle Earth, back long ago when she was young and naive; when the words of Tolkien's books were law and the elves were beautiful and mythical beings. Then, she read those scrolls that held the death counts of the war, the documents detailing what Sauron did to captured prisoners, to children in cities that he sacked: the experiments, the tortures just because, and those who he simply fed to the orcs. All that time, the elves did nothing. They hid in their precious cities and watched Middle Earth burn around them. They slept soundly at night when children screamed and soldiers died in a war they had promised to fight.

And it was this elf, this elf before her gasping in pain at her strikes, shying away into the corner, attempting to protect his face from her blows, who delivered that message which sealed the fate of all those thousands. Part of her wanted to kill him.

As the beating continued, as her crop made contact with raw flesh, as blood seeped from his red and pained skin, Elizabeth's temper began to calm. She remembered to keep her blows focused on visible areas, tried to convince herself that they were for show, that she was not a monster.

Monster.

The word flitted across her mind and she froze mid swing.

She looked down at the silver eyes, wide with fear, that stared back at her. Waking from the haze of anger, she swept her gaze across Elrond's form and saw his pale skin bruised and bleeding. She saw the way his limbs trembled, with pain or fear she knew not. She saw the way his chest rose and fell, rapid breaths revealing his pain when his mouth refused to plea or beg.

I did this.That small and pitiful part of her brain reminded her.I was supposed to be better than this.

And, she did the only logical thing.

She ran.

Dropping the crop onto the floor where she stood, Elizabeth fled to her room. She slammed the magically sound-proofed door behind her and threw herself onto her bed. There, she clutched a pillow and held it to her chest, cradled it close and cried. She wept and sobbed, biting her lip even though she knew that none would hear. Images of his face, contorted in pain and fear flew through her mind. She closed her eyes, but she still could not escape that silver gaze that held- was it betrayal? This wasn't a case of her standing idly by, of her being forced to act indifferent to suffering; this was her being the cause of pain and torture to a being who she had complete control over. She beat a slave, chained at her feet.

She broke her promise to herself.

When she arrived in a strange land filled with as much beauty as savagery, all those ago, she made a promise to herself. She swore that although she could not save everyone, could not upend an entire civilization's cultures and norms to fit her narrowly defined modern standards, she vowed that she would not compromise her own morals. That meant that she personally trained her own stallion for the Horse Master was of the sort that thought all beasts must be broken through fear, it meant that she demanded that the healing wings which she oversaw kept their doors open to even the poorest of subjects, and it meant that new policies were established in the castle that any harassment of staff, be they free or slaves, was a complete violation of conduct no matter the station of the harasser.

For years she held firm to her morals and slowly bent others to her side. Now she had broken all of that. She had taken and beaten a slave.

It was done now.

Elizabeth shook herself from her stupor and dragged her feet to her vanity, carefully brushing out her hair and wiping her face of any trace of tears. She did what was necessary-what was expected, and now she had to prepare for the King. He would arrive shortly and surly be pleased to see the bruises and blood coating Elrond's frame.

He would see her as loyal, as strong.

She would have to learn to live with herself.

Chapter 5 Chapter Text

Elizabeth finished wiping her face, pressing a cool towel around her eyes to reduce the puffiness and swelling. She then moved to her vanity and carefully reapplied black paint to emphasize the "exotic" tilt to her eyes. Once she was certain that no evidence of her tears remained, she opened the door connecting her bedroom to her parlor and stepped through.

She forced herself to steal only a small glance at Elrond. The elf's head was tilted slightly down, eyes cast towards the floor. Despite this position, Elizabeth could clearly see the dark bruises blossoming across his cheeks, the deep purple of his eye sockets, and the small bit of blood that dribbled from his split lip. His arms were covered in deep purple slashes and welts were scattered across his exposed skin.

When Elizabeth's eyes noticed a few drops of red blood slipping from his skin to the floor, she turned her head back to the papers on her desk. For the next hour, she signed documents, reviewed the plans for several legal proposals, and organized a list of herbs that she would require to be grown in the garden. Just as she finished scratching out an explanation for rosemary, a sharp, thundeirng knock sounded on the door.

"You may enter, my Lord," she called sweetly, mustering up all the courage she could find.

"How is it that you always know it is me?" the King spoke as he entered with a smile.

"My Lord has a very distinct knock," she said, putting her papers down and lifting a pot of sweetened tea from the hearth. "No other knocks on my door with both boldness and ease."

"Ever observant, just as I've heard you are with our trade."

"Ah, I see that Lord Drendon informed you of our discussion. Has he completed the draft yet?"

"Nearly, it will be sent to you when it is complete." At the King spoke, he took a slow sip of his tea, eyes scanning Elizabeth and her parlor. "You are certain that this is our best option?"

"My Lord, I understand that you have little love for the Easterlings, but at the last moment they did side against Sauron and the ones who chose initially to fight with him have long since passed. Middle Earth is changing and isolation is becoming more and more rare. We must build bridges with our fellow men."

"I will trust your council on this," he leaned back in his seat as he spoke. "I will also require you presence at the meeting."

"Of course my Lord," Elizabeth did her resolute best to ignore the oliphant in the room... referring to of course the bleeding elf in the corner. Such was soon proved a waste of time.

"I see that you already disciplined your slave," he raised a single eyebrow at the sight of Elrond who continued his study of the floor.

The King stood and walked over to the elf, leaning in close to study his bruises. He roved his eyes across the elf's entire body, taking in the full extent of Elizabeth's earlier rage.

"Yes," she replied crisply. "He forgot his place."

"If he proves to be too defiant," he mused. "You can always send him to Adravaine."

A cold spike of fear shot through Elizabeth's heart. The man the King spoke of had the darkest heart that she had ever witnessed. His brutality was unmatched and his rage was unstable. Elizabeth had seen elven warriors of ancient blood, elves who had watched the rise and fall of civilizations with a steadfast heart, brought to Adravaine and broken apart until nothing of their former pride remained. He was a destroyer, a man of unspeakable things who took his pleasure in power and torment.

Elizabeth's eyes roamed once more to Elrond. As she watched him, she couldn't help but imagine him at Adravaine's mercy; she imagined watching the fire that his eyes contained dulled into a hollow and empty shell.

I can't.

"It is under control my Lord," she strode across the room and gripped Elrond tightly by his hair, pulling his head back to reveal his face. "As you can see he has learned his lesson."At this, the King smiled at the deep bruises covering Elrond's face, at the split lip and blood dripping down.

"Of course," he mused, turning to leave as he had completed his task. "But I wouldn't want to waste your time."

"I have always been skilled at multitasking my Lord," she spoke as she walked him to the door. "And, you know how I am about others touching my things."

The King smirked at this and nodded in acknowledgment before stepping out side. Upon closing the door, Elizabeth breathed a sigh of relief, returning to her work. Just when she thought that she could gain even a few hours of quiet, peaceful paperwork, yet another knock sounded.

"Enter," she called from her desk, not bothering to look up from the paper she was writing.

"It has been too long, my friend," a voice spoke warmly. In walked a man of broad shoulders and shoulder length dark hair. His eyes were a light pewter and his smile lit up the room.

"Aragorn," Elizabeth sat up a bit straighter, a smile which finally reached her eyes spread across her face at his approach. "I was not aware that the Dunedain neared the city."

"They do not. Most of my men are beyond the fields, but I came with a small group to speak with you."

"King Tirgon will wish to greet you," Elizabeth pursed her lips slightly.

"Of course, but I wished to meet with you first," he hesitated, a small smirk forming on his lips. "Of course, I should also like to bath before meeting with the King."

At this, Elizabeth took in his rather disheveled appearance. It was quite obvious that he had just come off of a rather long excursion into the wilderness. His hair was stringy and unkept, his clothes were well worn and dusty from the long ride, and a half formed bead clung to his chin. In truth, if a maid walked past she might mistake the noble for a bandit.

"You may sit in the wooden chair, but I will not have you soiling my velvet. I shall make us tea and we can talk," Elizabeth spoke with a fond scolding in her voice as she placed a kettle over the fire.

"Oh, it seems you have found a new companion," Aragon looked over to the elf chained in the corner of the parlor.

Elizabeth froze.

Several trains of thought ran through her mind at once. In the version of Middle Earth that she knew, the one where the elves fought alongside men, Aragorn was like a son to Elrond. In that world, Aragorn gained his skills by training with elves, he learned their tongue, their magic, their silent treads and their cryptic wisdom. In this world, he chose to forsake his right to rule and became the leader of the Dunedain- the foremost elf catchers in all of Middle Earth.

"Yes, he was a gift from King Tirgon," Elizabeth kept her tone light, conversational.

"A lovely gift indeed, but I did not know that you desired an elf. I would have been more than happy to find one for you."

"Oh he was not a request, a bit of a surprise catch," Elizabeth busied herself with setting the tea. "An elf of nobility, Lord Elrond."

"Fascinating."

"In fact, I believe there to be a relation. If I am correct, then he is your many greats uncle," Elizabeth spoke her words with a forced ease. Elrond's history was not so obscure and Aragorn was relentless in his curiosity. If she did not tell him then he would find it on his own and perhaps wonder as to why she knew not of such a link. The Dunedain always held a strange relationship with the elves. Before the Great War, before the betrayal, they held their elvish ancestry as a point of pride. They often believed it made them better than the average man. After the Dark Truce they had to pick a side, elves or men, and being warriors who scorned cowardice, they chose men. The Dunedain were never ones to do anything halfheartedly and thus their hatred of elves was extreme.

"Is he now?" Aragorn's voice turned to ice. In truth, despite the thousands of years that separated the two, those silver eyes and dark hair seemed to link them together. Elrond looked up and met Aragorn's own silver eyes before directing his gaze downwards. One could almost see the grief weighing down on his shoulders.

"Yes. According to the legends he had a twin brother, Elros. Being half-elven, they had a choice to live a life of a mortal man or the life of an immortal elf. That twin chose the path of mortality and founded the civilization from which the Dunedain hail. The line of kings, the line of Isildur, are all from a branch of Elros."

"Well, who knew that I would meet my great uncle this day," Aragorn's smile turned something less pleasant as he continued to stare down the elf."I must admit that I feel slighted having not been the one to catch him. Does his line continue?"

Elizabeth considered the question for a moment. She saw the way Elrond stiffened, nearly impercevibaly at the question. It was only her knowledge of the answer that allowed her to notice his apprehension. She knew from the description of the elves found traveling with Elrond that a bit of his life from the books must have come true, that he truly did have those twin sons. Yet, she also knew that Aragorn was relentless and terrifyingly skilled. She did not doubt that if he set his mind to the capture of the twins, his cousins in a way, that he would not fail to do so. Elizabeth was loath to doom them such.

"I am afraid that I do not know, however I would suspect not," she blew lightly on her tea before sipping it, watching as Aragorn did the same. "Few elves, especially those of old, reproduce now when they find themselves unwelcome on Middle Earth. Only a fool brings their kin into such a harsh and unforgiving world."

"Many of us are descendants of those born during the wars agains Sauron," Aragorn spoke with a smirk again, seemingly believing Elizabeth's assumption. "Our ancestors were nearly certain that we would loose."

"Ah, but the race of Man has always been filled with fools. We are unlike the elves as we are young and rashly filled with hope and courage. Our ancestors had many children for they believed that they would either grow with our race's victory, or that they would grow strong under oppression and rise up to war and victory. Elves are old and cranky, filled with despair and cowardice. They see a bleak future and simply flee into the shadows or across the sea."

"Sage words as always. I will never understand how they can come from one so young."

"We are not all old men like you," Elizabeth chuckled at the end of her statement and Aragorn found himself joining in.

The pair continued for the better part of an hour, exchanging lightheaded words and teasings to each other. Aragorn told stories from the road, stories of orcs and trolls, of foolish young recruits who made their bedrolls on fire ant colonies and forgot to tie their horses at night. Meanwhile, Elizabeth recounted stories of the court, of a foolish goat farmer insisting that his neighbor was stealing his vegetable when it was the man's own goats, of a Lord of the court who tripped over his own shoes and fell onto a tray of whipped cream tarts before a council meeting, and of the ridiculous antics of one Lady's children who decided that lessons were so boring that the fourth floor window was a perfect escape. The latter incident had Aragorn in tears as Elizabeth recounted the hours spent looking for the tiny terrors until they were discovered happily weaving flower chains on a third story buttress.

Elizabeth could feel her earlier apprehensions floating away. Aragorn was the first person she met who she could recognize. It had occurred only a few months after she arrived in Middle Earth. Fresh from a lovely ride through the orchards and a warm bath, she walked into a council meeting to discuss the need for proper sewage in the lower towns when she saw him sitting at the table.

Aragorn.

The man raised by elves who took back his kingdom and redeemed the throne of Gondor. The man who many teenagers fell in love with on the big screen, a handsome and kind man of old valor and chivalry. Elizabeth, in her shock at meeting him, initially froze, remained rooted to the spot until the King introduced the pair. Once she recovered from her shock, Elizabeth managed to give a compelling speech on how the spread of disease was more than enough of a danger to the city of Minas Tirith to warrant the expense of plumbing. Lord Brageon disagreed rather vocally on the grounds that a "little lady" knew nothing of the safety of a city and Aragorn was quick to put the fool in his place, defending Elizabeth that her ideas were more than valid and that perhaps it was Lord Brageon who "allowing hysterics to make decisions." From that moment forth they were the best of friends.

Bang

The door suddenly slammed open, drawing Elizabeth and Aragorn from their thoughts. A young maid sprinted through the door. She dropped to her knees, trembling and gasping for breath. Aragorn's hand had strayed to the hilt of his sword at the sound, but upon seeing the trembling form her relaxed, turning to Elizabeth to defer the situation to her.

The young maid, likely having seen no more than 16 summers dropped into a hasty bow, apologizing for her rude entrance, and turned to Elizabeth nearly immediately.

“My lady,” she gasped. “One of the boarder guards was struck by an orc's poisoned arrow. His companion tried to suck the poison from the wound and has now fallen ill himself. The healers do not know what to do.”

It was at thatprecise moment that the King returned, obviously havingforgotten tomention something about the council meeting set for later that day. He stood silently in the hall while the maid delivered themessage and steppedforward only once it was completed.Elizabeth looked up at the King. She opened hermouth to apologize and ask if they could perhaps settle those matters on another day, but the King waved away her words before she could speak.

“You are dismissed from court for the rest of the day. Treat your patients and then rest,” he said in is usual stern manner. Just as Elizabeth made to move however, she was beckoned to linger a moment longer when the King placed his large hand over her forearm. She turned and saw his gaze as that kind and gentle King who had earned Elizabeth’s loyalty. “Go save my soldiers, Elizabeth.”

Wordlessly, she nodded her head and strode down the hallway with as much speed as she could in her fine court gown. Aragorn followed behind her with ease as he still wore his traveling attire. As she walked, Elizabeth managed to catch a glimpse of herself in a passing mirror and briefly noted that she did not have the time to change and such would be treating the soldiers in her blue and silver gown. She made a mental note to apologize to her chamber maid later.

By the time Elizabeth reached the fragrant air of the healing halls, the first guard was already being tended to with the protocol that she had created. The healers had removed the arrowhead and were flushing the wound first with clean water, and then with water steeped with a mixture of herbs to counteract the orc poison. They had that man's wound under control and so Elizabeth turned her attention to the other guard who was currently writhing in pain as the healers attempted to bath his fevered brow.The poison that the orcs used wastoxic when itpiercedskin, but it wasabsolutely deadly when ingested.

"Hand me that jar ofcharcoal," she ordered a healer who quickly complied. "And Aragorn, if you're going to linger than make yourself useful. Grab the man's head and hold him steady. I'll need him to swallow as much of this as possible."

"Charcoal?" he asked, still moving to comply.

"Yes, it is a special blend that coats thestomach and prevents toxins from entering his blood."Elizabeth quickly set aboutmixing the fine charcoalpowder into water until it created an inky black fluid. She thenwaited for Aragorn to have a firm grip on thesoldier's head before she poured the liquid down the man's throat. He was forced to swallow several large gulps full before Elizabeth signaled to Aragorn to let the man go.

"Should we not bleed him to remove the toxins?" One of Gondor's newer healers asked. The others all shook their heads as Elizabeth had long ago established a rule of not bleeding patients except under extraordinary circ*mstances which she could determine.

"Strength lies in the blood, and he will need all his strength to recover," Elizabeth stated solemnly. "I will attend to him. See that the other soldier's fever remains under control and inform me if there are any further complications."

"Of course my Lady," one of the healers curtsied slightly before returning to attend their other patient.

Elizabeth spent the rest of that night in the healing halls, bathing the man's brow and feeding him stronger tinctures to counteract the orc's poison. Aragorn left halfway though the night to clean up so that he would be presentable to the King the next morning, and eventually the other soldier stabilized enough so that the healers could leave for the night at Elizabeth's insistence.

Eventually it was only her and the soldier whose name she never caught. She sat vigil that night, watching his labored breathing and counting his heart rate every hour. It was only when she recorded a steady climb upwards that she allowed herself to fall asleep in her chair, one hand on the man's brow to check his temperature.

Chapter 6 Chapter Text

After Lady Elizabeth fled the room, Kind Tirgon and Aragorn followed suit leaving only Elrond sitting where he was chained. As the evening waned, a young maid entered and lightly cleaned the room: dusting, sweeping, taking away the dirty cups, and refilling all the water jugs, including Elrond's. Aside from that small interruption though, Elrond was left alone with his thoughts.

Thoughts, which inevitably strayed to the silver eyed man who had followed Elizabeth out.

An heir of Isildur.

Elrond once believed that Elros' lineage ended long ago, that all Edain with direct bloodlines to his brother had faded from Middle Earth, leaving only a few diluted with but a mere drop of elvish blood running through their veins. That youth however, he was certainly a true descendent of Elros. He shared the dark locks, the stormy grey eyes, and the fierce will of his brother.

The similarity was as painful as a knife twisted in his gut.

His brother's child had fallen so far from the light of Eru. His brother's child delighted in the capturing and torturing of elves. His brother's child would enslave and corrupt his own sons if given half the opportunity.

Elrond shuttered at the thought.

After realizing that he would likely be left to his own devices for some time, Elrond deemed it safe to stand and peer out the window he was situated next to. He watched as the sun climbed to its peak in the sky, basking in the warmth of its glow. Too many days he had spent in the dark, and the sun was like a long lost friend. After soaking in the light, he turned his eyes downwards and looked across the courtyard below. He could see training fields set up with soldiers battling one another in practiced combat. Grimly, Elrond was forced to admit that the men were adequate fighters.

None bothered to look up at the high window where the elven slave stood, but a quick tug at his chains alerted Elrond that he would not make it past the windowsill. The men below had no need to worry.

So there he sat, uninterrupted for many hours, watching as the sun slowly fell from the sky, as the candles burned low, and as the roaring fire turned to embers. When the moon rose up in the sky and the stars shone however, he took comfort in the light of his father, the brightest star in the sky. If elves were indeed like the plants that men likened them to so often, it would be starlight that sustained them.

Bam

With no warning, the door flew open and Elizabeth entered, striding straight for the hearth which held a pot of still warm tea, she poured herself a cup and downed it like a drunkard would wine. She leaned over her desk for several long moments, breathing deeply. It was as if she had forgotten his presence.

Elrond could smell the sting of harsh astringents, the bitterness of healing herbs, and the stench of blood and filthy rot. It was obvious that she had just come from a rather severe session in the healing halls of Minas Tirith. Her slouched form and the very auto she exhumed screamed exhaustion. But, there was a sort of triumph tugging at the corner of her lips, a slight straightness to her spine despite the way she clutched to her desk for support.

"I assume that you patient survived," he stated in a low voice. Such hesitancy felt so foreign to Elrond.

"Yes," her reply was sharp as she turned her gaze on him accusatorially. She held his stare until he lowered his own eyes to the floor. But, the tension in the room remained thick as unspoken words hung in the open.

Without another word, she turned and strode in the direction of her bedroom, pausing for a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She looked back at the hour candle, and seeing how far down it had fallen, grabbed another hunk of bread from a serving platter and tossed it at Elrond who allowed it to fall by his knees. She then marched over to a chest and ripped a blanket out, throwing it at the elf before walking out without a word.

When the door slammed shut, Elrond remained still until several minutes passed. When he deemed it safe, he gently folded the blanket and laid it out to have something to sleep on, not needing to wrap himself as elves do not easily feel the chill. He ate the bread slowly, chewing every bite more times than strictly necessary as he pondered over this strange Edain that claimed ownership over him.

Her moods were unpredictable, her mannerisms strange. In one way she seemed cruel; Elrond still had the deep bruises, slowly turning to purple and yellow over the hours, to prove such violence. She also seemed to hold a sort of possessiveness over him, not allowing this "Adravaine" to take and "train" him. The name of Adravaine was familiar to him for elves, despite being scattered, remain close knit. News travels as best as they are able to make it so and no elf failed to have heard the story of Adravaine and Cirdan.

It was said that a man who lives beneath the White City was given the indomitable shipwright. For after the murder of Gil-galad, the elves were quick to learn of the threat that men possessed and many thousands fled Middle Earth. Cirdan of course was the guardian of the shores from which they sailed and one of the few skilled enough to craft the ships needed to reach Valinor. The men, having enough studiers of history to learn of the Grey Havens, sent an army to sack the shoreline city and capture Cirdan.

They took the wise elf to the deepest dungeon of Minas Tirith and gave him to Adravaine or Agarwen, Bloodstained One,as he was known to many elves. They say that over the course of two years, the longest that any elf has lasted under his mercy, the man broke the noble and steadfast Cirdan, tearing him apart until nothing but a husk remained. The man extracted all the information that the men needed to know how to burn the ships, guard the only shores capable of launching from, and prevent any elf from escaping Middle Earth.

Upon revisiting the story Elrond sent a silent prayer to the Valar, thanking them for making Valinor impossible for mortals to reach.

Upon considering the tale of Adravaine and Cirdan however, Elrond was struck with curiosity as to why Elizabeth seemed so intent on keeping him out of the man's clutches.Perhaps she wishes to inflict the torture herself. He mused unhappily.

***

Elizabeth was exhausted. Every bone in her body ached and she longed for nothing more than a hot bath. However, the world she currently resided in meant that a hot bath would require her to call her maid to fill a tub with bucket after bucket of water heated over a stove. There were only a few hours left until dawn and Elizabeth couldn't bring herself to wake the poor girl.

Instead, she drew what strength she could from her lukewarm tea and was content to simply fall asleep over her desk. Of course, it was at that precise moment that her latest problem decided to remind her of his presence.

She resisted to urge to give him a biting response, to ask him why he bothered to ask and remind him that he didn't care for mere mortals, only the elves. Yet, she held her tongue and gave only a terse reply before heading to her chambers, her last land of solitude. At the last second however, she caught sight of the fading yellow bruises from the corner of her eye and a small twinge of guilt ended with her tossing him some food and a blanket as she doubted that her maid had fed him.

Once safely in the sanctum of her chambers though, she allowed the hours of exhaustion to bear their full weight, washing over her like a wave. She staggered to her armoire and unlaced her dress and corset with vengeance, tossing them off to the side where she dearly hoped they would be forgotten about. She gently rubbed the lines imprinted on her from her corset and took her first full breath since the morning hours ago.

Using a bowl of water, Elizabeth did her best to wipe the grime of sweat and stench of sickness from her body, slowly pulling herself into a nightgown, determined to relish the loose and soft garment for even just a few hours before she would be forced to redress is courtly attire. She unpinned her hair and yanked a comb through it until it held some semblance of straightness.Staring at her reflection in the mirror, Elizabeth found herself only able to maintain her necessary composure for a moment before collapsing with her face in her hands.

I can't keep doing this.

She was quickly falling to despair.

The young soldier eventually woke, the charcoal she administered prevented enough of the poison from entering his bloodstream that the orc's foul concoction did not kill him. However, his body had absorbed too much before being treated. The journey from the boarder to Minas Tirith was long and antidotes to the poison were practically ineffective when it was ingested. Thus, the young man, only having just reached his eighteenth birthday, was paralyzed from the neck down.

He would never be capable of moving his arms.

He would never walk again.

The man- barely such, more so a boy, had woken after many hours of what Elizabeth knew to be a fever induced coma. After the initial panic and diagnosis of paralysis, he deflated enough to explain to Elizabeth why precisely he had done such a thing as to suck orc poison from a wound.

An elf had told him so.

The boy's family had an elven slave that their family had held for generations. The boy, Joshua by name, had a rather distant father whose business was in fabric trade. The family's elf practically raised Joshua, feeding him, putting him to bed, and watching out for him when he was but a child. Joshua loved the elf, despite his father's opinions of elves, and thus listened the the advise of the ancient being when he felt lost and without purpose. The elf spun tales for him of great kinship among soldiers, of the honor in guarding a boarder from enemies, and the strength one gained by doing so. He was perfectly manipulative, feeding Joshua tales of everything he wanted: a family, purpose, and growth.

And so, the child ran from his father to Minas Tirith so that he could join the boarder guard. Before he left however, he was given one last piece of advise by the elf. He was told that orc poison is only dangerous when pierced through the skin, that consumption of it in small quantities was absolutely harmless. And thus, if a companion or himself were ever struck by an orc's poisoned arrow, then the only hope of saving said life was to suck the poison from the wound.

Joshua, being young and filled with hope and trust for the elf that practically raised him took the elf at his word for surly the being who lived for centuries, who came from a race known to posses magical healing powers, knew how to best treat a wound.

Now his short career as a border soldier was at an end. Elizabeth knew that she herself would sign the forms to grant him enough of a salary to keep him more than comfortable for life. For even though sucking poison from his friend's wound was a foolish feat, it likely did save his companion. Joshua would be granted a full soldier's retirement.

Before Elizabeth left the healing halls however, she had to draft a letter detailing Joshua's tale and sent it with a rider to immediately inform the youth's father. Even if the two were estranged, the man would surly wish to know of his slave's treachery for treachery it certainly was. No elf could ever be so stupid as to think such lies about orc poison.

No, it was an intentional manipulation, Elizabeth could tell by the look in Joshua's eyes as he confusedly recounted the story. He was so young, so innocent. Barely older than Elizabeth had been when she first arrived in Middle Earth, and he had spent his entire life sheltered in his father's estate. The elf could not manipulate the Senior for the man was too well versed in silver tongues of traders and so, he took his vengeance on his lord's son.

At the end of Joshua's tale, Elizabeth had to be the one to break the news that his beloved elf intentionally betrayed him. She watched as a myriad of emotions flew across his face: disbelief, grief, anguish, and then white hot rage. His face ended up setting in that last expression, rage and anger replacing all innocence in his young eyes.

Elizabeth knew that the elf had made a grave mistake. He took a child who held pity in his heart and taught him cruelty, thus making an enemy of him.

Something told her that she had not heard the last from Joshua.

Elizabeth sighed resignedly before blowing out her candle and making her way towards her bed in the darkness. She flopped down and sunk deep into the softness of her pillows, mind still reeling. Joshua told her the name of his family's elf, Haldir. The elf who Elizabeth knew as the great Marchwarden of Lothlorien, the one who was supposed to lead the Fellowship through the forest and to Galadriel. It seemed that one thing about him remained the same, he was a warrior. Although the men could pretend he was a common slave and assign him the task of nanny, the warrior ever remained. He could not possibly hold any attachments to a son of man while his people were wronged and thus, took no pity on the boy he raised.

Elizabeth couldn't help but make the connection to the elf she had chained up right outside her door. Elrond was a warrior once. Not just that, he was a leader, he commanded elves in battle. He held far too much loyalty to his kin.

Also, she was forced to remember that as an elf, time was an entirely different factor. Humans grow fond of each other so easily, they grow to love and care for those they are around. Elves, she now knew, were immune to such human traits. They lived too long to grow fond of or loyal to the beings who were like mere ants to them.

Elizabeth turned in her bed, thrashing a bit more before she was able to take some semblance of comfort from her warm sheets. The wind outside her window howled and she swore that it cried in pain. The slightest sliver of light began to appear and she knew that dawn was approaching. Nevertheless, she tucked herself in tighter and closed her eyes, determined to get even an hour of sleep in before her maid woke her to start the day.

And what a long day she knew it would be.

Chapter 7 Chapter Text

"My Lady," a soft voice called alongside a gentle rapping at her bed frame. "The sun has been risen for one hour, day is upon us." A maid had slipped into her bedroom and was drawing the curtains slightly apart so as to allow a small amount of sunlight to creep in.

"Thank you Gledswith," Elizabeth smiled as she sat up in bed, taking the steaming cup of tea with a grateful smile. "Would you remind me again of today's agenda?"

"Tomorrow's meeting with the Easterling representatives was moved to this evening. I already arranged for the scribes to complete the the necessary copies in time and I moved your meeting session with the Building Council until tomorrow afternoon. The King also requests your presence at your earliest convince and thus you have just that, and the evening meeting. Your afternoon should be free to complete those court requests which had been sitting in the corner of your desk."As she spoke, the maid bustled about the room, gathering clothes, pouring water for Elizabeth to wash her face with, and clearing away dishes from the previous day.

Elizabeth finished her tea and stood to allow Gledswith to assist her in tying her corset and lacing the complex dress that was necessary for her duties. The maid guided Elizabeth to her usual chair and brushed out her hair, pinning it back with pearl clips as Elizabeth ate a hasty breakfast.

"I don't know what I would do without you Gledswith. You really do far too much for me," she smiled lightly at the older woman who was one of the few in Middle Earth who Elizabeth would refer to as a friend. The kindly woman was once Elizabeth's minder when she arrived so many years ago. Back when she was young and new to the court, King Tirgon assigned Gledswith in addition to her duties as a maid, to keep an eye on Elizabeth and ensure that she was comfortable.The older womanhad a sharp mind however and quickly learned that Elizabeth was not all that she seemed.

Eventually, Elizabeth confided in her that she was from a different world, a world where Middle Earth was fiction. Gledswith, instead of being shocked or in disbelief, merely nodded her head and told her that such was a secret best kept between the two of them. Thus, was Elizabeth rose up in rank, Gledswith did as well. Elizabeth owed a lot to the kind woman.

"I am always happy to serve you my Lady," she spoke the last words with a fond smile through the mirror as she knew that Elizabeth disliked it when she addressed her as such. However, she was a proper woman and thus would always use proper titles.

"Perhaps we could hire another maid to assist you," Elizabeth prodded gently. But, the woman sill shook her head and tutted, still pulling lightly on Elizabeth's locks as she tamed them into a proper courtly style.

"I still get around just fine on my own. Besides, I wouldn't trust any other with you my Lady."

Knowing that the argument was a lost cause, Elizabeth went silent and allowed Gledswith to finish her hair and assist her in applying a light amount of rouge.

"Is this really necessary?" Elizabeth asked as the maid pulled a silver hairpin decorated in fine purple gemstones from a drawer to adorn her hair.

"You will be meeting with the King this morning," Gledswith tutted disapprovingly again. "You are not a child anymore. You must appear presentable."

"I work with him every day. He has seen me elbow deep in a man's innards."

"Yes but now," she spoke as she made the final adjustments on Elizabeth's face. "Your hair will be pulled back beautifully and your skin will be smooth as you do it."

Elizabeth chuckled and took a short moment to admire how Gledswith was so adept and covering the bags under her eyes from the night before. With her morning routine finished, Elizabeth stood and made her way to the door, pausing before opening it.

"Could you make sure that the elf is fed? Just try not to give him anything that could be used as a weapon."

"Of course," Gledswith curtsied lightly as Elizabeth strode into her parlor, taking a short moment to grasp her writing satchel in case the King needed her to take notes for anything.

She spared the elf in the corner a single glance. He was kneeling as far from the wall as the chains would allow him, his back to Elizabeth and his head tilted slightly back as he stared into the sky. He had likely spent the night watching the stars-watching his father a small voice in the back of her head reminded Elizabeth.

***

Elves, being creatures of immortality, are known for their patience. Many elves can easily spend hours sitting and doing absolutely nothing save contemplating the beauty of the natural world. However, this day, Elrond could not find such calm. He had spent the night watching his father shining brightly above him. He had prayed endlessly that his sons would remain safe, that his kin would endure without him.

Now, come daytime, he was restless. For nearly an age he spent his life on the run, leading a small group of mostly Noldor elves as they tried to escape from the grasp of Man. They were faster, stronger, and wiser than the Secondborn, but as the years passed, it became a war of attrition. The elves were weary and filled with sea longing, but the coast was cut off from them, there was no escape. As time wore upon the souls of his kin, many faded.

Those who still lived stayed by his side, under his protection until that day, not too long ago, when the Gondorian soldiers found them. He ordered his people to flee whilst the most capable of the fighters among them stayed to hold of the soldiers. When it became obvious that the battle would be lost, he ordered his sons and great friend Glorfindel to flee. They were reluctant to do so, but Glorfindel knew that Elrond would never forgive himself if he allowed his sons to be captured. And thus, the golden elf took his sons and fled to rejoin their people.

Elrond vaguely pondered what their little group of refugees was up to at the moment. In all likely hood, Glorfindel took over Elrond's role. While the reborn elf liked to think of himself as merely a soldier, Elrond knew that he had once managed an entire House in Gondolin. He was more than capable of caring for their small group. His sons, Elladan and Elrohir were still too young to take up such a responsibility. They held all the hot headed fire of youth. Glorfindel would need that fire to sustain him in the days to come. All his kin would.

Eventually, as the sun climbed towards its peak the same older maid, the only maid in fact who Elrond ever saw entering or exiting Elizabeth's chamber, entered the parlor to place a large tray of food on a small table beside the desk. It was clearly set for a hearty lunch with sandwiches, soup, breads, cheeses, fruits, and a large steaming pot of tea. The maid left and returned several minutes later with a small wood plate upon which was bread and cheese. She placed these within Elrond's reach, never bothering to even look at him.

Only a few minutes after she exited the room, the door opened once more and Elizabeth returned. She strode over to her desk and began sifting though paperwork. For over an hour she worked in silence, slowly eating her lunch as she worked, sipping her tea and taking bites between pages of documents. A light breeze stirred in the air and the sound of guards practicing in the courtyard could be heard from the window, but the room was peaceful.

Elrond did his best to remain silent as well, eating his own lunch slowly and pretending to not be watching Elizabeth's every move. However, she did not seem to notice him, almost as if he were forgotten. She worked diligently, charcoal stick rubbing across paper. Elrond was admittedly curious as to her use of a charcoal stick. Very few officials would ever use such a crude writing implement over a quill. However, she seemed to only use her fine feather quills for signing forms.

Bam!

Do all mortals constantly barge into rooms... or is it just LadyElizabeth who gains such a pleasure?Elrond could not help but marvel. If anyone were to have done such a thing to Gil galad, they would have their ears talked off for it and a night in the guardhouse, no doubt.

Elizabeth looked up, a stern expression forming on her face which quickly dissolved when she saw who entered. It was a young maid, likely no older than the one who earlier summoned her to the healing halls. Her hair was falling out from behind a cap, her dress torn away at her shoulder to hang precariously low, and her face was blotchy and swollen from tears.

"Mm-my Lady," she stuttered, thing a few more steps into the room and allowing the door to close behind her. "I-i-I'm sssorry for the intrusion... but I've heard that you are the one to... go-go for this... sort of thing." The young girl finished stuttering her words and looked down, tears falling from her face.

Elizabeth's actions were immediate. She stood and marched to the door, closing and bolting it. She then grasped a chair and pulled it over to the maid, beckoning her to sit. Elizabeth pulled forth from her pocket a handkerchief and handed it to the girl while she busied herself pouring a steaming cup of tea sweetened with honey. She handed this to the girl before pulling her own chair from around her desk so that she could sit before the girl who by now, had calmed her breathing.

"What is your name dear?" she asked gently.

"Runhild, my Lady," her voice was soft, but much calmer than just a few minutes before.

"Ah, a Rohiric name. I assume you work here in the kitchens," she asked conversationally, clearly seeing the stained apron common in scullery maids. The maid nodded gently. "You were right to come to me... and very brave to do so. However, sadly I must ask you to be even braver. Can you tell me his name?"

Elrond watched the scene in fascination, he could see the way that Elizabeth held her hands gently in her lap, keeping they visible at all times. She spoke softly and in such a soothing voice that he knew her to be a healer even if he had not watched her bind his own wounds. Everything about Elizabeth's appearance radiated calm focus on the situation before her. The paperwork was forgotten, him- the elf in the corner was forgotten, only the young girl and her story was in Elizabeth's mind.

"I-I, he's powerful," she whispered, tears threatening to leak once more.

"Yes, mayhems he is. But, so am I," Elizabeth reassured gently. "I can promise you that I will make certain you come to no harm. You are incredibly brave for coming to me." With those words Elizabeth slowly stood and fetched a blanket from the wardrobe where she kept her healing supplies. She delicately draped the blanket around the girl's shoulders, careful not to touch her while preserving some of her modesty.

"He is a knight in training, a squire about to test..." the last words she spoke came out as a choke.

"That's very good Runhild, you're being amazing," Elizabeth smiled, refilling her cup of tea. "Can you tell me what he did."

"He-he cornered me, in the roots storeroom, he asked me to meet him behind the barracks after training and I told him that I would not... that I would rather a horse than him." She sniffed lightly and Elrond resisted the urge to laugh. While he was disgusted that man could do such a thing, use violence to obtain such a sacred bond, he could't help but be amused by the maid's obvious spunk.

"What did he do then?"

"He grabbed my arm," at this she pulled her sleeve back to reveal deep bruising. "He told me that he would have to teach me to mind my words, that he was soon to be a knight and that I should count myself lucky that he selected me. He said that as he guards the place where- where I sleep that I owe myself to him. I told him to leave me alone once more and he grabbed the hem of my dress... he pulled and I screamed so he slapped me. Hh-he, he grabbed my chest, he tried to kiss me, but I screamed louder and he threw me back, saying that I wasn't worth his time. I-I-I shouldn't have..."

"Runhild," Elizabeth's expression was still serene, but her voice was firm. "What he did was not your fault, the blame lays entirely on him. I am so, so sorry that this occurred to you here, and I am sorry to ask but I must request your courage one last time. Could you come come with me to the window and tell me which it was. I promise that I will handle the rest from there."

Runhild paused for several moments, wiping her eyes and collecting her breath. Eventually, she collected herself enough to nod and walked with Elizabeth over the the window. Below, the squires were training for their upcoming exam. All the young men were dressed down in tunics as they practiced their close combat with wooden knives.

"Him in the blue," she whispered, pointing to a young squire bearing the crest of the house of Feldhring.

"I will handle this. Thank you."

She turned and walked straight to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Runhild hesitated for a moment, wiping her hands on her dress she sat back down in the chair. Elrond watched all this play out with no small amount of curiosity. What will Lady Elizabeth do?

***

Elizabeth shut the door behind herself, taking a deep breath before pulling out her carefully pinned hair, tossing the pins recklessly onto her vanity. AsGledswith was out arguing with one of the scribes over an error in the parchment which Elizabeth had yet to see, she was left to maneuver out of her gown on her own. Pulling viciously at the ties of her corset, she managed to get it all off and toss it into a heap as she pulled on her training clothes: leather leggings, a thin cotton shirt, and a leather vest.She laced up her long, soft leather boots and quickly tied her hair in one long braid.

She was ready.

She took the secondary exit from her bedroom which led to a downward passage instead of her parlor. At the end of the passage, she walked through the remaining corders until she reached the field which she viewed from her window. On the field, all eight squires in training were practicing close combat, perfect.

"Sir Baldred," she called out in a cheerful voice. "A lovely day for training."

The Knight grinned and bowed in greeting. His broad shouldered frame outlined well with his close fitting linen shirt. He was tall and of powerful form, a kind smile, noble brow, and strength yet to be challenge in his limbs. He was a every inch a knight of Gondor.

"My Lady Elizabeth, what a pleasant surprise," his broad smile and loud exclamation drew the attention of the squires who all immediately stopped and bowed in acknowledgment.

"Oh do not stop your training on my account," she waved the away lightly before gesturing for Baldred to follow her a little ways away.

"What is it that brings you out today my Lady," the Knight spoke quietly.

"I regret to inform you that one of your squires assaulted a maid who was quite clear on her distaste. He claimed that it was his due as a soldier and soon to be knight," she kept her voice low, but her posture causal as if they were merely discussing some other happenings of the castle.

"Who was it," he immediately growled back. Sir Baldred was always one of Elizabeth's favorite knights. When she first began her slow but steady overhaul of aggression towards the women of the castle, he was among the first to fully back her movement. Eventually, the King himself became fully convinced that the men who took advantage of or intimidated the female of Gondor were of the lowliest sort and thus unfit for any leadership, but Sir Baldred would always be the first.

"There were no witnesses and thus I must obtain a confession. Please, allow me."

"Of course, what can I do my Lady?"

"Tell them that I have offered to give a lesson."

Sir Baldred's eyes sparkled as he nodded in approval. The pair turned around and walked back towards the squires who all immediately pretended that they had not indeed been watching the two as they spoke. The young men were paired off, each pair bearing one with a wooden dagger whilst the other attempted to wrestle the dagger away. Some were certainly more graceful than others.

"Attention," Sir Baldred ordered. The young men quickly broke away and stood shoulder to shoulder in a straight line. "The Lady Elizabeth has offered a very kind and generous gift." He gestured to where Elizabeth stood easily, contrapposto with the breeze tugging at tendrils of her hair. "She has offered to give a lesson in hand combat."

Elizabeth watched with a slight smirk on her face as eyebrows were raised. Back at home, she never fit into team sports and thus was drawn into martial arts from a young age. She studied jiujitsu, kendo, judo, and aikido. She never considered herself anywhere close to her sensei's in skill, but in Middle Earth she found that the soldiers relied entirely upon old, European-esque techniques of fighting with weaponry. To them, hand to hand combat was merely grappling in any way that did not get one slashed with an opponents blade. The simplest throw or armbar was like a work of magic.

Once the men of Gondor got over their concern that she was female, she was quickly admired for her skills in hand to hand combat. She even began training some of the top soldiers in methods which she always thought go as basic: balance, using an opponents momentum, and methods of highly vulnerable pressure points. Some of the younger soldiers thought of her fighting as some sort of magic.

"Hello Squires, I see that you are working on facing an opponent bearing a dagger." She smiled lightly and gestured for one of the men still holding his mock weapon to step forward. "There are several things which you must keep in mind..."

After the young soldier got over his fear of harming her in training, the mock fighting went over quite well. She gave them some basic concepts regarding how to keep control of the opponent's weapon, how to use the motion of their stab to flip them over, and how to lock their arm and bend it in just the right way to force them to release their weapon.

As the training continued, Elizabeth maintained a jovial atmosphere and the young men loosened up around the Lady who looked far less courtly in her nearly scandalous attire. She laughed easily at their jokes and made jokes herself in turn. Just as we have seen in history, those who fight together quickly learn to see each other as equals. Sir Baldred watch this all with a slight tension in his spine, the same tension that Elizabeth felt. However, she had done this before and knew precisely what was necessary.

Finally, she was performing another demonstration, this time using the one who Runhild pointed out as her attacker, squire Eofor. She was instructing him in a move where he would strike at her chest and she would use his forward movement to pull him over her outstretched leg, causing him to fall flat on his face.

"Now, hold your dagger firm and strike at my chest as if you were moving for a killing blow," she instructed. He did just that, lunging forward recklessly, making it all to easy for her to grab his wrists and pull him over her leg. As he stumbled however, she twisted the dagger from his hands and rapped it lightly on his rump as he fell.The others laughed as he faceplanted rather ungracefully with a bright red face and Elizabeth joined in.

"My my," she tutted. "Do you always blush so when you touch a lady?" She raised a teasing eyebrow and the other men joined in with jeers of their own.

"No wonder you've been so frustrated lately."

"Did you know that girls aren't actually poisonous like mum said?"

"I'd bet they all toss ya like that."

"Oh don't be that way boys, they can't toss him if he's never even spoken to one," Elizabeth corrected causing the young men to howl in laughter.

"Oh I've more than spoken to enough," he jeered back. "I've held many a damsel in my arms."

"I'd never believe it," one of the other squires hollered back. Elizabeth pretended to be preoccupied with correcting another young man's form, but she was listening attentively.

"Oh ya, well three hours prior I was wrapping my hands around that pretty blond scullery maid, even gleamed a kiss."

"Runhild?" one of the young men spoke incredulously. "That one's cold as ice. She'd never let a man near her."

"Ya well she didn't have much of a choice now did she."

"Whadya mean Eofor," another asked.

"I mean the little tease said 'no' and I said that he owes me as much."

"I suppose as a soon to be knight you deserve what you desire," Elizabeth asked, her tone forcedly light.

"Oh you bet I do. If I'm gonna spend my days fighting to protect this Kingdom, I'm gonna get some sort of reward," he smiled, far too proud of himself for his actions.

"And you're strong enough to take what you want," she added.

"Oh ya, the little songbird bird's struggles were weak enough for me to take with one hand. She shrieked like an owl though. Put me off too much."

With those words he suddenly found himself swept onto his back, wooden blade pushing into his throat with enough strength that if it were steel, his blood would be pouring in rivets. He only had a moment to gape in shock before Sir Baldred stepped forward, drawing forth the steel blade at his side and pointing the tip just above Eofor's eye.

"So you admit to having assaulted a maiden, proceding after she said no, using your strength to your advantage, and dishonoring Knighthood by using your predicted position as an excuse to do so?" his voice was furious as he spoke.

"I... well it wasn't..."

"I warn you to think carefully of your next words," Elizabeth now stood over him as she spoke with a grave voice. "You have made a confession before your peers, your captain, and the Chief Advisor of Gondor. I suggest you think very very carefully before retracting."

The young man instantly deflated knowing his defeat.

"Although I would love to drag him before the King," Elizabeth spoke, her eyes on Sir Baldred. "He was your trainee and thus your responsibility. What say you."

The Knight though for a moment before clearing his throat and declaring loudly,

"Eofor of Feldhring, your behavior was unacceptable and betrays the code of the Knight, of this castle, and of Gondor itself. Thus from here on out you shall be stripped of your rank and title, you shall be fired from you position and banned from the city of Minas Tirith. If you are found within the bounds of the White Tower again then you shall be imprisoned. Do you understand your sentence?"

"Yes," he whispered.

"You have until the sun sets on the morrow to gather you belongings, settle your affairs, and leave."

The former squire merely nodded and stood slowly, walking away in defeat. He may have been dumb, but it would take a special kind of stupid to argue with both the Captain of the Knights and the King's Head Advisor.

"As for the rest of you," Elizabeth spoke firmly, watching how they shifted nervously where they stood. "I should not have to, yet still I do warn you against harassing any against their will. If you so prove yourselves worthy, you will soon find yourselves amongst the highest ranks in Gondor. You will have power, power that some choose to use to their advantage. Do not be like them, do not allow power do taint you hearts as it did with Sauron, as it did with the elves. Use your power to protect, to guard, and to defend all from harm. You have done well today, now remember this for the morrow."

The young soldiers all bowed and Sir Baldred nodded to Elizabeth before stalking to his office where he would have to fill out a report on what occurred so that there would be record of it. Elizabeth returned to her room, taking the same direct route to her chambers as to avoid being seen wearing leggings in the main castle.

Upon her arrival back in her chambers, she informed Runhild of what occurred. When the young maid fretted what would become of her as the Madam of the scullery maids was Eofor's aunt, she offered her a position on her private staff. The young maid's beaming smile and declaration that she would not regret her hire was enough to convince Elizabeth that she could be completely trusted, maybe even take over some ofGledswith's duties.

Either way, it seemed the Elizabeth made a new ally.

Chapter 8 Notes:

Okay, this chapter gets pretty graphic so if you're sensitive, I suggest you skim it and skip over the darker parts. If not... then enjoy :)
Also, I promise that this is pretty important so you should probably at least read it towards the end.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Oh, Gledswith," Elizabeth called as she saw a flash of grey and purple from the hallway. The woman, now officially her assistant as opposed to her maid, paused at the doorway and stepped inside.

"Yes m'Lady."

"Were you able to get those papers transcribed?"

"Apologies m'Lady," she frowned slightly. "But the scribe room is running far below schedule. They had another fall ill."

"Another? That's the fourth this week." Elizabeth let out an exasperated huff. Such was an attitude that few in the castle ever saw in her, but she was incredibly irritated. Shehated using a quill with a vengeance and half the time that she did use a quill, the resulting document was nothing but a scrambled mess that no one would ever be able to read. It looked far from professional and she had an entire stack of trade agreements, castle reports, and various notes on meetings with the King that were written in her scrawled charcoal stick and needed to be transcribed in quill.

"Might I make a suggestion?" Runhild called from the corner where she had been dusting. The maid had integrated herself well into Elizabeth' staff the last few weeks and had quite easily come out of her shell. Being far younger and less set in her ways than Gledswith, she was able to easily pick up on Elizabeth's more relaxed attitude and even was able to call her by her given name when they were in private. She was quickly becoming as much a friend as a member of staff.

"Always," Elizabeth replied with a smile. "I am always more than willing to hear ideas."

"Can he not write will a quill?" She gestured to Elrond who up until this point had been absentmindedly looking out the window. He now turned at watched the conversations with mild interest expressed in his raised eyebrow.

"I suppose..." Elizabeth began, but Runhild cut her off as she began to speak again.

"It is just that he is supposedly ancient and the older elves usually were quite skilled in such things... and he's not doing anything which is understandable as elven slaves shouldn't be trusted with much, but it's a shame for him to be doing absolutely nothing at all and I was just thinking how convientint it would be for you to have a live scribe always one hand to that you didn't need to constantly be sending papers back and forth to the scribe room and..."

"That's quite a good idea," Elizabeth cut off Runhild's further rambling with a smile. The maid had a habit of such, but was always well intentioned. "Gledswith, can you make the necessary arrangements for a desk and proper writing supplies?"

"Of course m'Lady," she bowed and gave Runhild a mildly reproachful look before stepping out of the room.

"Don't worry about her, she's slow to warm to people, but she always means well," Elizabeth spoke gently to Runhild. "Now, could you do me a favor and retrieve those documents from the scribe room?"

"Of course."

"Also," Elizabeth raised her hand, an idea emerging in her head. "Please ask the cook to make some rich bone broth- she'll know what I mean. I think it's about time that I figure out what's spreading through the lower levels of the castle."

The maid nodded and raced out the door. This of course left Elizabeth and Elrond. Elizabeth fixed the elf with a withering glare and he, for his part, did his best to avert his eyes respectfully. Elizabeth did not believe this act for one moment however. She knew that he was far too proud and strong to break that easily. He was biding his time, he was dangerous.

"So, you do still remember how to hold a quill and write in Common, right?" she questioned. As she spoke, she realized that it was the first thing that she said to him in weeks. She had gotten so into the habit of ignoring him, that he really had become more of a decorative piece in her parlor than anything.

"Yes."

"Then you will transcribe my documents for me. Be warned that I will be evaluating every single parchment to check for accuracies. I will not have you sabotaging my work."

"I understand, Lady Elizabeth."

Elizabeth made a small humming sound and turned back to her own desk, doing her bast to continue working and act as if she was perfectly calm. In fact, she was anything but. Elizabeth was mild terrified. On one hand it was a good thing that Runhild made the suggestion as some in the castle might start to wonder why she kept her slave as a mere decorative piece when he should indeed be working... but on the other hand, Elizabeth had no way of trusting him.

She was the Head Advisor to the King of Gondor. The papers that she drafted were everything from notes on the Council, letters to foreign dignitaries, and even treaties and trade agreements. If he were to change her wording, adjust the numbers in her parchments, or even misspell too many words, it could have disastrous consequences to Gondor's reputation, economy, and security.

Despite her best efforts, Elizabeth found herself scowling at the charcoal stick in her hand and the stack of scribbled notes on her desk. Oh how she wished for a computer with spellcheck and a printer. She dearly missed many modern luxuries.

Several drafts of a proposition for schooling in the Lower Town and an emergency treatment for an allergic reaction in a servant later, Gledswith reappeared with a line of apprentices bearing a short desk and a box filled with writing supplies. Elizabeth didn't have the faintest idea where Gledswith found a desk that one could sit at on the floor, but she was glad that she found it as she hadn't considered what it would look like if she were to allow her elven slave to have his own desk in her parlor. The apprentices followed Gledswith's instructions and placed the desk beside Elrond, unpacking the box filled with parchment, ink jars, drying powder, and a rather large supply of quills.They then left with a quick nod of acknowledgment to Elizabeth.

Gledswith followed them out the door after asking if there was anything more that Elizabeth needed, but she declined the offer as she was simply waiting on Runhild. Soon enough, she came rushing back into the room with a stack of papers under one arm, and a large vat of bone broth in the other. She dropped the paper's on Elrond's new desk without ceremony and placed the broth on Elizabeth's table.

"I'll be bringing you lunch at your usual time, but Gledswith wanted me to remind you of that class you're teaching in the Healing Halls in about an hour."

"Oh, the lesson on rehydration and fatigue," Elizabeth cried out, hitting the palm of her hand to her forehead. She had completely forgotten about the class, and once more pondered on how she would ever manage her life without her trusty assistant. "Thank you, I shall leave to prepare for that at once. I won't be here for lunch, but you can leave it on my desk."

Elizabeth gave one last stern warning to Elrond before packing up the items she would need, rushing to her room to change, and hurrying to the door. She needed to get the Healing halls early in order to set up for the class, and she hated to start such a thing late. Many of the healers in attendance were leaving their patients to the care of their assistants whilst others were soldiers training to be emergency healers.

"One last thing," Runhild called just as Elizabeth's hand was on the doorknob. "Are we to be celebrating your promotion soon?" She asked her question with a smile, referring to of course, the fourth year of Elizabeth holding her position as Head Advisor to the King of Gondor. Many nobles chose to take such days as a celebratory event, but Elizabeth just chuckled in response.

"My dear, if I skipped my duties for a day than Gondor would fall," she and Runhild shared a laugh of good humor before both of them scurried from the room.

Elizabeth had much still to do that day. She could only hope that those documents would be finished by the time she returned.

***

Elrond watched her leave and released an audible sigh of relief once the maid exited the room. He was alone.

He looked to the desk that was left for him and ran his fingers gently along the smooth wood. He then found his fingers lingering on the beautiful quills and soft parchment. It felt like ages since he last beheld such luxuries. He fiddled lightly with the quill, taking note on how he was not provided with a quill knife.

He had a choice, he could obey, or disobey Lady Elizabeth. If he were to disobey- well, he already learned the consequences of challenging authority in the castle. But, if he were to obey- what would it say of him? He knew how poorly his kin were treated, how easy it would be for Lady Elizabeth to do the same. Yet, aside from the singular incident, he was as decently well cared for as he could hope whilst being a slave. He was clothed, fed, allowed to breath fresh air and see the stars. Most of all however, he remained untouched. If he were to disobey she may grow tiered of him and pass him on to another member of the court.

He could count off the top of his head an entire list of nobles who he did not wish to belong to.

At the same time, to do such a thing willingly was a surrender. It would be an aide to the men of Gondor and thereby a degradation against his kin. How could he help these people, these men who committed such acts of cruelty against elves. If he worked for Lady Elizabeth willingly, he was aiding his enemy.

Elrond's pondering was interrupted by the door swinging open. In strode one man on the list of those Elrond wished to avoid- King Tirgon, smiling far too happily and clicking his scepter on the ground as he walked.

"Ah, so I see the rumor is true..." he smiled at the sight of Elrond with a quill in his hand. "Lady Elizabeth has finally put you to work."

Elrond said nothing, only averting his eyes as he slowly uncapped the first bottle of ink. The cruel King of Gondor was the last man that he wished to be disobedient before. He was no coward, but he was also no fool. He did not have a death wish.

"I understand that Lady Elizabeth is out, but I wished to stop by and introduce you to a friendof mine. I think you may know him."

With those words, Kind Tirgon pulled viciously at the thin leash, which until that moment Elrond had not noticed, and yanked forth a hauntingly thin elf. The elf had dark hair, but his eyes and face were obscured by the loose flowing strands as he hung his head. His form was gaunt and hallow beneath the fine silk robe that he wore, and obvious red marks bruises could be seen around his neck- they were fingerprints.

The King smiled viciously before weaving his fingers through the elf's hair and yanking his head upwards, forcing him to face Elrond.

"Glerdil? Mellon-nin," he whispered the words in shock.

Familiar brown eyes stared at the former Lord and Elrond could not help but gasp aloud. It was indeed Glerdil, the young apprentice of Lindir, one of Elrond's close friends and an excellent minstrel. He had lost contact with the kind and gentle souls a little over a hundred years ago after they moved to a new settlement, further from Gondor and supposedly more secure.

Now, he looked utterly destroyed. His eyes, once so full of life, were dull and downcast in shame. Though he was always slender, he was now so frail that Elrond feared that even the weak mortal holding him could snap his frame as easily as a branch beneath a horse's hoof. There was a deep purple stain across the left side of his face and a small cut on his lip as if he had been struck.

"Yes, it appears that you are familiar," his smile was cruel as she shoved the elf downwards, forcing him to sprawl across the floor. Glerdil did nothing to move from his place. "You see, I was alerted to the familiarity when after he learned of your presence here, this beautiful little think who I've owned for coming on twenty years now, decided that he would try to escape and break you out."

The King laughed humorlessly at these words, and drew a small dagger from his belt. He held the blade to the light and tested it gently on his thumb, not wincing when he drew a drop of blood with the slightest press. He then looked Elrond in the eyes and maintained eye contact as he drew the dagger from the waist of Glerdil's leggings to his ankle, splitting the fabric with ease. The elf below him merely inhaled, closing his eyes and averting his gaze from Elrond.

"Now it seems that my beautiful little songbird here decided that he was ready to be a hero. Such a shame as he was so easy to break... but then I got to thinking... what would break him faster?" As Tirgon spoke, he sheathed his dagger and kneeled down next to Glerdil. He then ran one hand idly across the elf's exposed backside, and the other along the gold and mithril of his rather large scepter. The dark smile that he threw to Elrond was all that the elf needed to know.

"You cann-"

"Silence," Tirgon hissed, one hand reaching for Glerdil's throat where he squeezed just enough for the elf below him to open his eyes in alarm. "You will watch what happens to disobedient slaves in silence, or I will do this before the entire court and send him to the mines."

Elrond fell silent at the threat knowing the dwarven run mines, where elves were worked in the dark and dusty depths till exhaustion, beneath the earth, far from the sun and stars, abused in every way that the dwarves who long loathed the elves could imagine- it was worse a fate than Gondor. Elrond could not send such a delicate soul there. He would kill the youth himself before allowing him to be sent there.

Kind Tirgon focused his attention back onto the elf sprawled out before him, running his hands along the cress of the elf's back before taking the base of his scepter and stroking the elf's opening. Then, without pretense, he stood up and thrust the staff in without a hint of hesitation.

The young elf keened, a high pitched whine of pain escaping his throat as blood instantly poured forth from the intrusion. When Elrond saw the amount of blood he instantly knew that this was not the first time that he was assaulted recently, no- that blood was from a half healed wound. The thought made Elrond sick to his stomach and he tried to turn away.

"Daro, daro," Glerdil cried out brokenly. "Mecin daro," he cried out in Sindarin, but the King ignored him as he continued to thrust the staff without mercy.

"The longer you look away, the longer I do this," he spoke casually, ignoring the sobbing form below him as he jabbed his staff down particularly brutally, looking down to admire the way the elf's body was attempting to accommodate the large, hard metal scepter. Glerdil arched his back in pain, his hands scrambling to find purchase not he slippery stone, but finding none. Tears fell from his eyes as he sobbed.

Elrond reluctantly turned his eyes back to the scene and had to use every ounce of self control he held to prevent himself from speaking up. He had survived losing his parents, his home, fought in wars, watched as his kin slayed one another, but nothing was ever even remotely close to the horror of a young elf who his friend considered something close to a son being brutalized with such dispassion.

Finally, it seemed that the King tiered of his game as he pulled his scepter from the elf with a sickening squelch, and kicked him over onto his back. He glared at the blood pouring from the elf fro a few moments before kicking him once in the stomached and turning his attention back to Elrond.

"I don't know what Lady Elizabeth's preferences with you are... and frankly I don't care," he turned to look at Glerdil once more. "Although personally I think something like this pretty thing is preferable... to each his own I suppose," he seemed to be speaking half to himself. "But... I just wanted you to know exactly what could happen to you if Lady Elizabeth decides that she is tiered of her latest toy."

The King then wiped off the base of his scepter and turned his back, striding towards the door and calling out over his shoulder, "Clean up the mess you made and return to my quarters immediately. I'm not done with you." He did not wait for a reply before exiting the room.

"Glerdil," Elrond immediately spoke. "My friend, what... how..."

"I am alright m'lord," he whispered, voice almost imperceivably low. "Please, do not ask. I have endured worse." With those words, he took the remains of his leggings and began to carefully mop his own blood from the floor. Thanks to elven healing, he had already stopped bleeding and thus was only concerned with cleaning the once pristine floor.

"I am sorry-"

"Nay, I am sorry that I failed, but I should have known not to," a tiny sob escaped his lips at that.

"Is Lindir-"

"They took us both, we were captured as we traveled... we were separated at auction and I was sold first. I know not where he is."

"Will you allow me to heal you?" Elrond asked, hands already outstretched in offering.

"Nay, he will know and will be angry." Glerdil finished cleaning and stood on shaky legs, pulling his tunic down to cover his lower half. "I must go now my Lord, he will know and be suspicious if I tarry."

"I understand," Elrond hesitated slightly. "Thank you, it was a brave thing you did trying to escape... but please do not endanger yourself for me further."

Glerdil offered Elrond the tiniest of smiles.

"You know, there's a voice in my head that sounds an awful lot like Lindir... and he seemed to think that you would say that exact thing." He began shuffling for the door, but paused with his hand still on the handle. "They like it when we beg," he whispered.

"Pardon?"

"The race of man... they like it when we beg," Glerdil refused to turn to look at Elrond as he spoke, but his voice was surprisingly steady. "They like the rush of power, the knowledge that our race, which was once supreme, crumbling beneath their feet. The warriors are often treated cruelest for they refuse to yield, but they will sometimes listen to us if we are on our knees with our heads bowed to the ground."

Before Elrond could get another word in, Gerldil whispered a goodby and slipped out of the door. Elrond was left in a stunned silence for several minutes as he attempted to process what he witnessed.

Several hours later, he realized that he had started to transcribe the documents given to him. Looking at his neat stacks, he realized that he had not even been thinking as he copied the messy, charcoal sprawl into neat and perfectly straight lines with his precise quill writing. The Common words flowed easily from his quill and the busy work was something to keep him occupied so that he would not think too much of what he witnessed.

Eventually, approximately an hour after the maid form earlier returned to leave a cold lunch on Lady Elizabeth's desk, she returned.

Elizabeth dropped her items onto a chair and immediately unloaded several small glass vials from her satchel. She then carefully poured off broth from the covered pitcher into little glass dished. She then label them and dropped the little bits of cloth from the glass vials into each dish, taking care to cover them. Once she completed her strange task, she turned to Elrond and walked purposefully over to his desk. She slid the stack of drying papers from the corner and flipped through them, humming lightly as she read.

"Very good. I will be inspecting these papers later, but they seem to be in order."

Elrond merely nodded wordlessly as he went back to the papers. It was obvious that she was not aware of the King's visit, and he debated on informing her of the incident. However, despite Elizabeth have never abused him such, she was his Head Advisor, surly her loyalties lied with him. She was just as rarely kind as she was cruel... he didn't know what grounds he stood on with her.

And so he ignored the incident, pushing it back as far into the recesses of his mind as possible.

For several days this seemed to work. Lady Elizabeth mostly ignored Elrond, and Elrond mostly ignored her. He transcribed each document placed on his desk perfectly, never bothering to cause trouble and risk punishment to himself or other elves. He worked quietly and diligently, and she seemed satisfied to leave him alone. Elrond even began drawing with the excess supplies on his free time, and Lady Elizabeth saw him doing such on several occasions, though she never said a word about it.

Three days after the...incident, he was startled by a rather large amount of noise coming from the courtyard. Elrond had been suffering from a headache all day which had gotten to the point where Elizabeth pointed out his slowing in his work. He had been attempting to catch up when the banging and shouting got far louder than usual. His curiosity peaked, Elrond stood and gazed out the window.

Soldiers had returned, a group of them cheering whilst other laughed and banged their weapons together in glee. Several of the were in a rather tight clump, and they were holding what appeared to be a struggling figure. They were returning from a hunt- an elf hunt.

Elrond's stomach clenched as he though of another of his kin bound as a slave to man. But, he had never seen such a racket over another captive before. The last one who made such an entrance had actually been him. He remembered how his slim circlet drew such attention, how the men had quickly realized him to be of importance. Elrond's heartbeat increased as the men drew closer, soon he would be able to see who it was they held- soon he would discover if he knew whatever pour soul was joining him in this hell- likely to a far worse fate than his own.

Behind him, Elrond could hear Elizabeth put down the little glass trays that she had been fidgeting with for the past several days as she watched him. He didn't care however. he was too focused on watching how whoever the soldiers held- well they must be struggling. The soldiers closest to the center were buffeted back and forth as whoever it was yanked themselves from side to side, making it as difficult as possible for them to move him.

They grew closer and the cheers increased in volume. Finally, they were close enough for Elrond to spot the figure in the center of the racket.

Elrond felt his heart stop.

"No-" he whispered aloud.

Then, the men parted and thrust the figure to his knees, more than six soldier's pressing on the elf's shoulders to keep him down.

"So," one of the men, obviously the leader of the party that brought the elf in, called out. "Who thinks they can break him?"

The men laughed and immediately began calling out their suggestions on how to break the elf's will, each more horrible than the last.

Elrond felt his knees go weak, his heart skip a beat. As he heart the horrid suggestions of the leering men, he did the only thing he could think to do. He turned to Elizabeth who finally moved from her table and was walking towards him and the window to see what the fuss was about.

Without a second thought, Elrond threw himself to his knees, desperation forgoing all his pride and he prostrated himself before the Lady of Gondor who froze. Bending his forehead to the floor, he openly begged for the first time since his capture,

"My Lady, please."

"Wha-"

"Mistress," he tried to supplicate himself further. "Please, I beg of you but one thing..."

"What is... who?" She sounded perplexed as she stepped around him and looked out the window. Elrond could hear her breath catch in her throat and he silently prayed that he was not about to make a massive mistake. "Who is he?" She questioned, voice tight.

"Mistress," he kept his body prostrated as he mulled over the risks silently. With no other choice, he spoke. "He is-"

Notes:

Ooooooohhhhhh.... a cliffhanger. Who do you think it is???
Also, sorry for the long time between updates. Things are crazy and I somehow ended up with 4 open stories at once. I promise that nothing is abandoned, but updates may start becoming slow. Thank you so much for everyone who's sticking with this though! Your comments and kudos really inspire me to keep this up.

Chapter 9 Notes:

Okay, some super dark stuff gets mentioned here by some rather angry soldiers. But seriously, look up medieval torture methods... man people did some messed up things.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Mistress," he kept his body prostrated as he mulled over the risks silently. With no other choice, he spoke. "He is-"

***

Elizabeth was holding her breath. The jeering of the soldiers below was becoming more and more audible, but she was held in place by the cowering form before her. It was Elrond, an elven lord who was meant to be one of the most important figures in Middle Earth, the one who aided the dwarves on their quest to slay the dragon, the one who called the council and set forth the nine walkers... he was so noble, wise, and kind.

Yet, there he laid, sprawled out, head to the floor as he pleaded with Elizabeth- a girl, really a child stuck in a world that she could barely comprehend.

He had never begged for anything before.

Elizabeth yanked her focus from Elrond who still could not get his choked words past his lips. She instead looked out the window, not yet able to discern a figure for elven eyes are far keener than those of mortals. She could however, hear what the men in the courtyard below were saying; all the ways they could break whatever elf they were bringing forth.

"Get the collar on him and toss 'im to the barracks, see how long he lasts there."

"Them elves are supposed to have stamina... let's test it!"

"I'd say send him to the kennels," a particularly cruel voice sounded, quickly followed by a series of cheers and hollers.

"Nah, he may be a bitch, but I want to see him with a stallion!"

At that last line, Elrond visibly shuddered and his hesitancies seemed to fade away. He finally lifted his head and brought his eyes up to Elizabeth. However, instead of a challenge, there was deep sorrow and desperation in his eyes.

"He is Glorfindel, Mistress," Elizabeth flinched at the title, but he continued nonetheless. "One of my oldest and greatest companions... He is kind, noble, and brave. But, the Valar both blessed and cursed him with his beauty... they will destroy him."

Elizabeth said nothing as the words sunk in. Glorfindel... the elven lord of old who slayed a balrog to defend his people and came back to life to aide Middle Earth. She had read about him in the books, but he never appeared in the movies so she had never seen his face. She did not know what she was expecting to see when she broke gazes with Elrond and attempted to turn back to the window, but was brought back by Elrond launching himself forward to curl at her feet- she froze in shock. Never in her wildest imagination could she have ever expected him to act like such.

"Please, I will do anything you wish, but spare him from it. His will is strong and they will delight in breaking him," Elrond did not look up to meet her eyes again, but Elizabeth could hear the tremble in his voice. "He has been through so much..."

Elizabeth pulled her legs from his grip and stumbled to the window, leaning heavily on the sill she watched as the soldiers drew closer. Finally, they came close enough and parted for enough so that she could see him- the elf that Elrond was willing to grovel for.

Elizabeth felt all breath pushed from her lungs.

He was beautiful.

Tolkien had described Glorfindel as "fair," but such did little to describe his beauty. His face was pale, hair not yellow- but as golden as the sun's rays on a summer noon and bouncing in curls that reached midway down his back. His eyes were a cerulean blue that shone so brightly, Elizabeth could see them clearly from where she stood- blown wide and filled with equal parts terror and fire. But his face... oh how artists of old would have worshipped his face. Michelangelo could not have done him justice if he were given all the time and marble in the world. His face was chiseled and sculpted in that fashion that the ancient Greeks admired so, a rosy flush of his cheeks bore more life than anything the Renaissance artists could have crafted.

They would destroy him.

"Why don't we light that pretty hair on fire and see how fast elves can run!" One man called.

Those words seemed to affect both Elrond and Glorfindel. The former uttered another string of pleas that Elizabeth had stopped hearing, while the later gave a mighty yank, strong enough to break from his captors for a few seconds whilst the men scrambled to get a purchase on him once more.

"I trust you barely on your own," Elizabeth swallowed slowly as she spoke, pushing down her emotions as she justified her actions to Elrond. "I can hardly expect you to behave with a coconspirator."

"I give you my word, please."

Elizabeth laughed, it was a bitter and hate filled laugh, but a laugh none the less.

"What is the value of an elf's word? Or have you forgotten what made your kin fall so?"

"Please," his voice cracked and Elizabeth felt a tiny part of her heart break. How must he feel, lost, alone, far from home... as isolated as Elizabeth did when she first arrived in Middle Earth, but thrust into a far poorer lot in life. "You musn't let them... I'll obey, I'll do whatever you wish. Just please, I beg of you..."

Elizabeth heard enough. She then made a decision that she was certain she would come to regret, but she had to do it. She strode away from the window and to a chest in the corner that she kept locked. She pulled forth from it a satchel, and upon checking the contents she turned to Elrond, still splayed out on the floor, and spoke with as much cold dispassion as she could manage.

"I make no promises."

At that she walked into her bedroom and down the staircase which would lead her on a more direct path to the courtyard. Her strides were purposeful, but as she arrived on the lawn, she forced her steps to become casual, her aura relaxed. She pushed a smile on her face and wandered to where the crowd was gathered, jeering as a man with a black eye socked the bound and restrained elf in the stomach. The punch was strong enough to risk a bleed in a mortal, but the elf barely grunted.

"What have we here?" she asked with curiosity tinging her tone.

"My Lady," a soldier, Captain Ger- something snapped smartly to attention.

"Report, Captain," she order firmly.

"Captain Gerlandin reporting in from the Northern sweep m'Lady. We suffered four casualties and twenty three injuries severe enough to be sent to the Healing Halls, they are enroute as we speak. We traced the route of the company found on the last Norther Patrol and found a settlement recently abandoned. Further tracing reveled a small company of elves, likely warriors guarding the helm of the group, and we engaged. The elves were well equipped and armed, but we focused attacks on their leader who ordered for his soldiers to retreat. Most slipped away, but we succeeded in capturing their leader after a long fight. He is more skilled than any elf we have yet to face, and continued to resist on the route back. Five of the injured were his guards along the route home. End of report."

"At ease," she said as he finished his report. The Captain instantly relaxed, a slight smile tugging his lips as he stepped to the side ignorer to allow Elizabeth to view their prize.

"He is also a beauty," as he spoke, he reached a gloved hand out and grasped the elf's chin. When he attempted to brush his thumb along the elf's plump lips however, Glorfindel almost bit his finger off. This resulted in a sharp backhand that seemed to do little to deter the elf's struggles.

"A fine prize indeed," King Tirgon spoke as he approached. All the men jumped to attention, but were quickly waved aside by the King's hand. "Such a beauty... and such fire. I'm sure Adravaine would enjoy the challenge. I would bet he could make this elf scream and bow." The King's words were met with chuckles and Elizabeth knew that she would have to act quickly.

"Oh you men and your brutalities," she mockingly admonished. "There is more than one way to break an elf." As she spoke, she walked closer to Glorfindel, watching from the corner of her eye as the men holding him tightened their grip. They did not wish to endanger their King's Head Advisor. "Are there bets moving?"

"How long it takes him to scream on a stallion," on man jeered, a few of them elbowing him sharply at his rude language in the presence of a Lady. Elizabeth forced an easy laugh from her lips.

"Oh I am no delicate court flower," she smirked as she leaned carefully back when Glorfindel made to lunge at her. Up close, she could see the terror and fury in his eyes all the more clearly. His Common was excellent, he knew exactly what the men were planning on doing with him.Elizabeth did however note that he bore no collar. He was untouched as of yet.

"I am assuming you ask with the intention of placing a wager?" King Tirgon asked in an amused tone.

"I do indeed," she turned from Glorfindel and eyed the soldiers surrounding him. "I wager that I can break him right here, right now, without the use of a collar."

She watched as a hush of silence fell over the crowd before they burst into conversation. Men whispered back and forth, asking if such a thing could be true. Was their Head Advisor really so shrewd as to be capable of breaking this fiery elf? She who knew so much about the elves... was her knowledge such a mastery over them?

"For those of you who doubt our Lady Elizabeth," the King chuckled at his own words, "then surly you must have spent too long on patrol. Our Lady does not make wagers she cannot win." Elizabeth merely shrugged at his words.

"What is to be my prize if I succeed?"

King Tirgon paused for a moment, calculating several thoughts carefully in his head.

"You have held your position for four years now, and never once have you received a proper reward for it."

"I act for the good of Gondor, I expect no prize for such. We each do out part in this Kingdom."

"Yes, but you have never taken kindly to gifts... so perhaps you will accept this one if I allow you to earn it. Master the elf as your wager, and he is yours."

Elizabeth smiled broadly, her plan was working far too well. She then turned to said elf, the one who heard the entire discussion and now was glaring daggers at Elizabeth. If looks could kill, then those ancient and war tried eyes would have smited her on the spot. Luckily, she had stared down enough powerful men to not be so easily affected.

"Hold him steady," she ordered the soldiers who were already complying. She then lightly crouched, careful to not allow the hem of her dress to dip too low into the dirt. "Hello, Glorfindel of Gondolin." She smiled as a flicker of hesitancy crossed his face. "Yes, I know who you are, or shall I call you Laurefindil, former Lord of the House of the Golden Flower. The legends of your exploits with the balrog hardly do your beauty justice... say, can you still feel the flames licking up your side, as the beast grabbed you by your hair?" She gripped a fistful of his hair and yanking his head back, watching as fear from the memory seeped into his eyes. He once died in such a manner, and death is very rarely forgotten.

"How- how do you know this," he croaked, voice as sweet as his face.

There was a gasp and a murmur which swept the crowd behind her. Apparently, he hadn't spoken since his capture- it was working.

"Oh I know many things... about your time in Mandos' Halls, about how you were sent back to protect a certain elf. Say, have you heard of your precious Lord? Was he the reason why you and the warriors lingered, hoping to plan a rescue?"

The elf below her struggled half heartedly, but fear was growing in his eyes. Elizabeth had obtained a torch halfway through her speech, and her hand bearing it was inching closer to Glorfindel's face. Between the fire which he could not pry his eyes away from and the hand pulling on his locks, just as the balrog did all those ages ago... long hidden memories were surfacing, threatening to consume him.

Elizabeth watched this all pass through his eyes as she inched the flame just a tad bit closer. She was waiting, waiting for the right amount of vulnerability to present itself. She had once shot, once chance or he would be thrown to the soldiers who wished to utterly destroy him, thrown to Adravaine.

"Tell me, how does is feel to know you failed him. First you failed to protect princess Idril, then you failed to protect your household, then you failed to protect your city, you failed to protect its survivors and refugees... now you failed to protect one singular elf. How much more can you fail?"

Glorfindel squeezed his eyes shut, terror evidently wringing through his body at the words. He was tense as a drawn bow, his arms trembling in the grip that held him in place, and the crowd was mesmerized by Elizabeth's show. She released Glorfindel's hair and stood up, taking a half step back and flashing her cruelest smile. She waited until the elf opened his eyes again, and she saw it. There it was, that part of defeat, that barest moment of vulnerability. She pounced on it like a hungry cat.

Reaching into her satchel, she wrapped her hands around the slim, cool metal. With feigned carelessness, she tossed it to Glorfindel's knees, watching as the golden-haired elf's eyes grew wide in pure terror as the recognition instantly dawned on him.

"Do you think you can protect him now?"

"No," he gasped, tugging with more desperation at the men holding him. "No you cannot..."

"Continue to struggle and I shall deliver you a finger... perhaps an ear?" she used a conversational tone, watching keenly at how Glorfindel responded. Just as she suspected, he instantly went limp and pliant in the arms of the men.

"Please, do not..." Glorfindel's voice was hollow, a slight choke hitching its way in. Elrond's circlet, a design of elven make that no mortal could possibly hope to craft. It was more than enough proof. "I will... I will..."

"You will obey, or I shall show you that I am a greater monster than Agarwen when I am angered," she hissed, doing her best not to wince at her words, for they were true. It appeared that a "monster" was what she had become.

The elf nodded, head drooping down in grief, anger, defeat, or a combination of the three. Elizabeth waved at the soldiers who reluctantly released their grip on the elf. They took a half step back, mystified by what Elizabeth had done. That elf killed four of their men, injured five while chained ankle and wrist, guarded every second of the day and night. Yet, he did not leap to attack Lady Elizabeth, instead, he appeared to tremble before the slight lady.

"Bow," Elizabeth ordered in her most commanding voice. A knot tugged its way into her gut as Glorfindel, already on his knees, slowly lowered his head to the dusty ground. It was an awkward movement with his wrists chained behind his back, but like all elves he maintained a modicum of grace while doing it.

A laugh rose through the crowd as they watched the proud elf supplicating himself before the Head Advisor of Gondor. The elf, for his part, did not react to this.

Elizabeth was tempted to stop there, but she knew that after all that Glorfindel had done, after the men he killed and injured, and the scene that he had put on with his struggling, the soldiers wanted a show. Elizabeth inhaled deeply, taking a half step back, she prepared herself. Then, without warning she kicked Glorfindel in the side of the head, watching as a bruise instantly blossomed on his cheekbone, the force of the blow enough to topple him to his side. There he laid, sprawled in the dust, he did no move.

"On your knees, elf," Elizabeth spat at him.

Glorfindel hurriedly complied, scrambling back to his knees, and after a glare from Elizabeth, back into a bowing position. Elizabeth began to walk slow circles around him, just as she had done with Elrond in the throne room- what felt like ages ago at this point.

"Who am I?" she questioned.

"M-my Lady?" he responded hesitantly.

"Very good," she ghosted her fingers along the back of Glorfindel's neck, watching as he trembled. She could hear the men holding their breaths as they watched her work. "Now who are you?"

"Glorfin-" Elizabeth interrupted his words with another sharp kick, sending him spraying once more. This time, Glorfindel took the hint and pulled himself back to his knees and bowed his head immediately.

"Let's try that again... who am I?" Elizabeth waited, watching as she swore she could see the gears turning in Glorfindel's head. Finally, it seemed that the answer dawned on him as his shoulders slumped further.

"I am a slave, my Lady," she whispered.

Elizabeth made him repeat the sentence several times, each time louder. She knew that above them, Elrond could see and hear everything that was going on, she knew that he was watching her cruelty and judging her on it. She welcomed the judgment, it was fair.

Finally, deeming her show sufficient, she stepped back and left Glorfindel sprawled across the floor, turning to King Tirgon with a graceful curtsy.

"You are to be the judge my King, did I master him as I claimed to be capable of?"

There was a beat of silence before a smile broke across the Kings face as he brought his hands together in a thundering applause. The crowd began to clap and cheer, shouts of admiration and well wishes being flung to a fro before the King held up his hand to silence the crowd.

"And such shall be a lesson to any who would underestimate the skills of our dear Advisor," he called out causing the crowd to break into cheers once more. Holding up his arm for silence, the King continued. "My Lady Elizabeth, I am happy to grant you this elven slave, a gift for your four years of esteemed service, and a reward for your skills."

The crowd's cheers were so loud that no one heard the words that Elizabeth spoke to Gledswith, who had mysteriously appeared behind Elizabeth as she had a habit of knowing whenever she was needed.

"Take him to the smith to be collared, then chain him in my chambers, you may have them remove the ankle manacles. But, do not allow him to the see the other slave." Gledswith nodded and pulled a pliant and limp Glorfindel to his feet. Before they left however, Elizabeth gripped the elf's arm and pulled him down until she could whisper in his ear. "You will obey her and the smith, but you are mine and none other are to touch you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, my Lady," he whispered. His voice was hollow, defeated, and broken. Elizabeth forced the lump from her own throat as she dismissed the pair and made pleasantries with the King for several more minutes until she was able to escape back to her chambers. Along she way, she ran into Runhild and asked the girl to draw a bath and have food sent up to her chambers. The journey from the North was a long and hard one. No doubt the elf was exhausted.

When she reached her own chambers, Elizabeth first went to her parlor and locked the circlet away, silently thanking that her plan had worked. She then turned to Elrond, and though she was away that he already knew, told him anyway.

"I now own your friend. I suggest that you do not anger me."

The elf lord merely bowed low and thanked her. Elizabeth stared at the top of his head for several moments, rage and grief building in her as she realized how much he now feared her. But, wasn't it better if he did? Wouldn't his fear save his life... and hers?

Before the though could come to its completion, she fled to her private bedchambers, glaring mournfully at the eye hook which she knew that she would have to secure Glorfindel to. But, there was no other place. She could not keep him with Elrond for the two elven lords would certainly scheme. She could not place him in her private office where only the most secure businesses of state were handled. Mostly, she could not bear to lock him in her "elf quarters," that tiny dungeon devoid of light and warmth. The only place left was her own bedchamber, her last sanctum of privacy where she could allow her true self a moment to breath.

She would have to tread carefully at all hours now.

And so, Elizabeth waited. She sprawled out on her bed and enjoyed the last hour or so that she would have of privacy. Soon, there would be another elven lord, another mythical creature of legend whose life she possessed, sitting in the corner of her room.

What had she done?

Notes:

Okay, so apparently I'm predictable. I'm sorry, but I can't help it... I love Glorfindel and his story is so fascinating.
Don't worry though, I don't keep bringing up the twins for nothing... they're gonna make an appearance eventually and as much as I’d love to throw them into this mess, I have an entire arc planned for them.

Chapter 10 Notes:

Okay, so again, just a warning... I kinda BS a little (a lot) of the medicine in here. It's all based on real medicine/medical practices... but remember that Elizabeth is working with the bare minimum of resources and I'm NOT a doctor.
Anyway, enjoy :)

Chapter Text

Knock, Knock

"Come in," Elizabeth's voice was weary as Runhild popped her head through the doorway.

"My Lady..." she hesitated for a moment. "I'm sorry to interrupt as I know that you're expecting your new slave soon... but another half dozen have fallen ill."

"That brings the total to how many now?" Elizabeth sat up in alarm, fully awake and worried.

"Twenty three fallen ill over the past four days," she hesitated for a moment, "all are either from the lower barracks or the work rooms. The King is gravely concerned."

"This is morphing to a pandemic," with those words Elizabeth was flying to her feet, racing from her bedroom and into her parlor. "I need you to fetch me more bone broth and lambs blood- it needs to be fresh." As Elizabeth spoke she began shuffling through glass vials and beakers on her desk. "If you spot any of the Senior Healers on the way, instruct them that I am initiating a full quarantine on those two regions... they'll know what I mean."

Runhild nodded and sprinted off to complete the tasks.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth checked the cell cultures that she started previously, examining any growth that had occurred in wake of swabs from the patients... there was nothing serious. She had already examined several samples under the primitive microscope that she constructed, but found nothing.

Thank god I took that History of Medicine class, she thought to herself as she fiddled with the screws on her handheld microscope. It was a terribly inconvenient piece of equipment and it required her to use sunlight in order to see through, but it was better than nothing. Sadly however, she could not find any infectious bacteria growing in any of the saliva or blood samples from the victims.

Once she received the lambs blood, Elizabeth hoped that she would be able to culture any viruses... but she was beginning to doubt that they would be the cause. The people fallen victim to the illness all exhibited similar symptoms: it began with stomach pains, diarrhea, and chills, but after the course of a few days those symptoms would fade and they would become anxious and angry, their fevers would spike, they would often become violent, slurred speech, and they would involuntarily clench and spasm.

She couldn't think of any bacterium or virus that could cause such a thing.

"My Lady-"

"Gledswith," Elizabeth cried in relief as her assistant entered the parlor through Elizabeth's bedroom. "Perfect, I need you to ensure that there is a full quarantine of the lower barracks and work rooms. Send up a pair of Senior Healers with the first patient to fall ill. Then, I need you to work with the Assistant Healers in compiling a list of everything going in and out of those who regions. I want to know where their food, water, waste, and staff come and go. I know we have an initial report... but I need followups. We're missing something."

"Of course," she responded before quickly moving to the task. She was no fool and the urgency of Elizabeth's tone was enough to deeply concern her.

Elizabeth went back to a list that she had complied of plausible causes. She was beginning to suspect that a pathogen could not cause such varied symptoms and so she reviewed the list of patients. Examining their heights and weights, Elizabeth noticed that women and those of smaller stature were the most effected... she tossed her paper down and continued to pace.

"Twenty three," she cursed under her breath. "I have twenty three ill, five on the brink of death... and barely the slightest hint as to the cause." She grabbed the closest thing to her hand- a charcoal stick- and chucked it against the wall with all her strength. For a brief moment, thethunk that it made as it hit the wall and broke in two brought a brief sense of satisfaction... but that quickly faded. "Initial symptoms seem conducive towards heavy metal poisoning... but the secondary symptoms can't be explained by that."

"If I may," Elizabeth's head snapped to the side as Elrond spoke, slowly standing from his place on the floor. "What if there are two illnesses at work?"

"And what are the chances that everyone infected with the first is also infected with the second?"

"Entirely possible of the illness shares a carrier," he was careful to keep his gaze averted, but his words struck deep within Elizabeth.

"Of course," she slapped a palm to her forehead and retrieved another writing charcoal from her desk. She immediately began scribbling out possibilities...water born or food are most likely.

When the two senior healers arrived at her parlor with their "patient zero," a terrible thought struck Elizabeth. She recalled the older list of anything new being brought to the lower barracks and work rooms... fresh meat from a new farm to the North... it was a formerly occupied land.

"I need you to hold him on his side, half curled. This will be painful, but he must be absolutely still," she ordered firmly. Then, Elizabeth walked to her cabinets and removed a device that, when she had it commissioned, hoped that she would never have to use. It was a large, long, and wicked looking needle. She was going to have to perform a lumbar puncture.

She slowly walked over to the man, kneeling down she placed a small collection bowl underneath the spot on his spine that she thoroughly wiped clean. The man was incoherent. Being one of the worst stricken, they were forced to drug him or else keep him restrained as he writhed and howled. It was likely a kindness that he would not remember this as Elizabeth had no local anesthesia to speak of. Taking a deep breath, she slowly inserted the needle between two of his vertebra, watching with dismay as a thick, white fluid leaked out.His spinal fluid was filled with proteins. And white blood cells.

There was only one thing she knew of that could cause all such symptoms, that could strike in such a manner.

"Tell me, Sorwyn," she half closed her eyes in fear. "Among the produce from the new farms... was there beef."

"Aye," she nodded. "They delivered the cows live so the staff butchered them. The flesh they cooked or smoked, and the organs they made sausage of."

"I need every last ounce of that meat burned. Anything from that farm it to be treated as poison. You may take him back to rest. Keep him sedated."

The two healers nodded and carried that weakly struggling man with them as they left. What happened next was a blur. She called for the King and briefed him on the situation, ordering that all farms in the newly settled Northern lands must be evacuated, any crops or animals must be burned, and the land must be cordoned off once more. Any food that came from those farms was to be burned as well. Elizabeth was loath to uproot those families, but it had to be done.

She was a fury of movement and action. Letters were drafted, orders were given, and tasks were delegated. The sun rose and set two more times before she was certain that all would be done according to plan. No more fell ill, the quarantine was lifted. But there was no cure.

After the last letter was completed, Elizabeth nearly collapsed into her chair. She had only left her parlor to make trips to the Healing Halls, kitchens, lower barracks, and work rooms in order to supervise operations. She hadn't had a proper meal or napped for longer than an hour in an upright chair. She was utterly exhausted, and utterly devastated.

She failed.

She couldn't cure the ill.

Dropping her head into her hands, she lost all composure. Elizabeth wept.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth could see Elrond watching with a combination of fascination and disgust. He eventually spoke up.

"I don't believe that you ever spoke of the illness itself, only its cause."

"It's not use. They haven't much time and they will succumb. There is nothing that I can do."

"What was the cause?" There was genuine curiosity in his voice and Evelyn was apparently just sleep deprived enough to ramble like a drunk.

"You," she knocked her delicate teacup over her desk and delighted as it shattered. Oh what a metaphor that was. "You and your kin when you turned tail and fled like cowards. When Sauron captured land... do you know what he did to it? He couldn't occupy it all and there was no point in him taking useless families prisoner, but he wasn't kind enough to let them be. So, do you know how he exterminated them without wasting his precious orcs?" She leaned forward. She was angry: angry with herself for not finding a cure, angry with the elves for screwing the humans over, and angry at Sauron for his creative cruelty.

"I assumed he found a more inventive way to kill," he spoke quietly. It seemed that Elizabeth's diatribe quelled his previous curiosity. But, she was not to let him off so easily.

"Oh and inventive way indeed," she sneered, tossing herself backwards in her chair. "He salted the earth, poisoned with with kilos upon kilos of salt and metal shavings. Nothing would grow. But that wasn't enough no... he played with nature even more. He crafted illnesses that spread through the livestock. Any that survived his orcs would be poison to the starving wretches scouring for food. Do you know what a prion is?" She co*cked her head to the side, but did not give him a chance to answer.

"It's a little tiny protein that's folded in all the wrong ways. When it gets into a human it then worms its way to the brain and tells all the other proteins to do the same... then it warps and reshapes the mind. There's no cure and Sauron made sure that it spread across every land that he conquered. All this happened while you elves hid. You have no idea how many died, do you? Did you know that children are especially prone to fall victim to these menaces? Have you any idea how many mothers and fathers were forced to watch as their children went mad, turning into rabid dogs, howling in pain as they sunk their teeth into the ones that they loved, beating their heads against wooden walls? Do you know how many tiny graves were dug while soldiers fought and died, facing armies of a mad creature, brought to power by rings of elvish forges?"

Those last words tapered off to a whisper, a tear making its way down Elizabeth's cheek. Part of her acknowledged that the elf likely had no idea what she just said, had no comprehension of proteins or prions like mad cow disease, but she didn't care. She had spent so many days pouring over reports of the mysterious plague which once swept Middle Earth in the wake of the war. She read so many stories of tragedy. So many deaths. And now, the war still haunted them.

"I think," Elrond hesitated when he saw the way Elizabeth glared at him with challenge in her eyes, but he continued. "I think that I may be able to help. You say that this illness is of the brain folding improperly... well I may be able to re-fold it."

Elizabeth though it over. In the books, Tolkien was never very specific on how elves healed or how elvish magic worked. However, Elrond did manage to heal a magic wound that should have been fatal. He must have healing magic. Her mind raced, the weariness of sleep deprivation faded with yet another surge of adrenaline.What would be the harm in having him try? She mused quickly.These people will die if we do nothing, this is a chance.

With her mind set Elizabeth marched across the room and began unhooking Elrond's chains. The elf appeared startled for a few moments, but quickly composed himself and began tying back his hair in a quick plait. Elizabeth paused for a moment, a modicum of sense returning to her before she could race out the door as she wanted to. She took a long look at Elrond and went to the chest in the corner, rifling through for several minutes until she pulled forth a medium length leash of simple leather. While Elrond appeared momentarily affronted, he allowed Elizabeth to hook it on, knowing well that waltzing around the castle, trailing behind Elizabeth without a leash would be strange indeed.

Just as Elizabeth placed her hand on the doorknob, she paused. Turning to Elrond, she glared at him, standing there in her colors, metal collar 'round his throat, leather leash connecting him to her, appeared as docile as a lamb. She wanted to trust him, she really did. But then again... didn't Joshua trust Haldir?Look at where that got him...

She pushed him backwards, palm flat on his chest as she pushed his back to the wall. He bore her bullying with that stoic and blank expression. His gaze was impassive. There was no fear, but there was no triumph. He gave no indication of what possessed him to make such an offer, to go beyond what Elizabeth would even think to ask him.

"Why?" she demanded. He opened his mouth to speak and Elizabeth cut him off. "And don't play dumb."

"As you seemed to be aware the day I was brought to Gondor, I am a healer. I have no desire to watch any people die when I can help it," he spoke calmly.

"And what of the men who are soldiers, hmmmm? Men who would capture and enslave your kin as soon as they are healthy enough to fight again?" She leaned in close, but he did not move. "Do you mean to twist them further? To make them suffer more?"

"I have no intention of the sort." Then, he did indeed cast his eyes downward and lower his voice into a pitch bearing submission. "And I cannot displease you, but I have many reasons to curry favor from you," he whispered to the floor.

The logic seemed sound enough and Elizabeth stared him down for several more moments before nodding her head and backing up. His logic was sound and those patients really did have nothing to loose. They were dead either way... but perhaps Elrond could help.

"Alright then..." she worried her bottom lip for a few moments before nodding her head- half to reassure herself. "Remember when we are out there... you represent me. You will be respectful and obedient or you will not be the only one to be punished."

She watched as the merely bowed lightly. He stood there before her with his perfect posture, squared shoulders, and towering height. She had seen him almost entirely sitting these past weeks. It was bizarre to see him standing. Elizabeth then tugged lightly on his leash and watched how he followed, always keeping the perfect distance to maintain sufficient slack while also not tripping over Elizabeth's heels.

From the corner of her eye she watched how he moved- the grace of an ancient warrior certainly flowed through him. He looked- strange in that tunic that she gave him. She suspected that he was used to wearing long sleeves as despite the short sleeved tunic he was dressed in, he held his hands lightly folded together across his stomach as they walked, the way one would to slip their hands into their sleeve.

She ignored that detain and focused her attention on the approaching Healing Halls. Once more strict warning and they entered, Elizabeth immediately ordering to see the first patient stricken. Several of the Senior Healers gave Elizabeth long looks, but she ignored their glances and waited rather impatiently for them to prepare the man in one of the private rooms. It soon became apparent that nearly every healer in the room had their eyes on Elizabeth. In truth, she had been all but ordered to be by one of the older matriarchs of the group. Although Elizabeth was the Head of those halls and outranked everyone in the room, some of the women could be extremely motherly and didnot approve of Elizabeth staying up all hours to tend to patients and make arrangements for the evacuation of the infected lands.

One of the women even made a comment about how Elizabeth was ready to inspect every beef side in Gondor. If she were being honest with herself though... she probably would if it could keep her people safe.

Pushing aside the judgmental glares and the sudden urge to yawn, Elizabeth tugged once more on the leash and led Elrond to the private healing room that the young man was placed in. It was eerily silent in there with only the wind beating against the slotted window to give any indication of life. The man's vital signs were fading... soon he would cease to breath and his heart would give up.

"Do what you can," she ordered with a resigned sigh, dropping Elrond's leash so that it fell down his front like some absurd tie. The elf ignored it however and instead knelt down next to the man's bed. He hesitated for a brief moment before holding out the palm of his hand, and placing it on the man's forehead.

Elizabeth's weary grimace turned into awed fascination as the spot where he touched the man began to glow, white light shining from his palm. Elrond's eyes were closed in concentration as he whispered words of song that Elizabeth couldn't understand. He seemed entirely focused on that moment, and Elizabeth found her mouth parting slightly as she gazed on the scene in awe.

The man on the bed began to shift slightly, but Elrond continued his ministrations, face set in an expression of concentration. His breathing picked up slightly as if what he did was exhorting his strength, but he continued steadily. There was a hummingbird in the air, and feeling that Elizabeth could only supposed to be magic as the elven lord wove healing in a way that no modern medicine could even begin to hope for. Then, the impossible happened.

The man opened his eyes.

As soon as the man's eyes opened, Elrond opened his as well and drew back, pulling his hand slowly to his chest he heaved lightly, a tiny grin spreading across with face. He was triumphant.

Elizabeth raced forth and found that the man was indeed healed. There was not a sign of illness in him and his brain was functioning perfectly. From there Elizabeth was once more swept into a blur. She and Elrond marched from bedside to bedside, each time he would place his hand on the forehead of the ill, sing his song, and the patient would open their eyes perfectly fine. With twenty three patients to get through, they had their work cut out for them.

There was something quite clear that Elizabeth soon caught onto- this was draining on the elf. Each time, it took slightly longer for Elrond to heal the person. Each time, he breathed more heavily and lingered in his kneeling position. Each time, his hand shook a little more as he reached out to touch the patient. Yet, he never complained, never asked to stop. He merely set his face into a grim expression and continued to heal. It wasn't until he healed the last patient, a young maiden of 14 years who just recently started working in the lower work rooms, did the Healers in the Hall burst into a fit of applause. Elrond almost seemed spooked for a moment before he nodded his head lightly in acknowledgment, turning to Elizabeth for approval.

She smiled warmly and squeezed his shoulder gently. After a last few words with the Senior Healer on duty, ordering that all patients remain under observation, Elizabeth picked up Elrond's leash and guided him back to her parlor, chaining him back in hi spot. The second his chain made contact with the latch, Elrond slumped to the floor in exhaustion.

"You did well today," Elizabeth spoke gently, placing a hand lightly on the top of his head. "Rest now."

Elrond said nothing, already beginning to close his eyes as Elizabeth took the lunch tray that was left for her and placed the entire thing next to elf. She was not hungry, but he would likely be when he woke. Although she knew that his actions were of self preservation, he still saved the lives of twenty three of her people- an entire epidemic and not a single death, all thanks to him. She would have to find a suitable reward, but right now she was too exhausted.

She had not properly slept, not even entered her bedroom for the past two days and she was utterly exhausted. She found herself moving on autopilot, slamming the bedroom door behind her and waltzing to her bed, she tugged herself out of her dress as she went before collapsing into the covers. Both Runhild and Gledswith were on a break to as they had been up and active as much as she had been. Nonetheless, Elizabeth was too tiered to care about her clothing that was scattered on the floor.

Although it was not even noon yet, she slept.

A good many hours later, Elizabeth found herself lazily awakening, her body not allowing hers to sleep and excess of twelve hours no matter how tiered she was before. Eitherway, Elizabeth felt refreshed as she slowly stretched in bed. Turning her head in one direction, she saw that the stars were out and the moon was already high in the sky. The castle was asleep. She was unlikely to be capable of forcing herself to sleep more, but she smiled slightly when she realized that she would have a good many hours to read by candlelight before she was needed. Finally, some peace and quiet- a break from everything.

Turning her head in the other, Elizabeth released a curse and was so startled she nearly fell off her bed.

In the corner of her room, in the light of the moon and the stars, was a pair of cerulean blue eyes peering back at her.

Elizabeth cursed louder and brought a palm to her forehead. Somehow, in the panic of the epidemic and her frantic search for a cure or a stop to its spread... she forgot about the elf that she just acquired. She forgot about Glorfindel.

Realizing that her two trusted maids were fast asleep and that the entirely of the castle was slumbering, Elizabeth banished the thoughts of a pleasant book and warm pot of tea.

She had another elf to deal with.

Chapter 11 Chapter Text

Glorfindel knew what he looked like. He knew that he was filthy, that he stank of sweat and other, less pleasant things from his time at the mercy of Gondor's soldiers. He knew that his hair was matted, that his skin was stained, and that his closed were ripped and torn to nearly shreds. He also knew that he was glowing in the moonlight.

Perhaps... more likely than not, it was was this glowing that frightened the girl before him.

For two days he remained locked in place, chained by ankle, wrist, and neck to the floor. The only moderately comfortable position was a kneel and no one seemed inclined to loosen his chains. No-one had seemed inclined to pay him any attention at all. Despite obviously being locked in someone's bedroom, he watched two nights pass with any sign of the "Lady Elizabeth" who he presumed to own him, returning. Instead, the only sign of life he detected was the occasional maid rushing through, always in a hurry and barely sparing him a passing glance. On one of her trips, she paused and looked at him long enough to move a pitcher of water from a nearby table to within his grasp, but she did not speak to him or deliver food.

Thus he waited, wondering if the Lady had forgotten about him or deemed him unnecessary. That waiting also gave him enough time to worry if she had indeed changed her mind about him. If she decided that she didn't want him... then what would be Elrond's fate? Time and an idle mind are as dangerous and as perilous to one's mental fortitudes as any method of torture. Of all the agonies that he expected to endure in Gondor, this uncertainty over his and his Lord's fate was not one of them.

Then, as suddenly as his abandonment had been, she came. Banging the door open and shut as if had offended her, Glorfindel was forced to blush as the Lady blantanly stormed across the room, tugging off clothes as she went. He was torn between watching and looking away as she haphazardly yanked pins- already half hanging- from her hair, unlaced and tossed her dress, and kicked her shoes all in opposite directions before collapsing nearly nude into her bed. At first Glorfindel was frozen in shock, but then he found himself deeply confused and even more worried.

Did she not see me? Did she forget that I am here? Or... is this all somebizarre power gesture... her acting as if I amentirelyinsignificant?

The thoughts whirled through Glorfindel's mind as he decided that no matter what, waking the woman who likely held control over his current existence was probably not the best of plans. So he was forced to wait... and wait he did until she began to stir once the night was late. He watched in curiosity as she stretched, arching her back lazily like a cat. She rolled over in bed and slowly opened her eyes...

And promptly released a string of curses far too delicate for any elf maiden to hear. She scrambled to cover herself with her sheets and glared at Glorfindel as if he had somehow broken into her chambers.

If she was alarmed, then Glorfindel was terrified. Through all his fearful ponderings, he had resolved himself to face the worst sorts of torture imaginable, to live beneath the boot of the cruel woman who he met in the courtyard- the woman who knew too much about him and dangled the life of the one he was sworn to protect before him on a string. He had readied himself for a hardened, cruel courtier who would demand his supplication and would be pleased by his beauty. He was not however, prepared for the indignant glare he saw sparkling in the maiden's eyes.

"I don't suppose anyone has tended to you since your arrival?" she finally spoke, breaking the tense silence.

"No," he managed to croak. The pitcher of water had run out the previous day and his throat was parched.

Elizabeth sighed and dragged herself out of bed. She walked over to the dressing screen on the other side of the room and reemerged in a simple robe. She rekindled the fire in the hearth and lit several candles before walking towards Glorifndel with measured steps. He remained still. When she was near enough to the he had to crane his neck upwards to look at her face, she crouched down and examined him. Her eyes raked across his filthy body and she sighed heavily before walking over to the bathing tub. She seemed to examine it for several moments, glaring at the tub as if it had caused her some offense before she disspeared into a side door.

Much to Glorfindel's amazement, she reemerged several minutes later, this time carrying a bucket of steaming water which she dumped into the tub. She repeated this several times, hauling water and emptying into the large wooden tub. Now, Glorfindel was no expert on Gondor's court, but he had never known a Lady of status to ever undertake such a burden as hauling water for a bath. Yet, she continued this pattern until the tub was filled. She then dumped in several small jars of salts and strange herbs, stirring the water almost violently.

When she was finished, she turned her gaze on him and eyed him with that discerning gaze. Glorifndel found himself fighting the urge the fidget as she approached with a key in her hand. Right before she stepped closer however, she paused and held up the key.

"Now," her voice was slow and held a sliver of ice in it. "I am about to unlock your chains for you need a bath. If you try anything to harm me... then your lord will wish he was never born. Do I make myself clear?"

Glorfindel nodded in understanding and allowed her to unlock his chains, practically sighing with relief as he had the opportunity to stretch out his sore muscles. She seemed content to allow for him to slowly work the knots out of his aching joints and he remained seated, feeling suddenly exposed and vulnerable. His time with the race of man had been less than pleasant. However, it was always predictable. From the moment he was captured he was assaulted at all times by blows to his chest and limbs meant to disable him, and words meant to scare and humiliate him. He spent days listening to men brag about the number of elves they beat, killed, and raped. And the descriptions, oh the descriptions that they gave him of what they wished they could do to him, what they would do to him once he had a collar and was bound to the Middle Earth.

Yet now he was here, finding himself suffocating under the crushing weight of a maiden's glare, suffocated by silence and not knowing what was in store. Then, it was what he feared-

"Remove your clothes," she ordered imperiously. She stood and stepped back, waiting for him to strip his last layer of protection.

It was but a thin cloth tunic and torn leggings for the men had robbed him of his armor long before. He was still silently mourning for they had taken from him his necklace and ring, the last artifacts he had of his House before the Fall of Gondolin. Yet, now he was being forced to strip bare, to remove his last trace of life as a free elf. Glorfindel contemplated his choices and deemed that it was not worth risking Elrond's life, and thus, he began to slowly peel off his clothes.

First came his tunic, crusted with sweat, blood, and those other dried substances which he cared not to think of. Once that was in a crumbled pile on the floor, he paused and hesitated, but was spurred to continue by a firm glare. Resigning himself to his fate, he removed his leggings and cast them aside to the pile of worn clothes, standing as straight and proud as he could manage when stripped before the one he now had to address as his 'Lady.' Her eyes unashamedly swept up and down his frame as she made a slow circle around him. Glorfindel resisted the urge to cover himself or tremble as he felt the wight of her gaze on his naked form.

He was no fool. He knew how he looked-whathe looked like, most especially to the children of men. He knew his features were beyond he ordinary elven beauty and he knew the he was desire by men. He knew all too well how much they desired him. He had little hope with the collar wrapped round his throat.

"Get in the bath."

Glorfindel glanced up in surprise, but moved quickly to comply. She seemed serious in her words and Glorfindel was able to suppose that she would not want to bed a filthy elf. He felt the water hesitantly and was rather shocked that it was war. He was expecting an excruciatingly hot bath meant to burn him, but instead she had bothered to warm the water to a gentle and soothing temperature. He delicately stepped into the tub and allowed the warm water to ease the knots from his muscles. A cloth and a bar of soap was handed to him, and he began to wash his body in earnest, attempting to scrub away the filth.

All this time, Lady Elizabeth was watching him. He could feel the weight of her gaze and tensed, nearly jumping in alarm when he felt her small hand on his shoulder as he half expected her to push him under. The men had done that several times along the road; every time they came upon a river, they secured his bonds and doused him under the flowing currents to "bath" him and test how long elves could hold their breath. The men often waited until he passed out each time. However- she did no such thing. Instead she merely swept a lock of his hair aside to examine an already scabbing wound on his neck. She hissed lightly.

"This was not cleaned before it scabbed. I will have to reopen it."

Glorfindel merely nodded in acknowledgment as she walked over to a small cabinet in the corner and retrieved a variety of herbs. She then made a quick mixture of water and crushed paste before wetting a cloth and scrubbing at the wound on his neck. Glorfindel did his best to ignore her touches as she focused on washing himself, torn between stalling to delay the inevitable, or moving quickly to get things over with.

After she finished cleaning the wound on his neck, she firmly grasped his left arm, taking it hostage and forcing Glorfindel to switch hands as she completed the same procedure of reopening and washing the large scrape on his shoulder. That injury had occurred the day he was brought in. The men decided that they were tiered of his uncooperative nature and so deemed it proper to drag him by their horses over the rough cobblestone. If he were a man, he likely wouldn't have any skin left on that shoulder. Glorfindel bore all this in silence, wondering what she would do next.

Suddenly she stopped her movements. Glorifndel found himself freezing as well as the tension, already thick in the air, seemed to settle around them in a suffocating embrace. Ever so slowly, she dropped the cloth she was using to clean and reached up towards Glorfindel's hair. He puled back slightly, and would have easily been capable of breaking the young woman's grip if only he had no worry of retaliation. Instead he waited, he endured the curious hand that lifted his hair, which had remained dry above the water, and wondered what it would do.Will she pull me under, or perhaps slice it off as so many of them threatened?

A look of utter revulsion crossed her face as she inspected it closer. Glorfindel realized what she was looking at- the white, filmy substance which had dried and clung to his hair.

"Who did this?" she growled.

"The... the soldiers?"

"Did I not order that you are to be mine alone?" Suddenly, that rage and anger swirling in her eyes turned and Glorfindel felt it all honed on him.

"It was... before you acquired me my Lady..." he hesitated, fists clenching below the water. "Before you gave your order for me to- belong to you."

He shuddered at the memory, the bathwater suddenly feeling cold as he recalled the way the men pawed at him, teased him through his clothing all while making lewd remarks. Then, one of the men decided that there was a way to still defile him without needing a collar to keep him alive. After the first man released his spent, smearing it across Glorfindel's face, wiping it past his lips and causing him to choke and gag at the taste, several more joined in the game. They allowed it to tangle in his hair, laughing as several of them specifically aimed at his golden locks. They saw his hair with his warrior braids as a sign of his race and were determined to defile it as much as they wished to him.

Lady Elizabeth paused before releasing his hair and arm. She the quickly filled a small bucket with bathwater and dumped it over his head, prompting Glorfindel to scrub the flakey seed out of his scalp. She allowed him to work through it in silence for several more minutes before announcing quietly,

"If any try to do something of the like again, you are to remind them that you are my property alone... and that I do not like sharing."

"Yes my Lady," he whispered in reply, head ducked down as shame burned at his cheeks. Oh how easy it was to spit curses in defiance at the brutal soldiers. Now, in the chambers of some court maiden he found himself afraid, jumping at the slightest touch and wholly vulnerable in a way that no ropes of bondage could ever replicate.

Eventually, his bath was complete and Lady Elizabeth held out a towel for him to take. The cloth was surprisingly soft and she seemed to take the time that he used to dry himself as an opportunity to further examine his form. He ignored the weight of her gaze as best he could before wrapping the towel around his body in an effort to preserve any modicum of modesty.

He was eating for the words, the orders that would send him to his knees, that would have him splayed out on her bed. He had already sent a quick prayer to Eru that she would have mercy on him, maybe something as small as a vial of oil to ease whatever torture she had in store. But, nothing happened. She merely pulled out an old tunic and had him put it on. She then guided him over to a small stool which she bade him to sit on. Once there, she pulled her own vanity chair behind him and brushed through his damp hair, surprisingly careful about tugging.

After what felt like an eternity, she examined the small cut along his scalp one last time before re-chaining him to the wall. She replaced his empty water pitcher with a full one and placed a bowl of fruits that was previously on her table by his side. She stood for several minutes watching as he hesitantly bit into the fruit.

"I assume that you have questions," she spoke briskly, a hint of irritation and impatience creeping into her tone. "You may ask but I make no garuntees on a response."

He thought carefully over his words, mulling them over and for once, thinking before he spoke up. Both in Gondolin and under Lord Elrond's employment, he was not known for his abilities to remain complacent. Now however, his words could prove dangerous and he had no desire to anger Lady Elizabeth.

"I assume that if I am to act out, you will take your wrath to Elrond?" he asked. She nodded in affirmation.

"How am I to truly know that you hold him?" He spoke with care, thinking over each word. "How am I to know if you merely purchased his circlet, but own not him?"

She seemed to ponder his words for a few moments before turning and moving towards a small desk in the corner of the room. There, she shuffled through a stack of parchments and emerged carrying one which she handed to Glorfindel. He would recognize that slightly slanted script anywhere... it was written by his Lord.

"I assume that you can identify his penmanship," as she spoke she pulled a chair away from the table and sat, facing Glorfindel. "As of now, I am using him as a scribe. He is copying the majority of my official documents and letters.... perhaps helping a bit in the Healing Halls as well."

Glorfindel traced his fingers along the dried ink, a slight tremble in the tips as he brushed almost reverently. For weeks, he believed that Elrond was dead, he had fallen into a deep spiral of depression and doubt over failing in his sworn task, his sole reason for returning to Arda. Yet, he had to hold himself together, he could not grieve for he had all the elves who Elrond took responsibility over and cared for under his charge. Then, the worst occurred again and he almost failed to keep them safe. That circlet that Lady Elizabeth threw at his feet had given him hope... but now he had proof. Elrond was still alive. He had not yet failed entirely.

"How is he?"

"Right now he is resting. He healed a good number of people and it drained him..." she paused when she noticed the stricken look in Glorfindel's eyes. "I understand that there are limits to elvish healing, I have no intention of entirely draining his life."

"Do you use him for... anything else..." Glorfindel's words trailed off, but he knew that she could understand his meaning.

"I have not need for such entertainment from him," she huffed. "And, as with you I do no share."

"May I see him?"

"No," his shoulders fell as he realized that no matter how much he pleaded, she was intent on keeping them separated. But, she continued. "There is a very, very small chance that if your behavior becomes exceptional, then I may allow you the privilege of meeting with him. That is onlyif you can earn it and gain my trust."

Glorfindel's heart swelled with hope. Elrond was writing and healing, it was nothing that he could not bear. If only he could earn this maiden's trust... he could meet with Elrond. Then, perhaps if he continued to please her he would be allowed to visit Elrond regularly. If such became the case then perhaps they would find a chance to escape together. Elves escaping the bondage of men was rare... but there was always a chance. Glorfindel was always an optimist. He would cling to that chance.

With those thoughts in mind, Glorfindel shifted to his kneed, bowing his head low until it touched the floor near where Lady Elizabeth's feet sat.

"My Lady," he spoke in a gentle voice, lifting as much musicality into it as he could. "How may I serve you?"

He would sacrifice his pride for a chance at freedom any day.

From above him, he could hear Lady Elizabeth shifting in her chair. He waited patiently.

"Right now, you may eat and drink," she spoke at last. "The castle will remain asleep for several more hours yet. I have work to do and no need of you."

Glorfindel waited to rise until he could hear her stand and switch to sitting at her desk. He waited for several minutes until it became apparent that she truly meant what she said. Thus, he obeyed her orders and sipped at his water while chewing the fruit slowly. He was incredibly hungry as he had not eaten real food since his initial capture. However, he also knew the risks of consuming a great amount of food in excess after starvation. He had no intention of emptying his stomach on Lady Elizabeth's floor and trying her patience.

She seemed to be intensely focused on the papers before her, an array of scattered parchments. Most of them were covered in scratchings of charcoal and they were laid haphazardly out in chaos. A slight smile tugged at Glorfindel's lips as he recalled how similar his desk looked back in Gondolin when he was tasked with running his house. He was always more of a warrior than a scholar or a politician. He learned to play the games, but he hated the paperwork that they came with.

Suddenly, his curiosity was peaked. He knew that lady Elizabeth was held in some amount of renown as she was addressed fondly by the King. He also knew that she must work somewhat in the Healing Halls for he claimed that Elrond was assisting her there and she knew how to dress his wound very well. However, the amount of paperwork she was currently fishing through looked more like the work of someone who was tasked with ruling a Noble House... not merely a Healing Halls. He hesitated, not wanting to disturb her as he waited until she walked to her hearth to place a kettle on before speaking up.

"My Lady," he noticed how she stiffened slightly at being addressed, but did not turn to look at him. She did not however order him to quiet, so he took it as enough encouragement to continue. "Might I ask you a few questions... if I were to know you better than I may better be able to serve you."And the better chance I have of escape, he thought.

"Yes."

"What position to you hold in Gondor?"

"I am the Master Healer of the Healing Halls and Head Advisor to King Tirgon. I split my time between the duties of both."

"Quite and accomplishment for one so young..." Glorfindel hesitated, knowing that he was treading into dangerous ground. "Might I ask how you came about such a position?"

"Chance and skill alike," she answered in an unperturbed manner, still shuffling papers as she spoke only half paying attention to him. "I have an... educated background. One day I happened to be walking along a path when I found the King's party stopped along the road, one of his captains had been thrown from his horse and his shoulder was dislocated. The shape of the dislocations was strange however, and it was pressing on a vessel causing it to swell and making it difficult to reset. I was able to and King Tirgon generously invited me to be employed in the Healing Halls... before long I was promoted to Master Healer."

"Your skill must be great indeed to obtain that position so quickly," he spoke half in flattery and held in genuine awe. "And your other title?"

She turned to him and shrugged. Glorfindel had expected her to become irritated or angered by his questions. Instead, she responded with an amount of general ease, relaxing more than he had seen since her waking.

"As I said, I have an educated background. I have become considered the Kingdom's foremost scholar on the history of Arda leading up to the Great War. Kind Tirgon often visits his people in the Healing Halls and we often found ourselves in conversation. Eventually he would visit the Halls to seek advice... and soon I was promoted. I could not refuse such an honorable and important position, but I would not forsake my duties to the Healing Halls. Thus I now hold both positions."

She went back to her work after that and Glorfindel fell silent as well, processing over the information.

A healer, scholar, and leader. She and Elrond hold so much alike... I wonder if she has come to realize such.

The stark difference between the two of course, was that Elrond would never hold another, no matter their race, as a slave. She held both his and his Lord's life in the palm of her hand... and Glorfindel would swear that she was barely the age to be a proper mother. She seemed calm now, but he would have to take care.

Like the sea, is often the calmest who mask true fury.

Chapter 12 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"No."

"Oh come now Elizabeth, it's just one night."

"No."

"You have two and no one's even seen the second since you claimed him. They're starting to talk."

"They always do. Let them."

"Is it because of training? I can straighten one out by the time."

"What part of 'no' do you fail to understand?"

"Oh, since when have I settled for such?"

Elizabeth sighed with exhaustion. When Aragorn came bursting through her door, insisting on talking to her in her private office, she was concerned that there may be some threat to the Kingdom. But no, he merely wished to pester her about bringing one of her slaves as a "pet" to the Samhain ball that night. It was a masquerade and as a prominent official, Elizabeth was required to attend. Never mind the fact that she had work to do.

But now, now Aragorn wanted her to dress up one of her elves and parade him around the party on a leash, like a loyal dog. Such was common among the higher ranks of the court. In fact, few would ever show up to such a lavish party without a sign of their wealth and influence dragging behind them, thoroughly cowed and exhibited like some exotic display. She found it simply distasteful and wanted to part in it. Aragorn however, had other expectations. He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed heavily, his mischievous smirk fading. His tone turned sincere as he spoke.

"Elizabeth, you know that I think of you as somewhat of a younger sister, right?"

She nodded her head. In truth, she always saw him as the big brother that she never had.

"Then you know that I will always try to steer you from harm, that I will always guard you from daggers to your back?"

She nodded again, not liking the direction that this was taking.

"There has been talk in the court. Whispers and rumors. Nothing serious, nothing even close to treasonous, but just the slightest seeds of doubt that your conduct with your elves is unsatisfactory."

As Elizabeth opened her mouth to protests, Aragorn held up his hand to stop her.

"Now I, and most others, know such things to be false... but whispers are whispers. You are already the only official of such a status to not keep a pet attending you. But this ball, as loathsome as it is, is meant to show off power and wealth. You have both in those elves and people will wonder if you do not bring one. We are not just celebrating Samhain. Even I have an attendant trussed up for the night."

"Since when did you keep an elf?"

"She is only a temporary piece, an accessory to please the court," he rolled his eyes and Elizabeth couldn't help but laugh lightly. She knew that Aragorn hated these parties, but like her, as the leader of the Dunedain he had to play nice. "I am however, considering acquiring my own... but only once I find one that truly interests me."

"I don't suppose that I have much of a choice in this matter, do I?" She asked with a resigned sigh.

"No," Aragorn hesitated slightly before continuing. "The King already ordered two costumes to be made. They will be delivered before the ball and you may pick which elf is to attend you."

"Oh joy," her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Options."

"I thought maidens loved pretty clothes?" That stupid smirk was back on his face.

"Get out before I slap you," she huffed and watched as he spryly lept to his feet and darted out the door, satisfied in having obtained her compliance.Damn them all,she found herself growling.

Exiting her office, Elizabeth took one look at Elrond, crumpled in a heap on the floor. He was curled around a thin blanket and his eyes were closed as he slept soundly despite the light and noise coming from the open window. He was still utterly exhausted. His rapid healings took quite a toll on his health and he had been sleeping since. She shook her head lightly and moved to her bedroom.

As soon as she entered, the elf in the corner swung his head upwards, gazing at her with wide eyes.

How can one so old, so strong a warrior and wise a guardian, seem so much like a child ininnocence?

She closed the door behind her and took in a deep breath. She had approximately four hours to mold him into a perfectly trained, perfectly submissive slave. He would be tested against elven slaves who had spent hundreds of years learning the etiquette of Gondor's court... she would be judged for the tiniest infraction of his. If he made too many mistakes, the King would insist on him being sent to Adravaine. She couldn't let that happen. She took a moment to steel herself before allowing fury to pool in her eyes.

"Lazy slave," she hissed. "On your knees when in the presence of your Lady."

The elf hurried to comply, chains rattling as he pulled himself to his knees. He looked up at Elizabeth.

Slap

The sound of her leather riding glove making contact with his cheek echoed in the room.

"You do not look me in the eyes. You do not look anyone above you in the eyes."

He complied again, eyes downcast, spine straight. He seemed perfectly at ease in the position, but Elizabeth knew better. She saw the tension in his spine, the way his shoulders were far too squared. He was not cowed, and Elizabeth knew that no amount of pain would bend him. He was no stranger to pain.

She only had one card to play.

"Do you ever wonder about your lord? How he fares under my care?"He stiffened slightly, and she continued. "When I ask you a question I expect a response."

"I do, my Lady," he hesitated, spurned to continue by an angry glare. "May I see him? I swear that we will not plot escape, I just wish to speak with him once more."

"The fact that he remains untouched is more a mercy than any other in Gondor would give," she spat back, watching as Glorfindel's head sunk to the ground. A slight tremor ran through his body, but she knew it to be an act. "I can revoke that mercy at any time. You heard what the soldiers wanted to do with you. What do you think they would do with the elf who delivered the letter of the Dark Truce? Without a pretty face like yours they won't worry about ruining it."

"You are a Lady of great generosity, and I thank you for your kindness..."

"I am not kind," she reached into a dresser and pulled forth a crop. Just for show, she thought to herself as she used it to lift the elf's chin. Glorfindel moved easily enough, and wisely, kept his eyes averted. "Know this well, there may be times that I am merciful, but I am not kind."

"Yes, my Lady," he seemed almost offended at being corrected.

"Tone," she hissed and he quickly corrected it. "You are to be my attendant at tonight's Samhain Ball."

Then, wordlessly, Elizabeth unlocked Glorifndel's chain and walked over to her little table, standing over her chair. She turned and glared at the elf, but he stayed rooted to the spot, confusion blooming across his face.

"What are you doing? Attend to me," she ordered and he hurried to comply. He rushed to her side and looked lost for a moment, but then quickly took the hint and gently pushed in her chair.

"You are to stand behind my chair and keep my glass filled with wine or tea," she watched as he easily lifted the pot on the table and poured her tea without leaning too far forward or spilling a drop. In all honesty, she was impressed.

To test him, she purposely knocked over her glass and watched as Glorfindel was quick to pick up a napkin and wipe the liquid before it could spill down the table and drop to her dress. Again, she was impressed by the ease and speed at which he worked, more graceful and confidant than any other elf attendant she had seen. He also was obviously rather skilled at learning quickly. Such was a good thing. She would not have time to teach him everything.

"You will stand to my left, half a step behind at all times," she gave instructions as she ate. "While I am sitting, I expect for you to be kneeling at my side and only stand if it required for a task." She watched as he immediately dropped to his knees, eyes lowered. She made to stand and he swiftly rose, pulling out her chair for her. She then stepped away from the table and he followed her at the proper distance.

For several hours they rehearsed. She walked about the room, stopping and starting suddenly to test if he would collide with her. She made demands, barked orders, and gestured for what she wanted, each time pleased with how easily he responded. Once satisfied that he was as skilled as he could be with such little training, Elizabeth called for Gledswith who appeared as if by magic, carrying with her the dress that she would be wearing that night and the choices in costumes for her elf.

Her gown was gorgeous, a luscious affair of red-organge silks, grey fur, and golden trimmings. A thin, gold wire mask accentuated the almond shape of her eyes and Gledswith fussed about her face, painting black khaol around her eyes and red rouge on her lips. She then twisted half of Elizabeth's hair into an extravagantly swirled bun on the top of her head and curled the rest of the tendrils with an iron rod. To finish the look, another gold wire accent piece was placed atop Elizabeth's head- two pointed triangles for ears.

Gledswith then set about preparing Glorfindel who took to her ministrations remarkably well. He obediently, if with a bit of hesitation, stripped off his tunic when ordered and dressed in the flimsy golden robe which was so thin and slippery, it would hardly be considered decent attire for sleep. Nonetheless, Gledswith was careful in fastening the silk sash which cinched his trim waist, pulling on the drooping sleeves, and slipping his feet into gold and silk slippers. She pushed him onto a stool and he showed his first signs of true protest when she began to untie his warrior braids. He grabbed her wrists, yanking himself backwards and squeezing hard enough for Gledswith to wince. Elizabeth's response was immediate. She lunged forward and grabbed his throat with just enough strength for him to feel her hand as she leaned in and hissed lightly.

"You are no longer a warrior, you are a slave. Your body belongs to me and I will do with it as I please. I suggest you think carefully before you place hands on my staff."

She watched Glorfindel fall still and freeze, grief welling in his eyes before he allowed for Gledswith, after a rather terse glare, to continue to undo and brush out his thick tresses. Elizabeth turned her back on the scene and her words, the way that Gledswith was dressing and adorning Glorfindel like some sort of doll. She remembered, vaguely in the back of her mind, how many years ago she would scoff and roll her eyes at people who dyed their dog's fur rainbow colors. She remembered the harsh judgments she had on those people who thought of animals as a source of mere amusem*nt and fashion... yet here she was with Glorfindel, her elf, getting him dolled up so that he would look presentable at her party.

The thought made her sick.

"It's done, my Lady," Gledswith spoke as she handed Elizabeth the gold and red leash that was attached to Glorifndel's collar. If he was beautiful before, he was stunning now. The golden robe he wore made his hair shine all the brighter and had a large red ruby dangling from his collar, making a beautiful compliment with Elizabeth's deep red dress and gold accessories. His face was washed and painted almost as much as Elizabeth's, but no mask obscured his obviously elvish features.

"Thank you Gledswith, that'll be all," she replied, smiling tightly as she watched the way that Glorfindel squirmed with the leash. Once Gledswith was gone, she took a steadying breath and looked to Glorfindel, speaking gravely.

"You will be gawked at, prodded, provoked, and talked about. You will endure the stare of others and the hand of myself. You will endure all this whilst watching others of your kin endure the same. However, you will not react."

Hearing the mention of other elves, Glorfindel's head shot upwards.

"Who of the Eldar will be there?" he asked sharply.

His tone inflamed Elizabeth's anger. He was doing so well before... he needed to do well. But, with one mention of the wrong subject he was back to that fiery and fierce figure that he was upon first arriving in Minas Tirith.

"I do not know, and it shouldn't matter to you. You will not speak with or even acknowledge them," she spoke with as much patience as she could muster, attempting to cover her fear with anger. The court wouldn't be tolerant of a single spark of defiance.

"If it is one who I know?" he asked, desperation creeping into his voice as he pressed closer to Elizabeth. He was tall, and now that she saw while standing like this, hair flowing backwards with the breeze of the open window and eyes lit with fire, he was intimidating.

"It doesn't matter."

"What if it is one of my soldiers, one of the guards under my command who I raised from elflings in Lindon?!" he rose in pitch and took another step towards Elizabeth

"I don't care if you see f*cking Ecthelion!" she screamed in response, tugging hard on Glorfindel's leash to pull him to the ground. Her fear for her own situation with the imposing form of Glorfindel looming over her and her fear for Glorfindel's fate if he were to act even remotely close to how he was at the moment caused her to explode, spitting out words as she never would, never could in Middle Earth.

She paused to compose herself, but found Glorfindel sprawled out on the floor, a look of something between horror and wonder on his face.That's not right... was all Elizabeth could think of the starling expression before he opened his mouth to speak.

"How... how?" instantly Elizabeth felt a massive ceiling above her head crack, threatening to drop an entire mountain on her. "How did you know..."

sh*t!

She was in trouble

No mortal had business in knowing about Ecthelion of the Fountain, Lord of an ancient house of Gondolin long since extinct. It was a tale so rarely told by the elves that even great lore masters had likely forgotten about it... she shouldn't know his name... shouldn't know how close he was to Glorfindel.

The questions she could see on to tip of Glorfindel's tongue were dangerous. She knew that they would lead the both of them down a path that they would come to regret. They threatened everything and everyone in this world. She couldn't let that happen.So, she did the only thing she could.

She took control.

With a burst of speed, Elizabeth grasped Glorfindel by his loose hair and yanked him towards the hearth on the other side of the room. He followed, still too much in shock over hearing his long dead companion's name from the lips of a Lady of Gondor.

"How do you know him? What mortal knows of..."

"Shut up," she ordered, threading her fingers tighter until the pull on his scalp forced Glorfindel to wince. She pushed his face closer to the flames and she could feel how he tensed, panic threading into his posture as sheer will prevented him from breaking away from Elizabeth with force. She leaned in close, pushing him ever closer to the roaring fire and hissed into his delicate ear.

"I know many many things, Balrog Slayer," her voice was the opposite of the fire, like ice honed in a midwinter's storm. "Why or how I come to know them is not for you to question. I am the only being standing between you and the flames of Gondor's anger. I am the only one keeping Elrond from being sent to the one you call Agarwen to be broken like Cirdan." She yanked her hand, tossing him backwards and away from the flames. He scrambled awkwardly like a crab for several steps until he paused and immediate threw himself into a prostrated bow, forehead kissing the ground.

"Now," Elizabeth continued, pretending that the hitch in her throat was born of anger and not anguish. "You are to be a slave, a pet that I am parading to show to the court. You will play your part without questions or you will suffer for it. Do you understand."

"Yes my Lady," his voice was bleak and when he finally lifted his head, his eyes were wide and his jaw was set.

Fear?

Anger?

Grief?

Elizabeth couldn't say. What she did know however, was that he was obeying. She breathed deeply to calm herself- an act which she found herself so often repeating these days. If he was obedient, then everything would be fine. If he could just keep his head down and his mouth shut... no one needed to know that the "toys" in her chest remained unused. No one would need to know that he was chained to her corner, not her bed. And no one would need to know how close she was to having a breakdown over all of it.

Checking her hair in the mirror one last time, Elizabeth grabbed Glorfindel's leash and tugged once. She walked out of the room, him to her left and one step behind as ordered. His head was up, but his eyes were cast downward and Elizabeth prayed that he could maintain his submission for the ball.

Four hours.

Four hours of dancing and small talk, four hours of Lords and Ladies bragging about their elves and other conquests. Lady Elizabeth squared her shoulders and steeled her nerves.

I can do this.

Notes:

Ooooooh, a party next time. Also angst... lost of angst. Poor Glorfindel just can't catch a break.

Chapter 13 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"M'lady, you are absolutely stunning this night," Aragorn stood outside Elizabeth's door, arm held out to guide her to the ball. King Tirgon always thought that it would be more proper for her to be guided by someone closer to her own age, however all of the other counselors were far older than her. The leader of the Dunedain however, was high enough in rank for a respectable Lady like herself to be accompanied by, so the King allowed it. Plus, it made the ball far less dull.

She ran an apprising eye over Aragorn, satisfied to see that he cleaned up rather nicely. While her dress and mask alluded to a fox, his attire was more comparable to that of wolf with a silken gray shirt accenting the shine in his eyes. Behind him trailed a pretty looking elf maid in a simple but elegant dress. She was walking at the perfect distance, her gaze downwards, not even glancing up at Elizabeth or Glorfindel- she was obviously well trained.

"My, there is a man under the filth of the wilds," she laughed teasingly.

"And I was never aware that you knew how to apply kohl," he jibed back.

"Yes yes, presentation's sake," she muttered as she shook Glorfindel's leash slightly. "I even brought along a pet."

"One that will certainly be the most radiant thing at the party," he said, a hint of gravity in his voice.

Nonetheless, that was the last that the pair spoke of their respective elves. They spent the rest of their walk to the ballroom catching up on recent affairs. Elizabeth was rather excited as the last shipment of books that they received from Erebor included several volumes of rather obscure poetry, that she believed to be from the first age, as well as an entire volume of healing fungi that the dwarves commonly used. She had never even heard of many of the bizarre mushrooms before as many only grew in the deepest depths of caves, but several of the specimens were supposedly cures for ailments that she had thought untreatable.

Aragorn was one of the few in Minas Tirith outside of the Healing Halls who actually enjoyed listening to her ramblings. Although he was no Master Healer, as a ranger of the Dunedain he was often tasked with healing his men as they traveled and he saw Elizabeth''s deep understanding of the body as fascinating. As they continued to walk, Elizabeth became so engrossed in a story of how furious then relieved King Tirgon was when she used an entire bottle of distilled spirits to cleanse a room before presuming surgery on a wounded guard who, despite massive internal operations, healed without any infection, that she almost missed the moment they arrived at the doors to the ballroom.

Elizabeth slipped from Aragorn's side, taking a seat in her small throne next to the King at the High Table whilst Glorfindel knelt demurely at her side. She noticed, with a small amount of ease in her heart, that Runhild had followed her instructions and a plush velvet pillow sat beside her throne so Glorfindel would not need to kneel on the hard stone for the hours of the feast. She removed her mask and set it aside, not needing it until the dancing would begin.

"My friends," King Tirgon began. "We gather here today, on the night of Samhain to celebrate a triumph that we all share in. Tonight, when the spirits of the dead are nearest to us, we honor the legacies of those who perished in our war against darkness." He paused, looking down into his goblet as if seeking strength or inspiration in it. His voice choked as he continued. "Nearly two million men: Soldiers of Gondor, Riders of Rohan, Warriors of Arnor, and Dwarves of Khazad-dum," as he spoke the last one he tipped his brow to the dwarven representatives who joined them at the feast. "Perished on the battle fields. Tonight we drink to honor their victory."

"Hail!" a large cry emerged from all tables.

"But, we do not only honor the warriors who shed blood on the fields of Barad-dûr," he inhaled deeply, drawing strength from memories of grief. Elizabeth could feel Glorfindel tensing beside her...Did he even know? Where the elves ever made aware?

"On this night, we honor the millions more who suffered and died, fighting the war against plague, against famine, and against loss. We honor the brave families forced to move, to flee from their homes when Sauron salted the earth and razed forests to the ground. We honor the children who wasted away in terrible plagues that were created by the Dark One in an attempt to weaken us... the plagues which still slaughter our people to this day."

A murmur swept through the crowd as people were immediately reminded of the most recent outbreak of tainted meat. Hundreds of people were forced from their homes as the entire village was evacuated. The land was once again marked as untouchable, forcing those people to seek shelter and livelihoods elsewhere.

"But the time for mourning is past," at his words the crowd fell silent once more. "Tonight we honor their sacrifice and celebrate our victory. To Gondor!"

"To Gondor!" the people echoed his cry.

"To Unity!"

"And to Victory over Sauron!"

"Victory over Sauron!" a wild cry emerged from the crowd as King Tirgon took a deep swig of his wine, indicating for the feast to begin.

As if by magic, servers, mostly elven, flooded the hall bearing with them massive trays heaped with steaming delicacies. No expenses were spared in the celebratory feast and thus, dishes from all corners of Middle Earth weighed heavily upon the table.

They had fish from corsairs of Umbar, spices from far Harad, and rare vegetables from the East all gracing the plates of the revealers. Conversation and wine both flowed equally freely and Elizabeth nearly forgot bout her slave. Of course, this was until Glorfindel stood gracefully from where he kneeled and leaned gently over her shoulder to refill Elizabeth's glass with wine. This motion attracted the attention of Lord Brendvel who sat across from her.

"Wow," he openly gaped at Glofindel who froze halfway through the motion of placing the wine carafe back on the table. "They said that you acquired a pretty one, but I never imagined something that like."

Elizabeth glanced at Glorfindel, noticing the obvious tension in his spine. His grip on the wine carafe looked as if it was threatening to break beneath his hands and his eyes were planted firmly on the tablecloth. In truth, he did look stunning. Under the light of the candle chandeliers and roaring fire place, his golden hair tumbled in a wave down his back, as shiny and pure as silk and gold. His bright blue eyes, fixed firmly down, shone like the crystalline sea or glittering sky of midsummer. Even his marble-carved face was pale and perfect in every ratio. He easily outshone all other elven slaves and more than a few pairs of eyes were fixed on his lean form.

"Yes, he is quite the prize indeed," she replied as easily as she could, carding her fingers through his hair and attempting to subtly push him back down. He remained frozen in place however, from shock or fear she did not know. In an attempt to play off his frozen form, she gently pulled back a strand of hair in order to reveal the finely pointed tips of his ear. "He has Vanyar blood in him, so his features of finer and sharper than most."

"Marvelous," Lord Brendvel breathed with barely contained lust.

This time, Glorfindel seemed to understand Elizabeth's silent order for him to return to his kneeling position which he did quickly. Once settled, Elizabeth let her hand remain in his hair, petting him as if he were some favored hound. She crossed one ankle demurely over the other and smiled amicably at Lord Brendvel.

"So my Lord, how fares your daughter? She is nearly of age, correct?" she desperately hoped to change the topic of conversation.

"How much?"

"Pardon?" she played dumb.

"How much for your elf?" She could feel the sharp intake of breath beneath her hand. Glorfindel knew exactly what that man wanted from him.

"He is not for sale."

"For rent?"

"I'm afraid that I don't like sharing my things."

The lord seemed annoyed, but acquiesced after that. The topic of conversation then changed to something more pleasant for both parties. Throughout their discussion, Elizabeth's hand remained tabled in Glorfindel's hair, petting him gently until she could feel the tension unwillingly slip from his spine. She was a bit shocked at how marvelously well he was behaving. All the other elves at the table were well versed with the duties of an attendant and thus acted according to their station, but Glorfindel, aside from his moment of frozen panic, was acting perfectly.

As the feast wore on, Aragorn jabbed Elizabeth lightly in the side until he received her attention. He then made a rather pointed example of hand feeding his elf who took each bite of food and sip of wine without complaint. The withering look he gave he indicated that, yes, he did expect her to do the same with Glorfindel. It was how all the Nobles at the table treated their slaves during the feast and it was expected of her.

She looked down at Glorfindel, kneeling with his back straight, his arms clasped behind his back, and his eyes firmly planted on the floor. It didn't escape Elizabeth's notice that she was one of the only ones to provide a cushion for her slave, however she figured that as a healer she could wave off any questions with some remark about blood flow. They would most likely believe her.

Elizabeth examined the food on her plate, attempting to find something that would be the easiest to deliver and make the least amount of mess. Eventually, she settled on a buttered roll and several pieces of exotic fruit. She decided to start with the roll, carefully tearing off a bite sized piece and buttering it lightly. She held out the morsel and watched as several emotions flitted their way across Glorfindel's face in a succession much too quick for he to keep up with. In the end, he figured it out and took the offered food lightly between two sets of perfectly straight teeth. He chewed and swallowed silently, returning his gaze back towards the floor.

Elizabeth suppressed the urge to shudder at his last motion, returning to her meal and dutifully ignoring the lusty looks crossing the faces of several of the people in attendance. As the meal continued, she fed Glorfindel more and more scraps of bread, a few slices of finely cooked venison, and several bites of sweet fruits. The only challenge came with the wine. She fed him the wine by lowering her own cut to his lips, tilting it gently so he could sip the sweet and heady liquid. He did all this, keeping his hands behind his back and even batting his eyelashes in a demure manner. It took all of Elizabeth's self control to not react to that action. In all likelihood it was a trait that he just picked up off of another slave during the dinner, however it still concerned Elizabeth to a degree.

At last, the meal came to a close and Elizabeth stood gracefully, Glorfindel pulling out her chair and walking beside her as she moved away from the table. The same servants previously serving food emerged to clear away all the tables and chairs. disappearing with them through side doors. Then, the musicians stepped forth and set up their instruments. Before long, music was playing and the dance floor was alive with sweeping steps and swirling silks. Lords and Ladies of the court danced together, their footsteps joining into a chorus.

Elizabeth affixed her mask and drew as far away from the main dance floor as could be deemed appropriate and glanced forlornly at the clock. She still had another two hours before it would be considered acceptable for her to feign exhaustion and slip away. A part of her almost wished for a medical emergency to pull her from the party.

Aragorn, noticing her boredom, swept his way over to stand at her side.

"M'lady," he bowed, kissing her hand. "Are you enjoying this fine ball?" From beneath his wolf like mask she could see his eyebrow raise in amusem*nt.

"I fear for my health my Lord," she lowered her voice, leaning over conspiringly. "Do you think it possible to die of boredom?"

"You are Master of the Healing Halls my Lady," he winked back. "Only you can say."

"Then I think I shall consider myself afflicted and thus order myself to retire from these affairs."

Aragorn laughed in response, hand to his chest as he attempted to control his mirth. He looked up with his silver eyes and held out his hand in offering.

"Then perhaps, I may offer a different cure. A dance, Lady Elizabeth?"

"Certainly, Lord Aragorn," she responded with a grin, dropping Glorfindel's leash whilst Aragorn dropped the lead of his own elf.

Elizabeth rested the urge to roll her eyes as Aragorn made a show of leading her to the dance floor. As much as he argued with her about appearing proper by bringing an elven slave to the ball, he never seemed to follow laws of proprietarity himself. There were already a plethora of rumors surrounding their friendship, some even going so far as to claim that Aragorn was seducing her in order to gain better trade deals with Minas Tirith. Considering the man spent half of his time in the White City fresh off patrol and smelling of horses and sweat, Elizabeth could hardly fathom why any would believe him capable of such.

Thus, they danced in an almost mocking manner, enjoying the short reprieve by each others company beneath the glittering chandeliers and silk draped canopies. The Great Hall, where the ball was held that night, had a massive skylight. The sun had long ago fled the sky and the moon and all her stars were glittering over the scene.

Notes:

So I have no idea how many people populate Middle Earth. I almost went with numbers from WWI... but then I realized that Middle Earth, being non-industralized, has no where near the same population as our world did at the time. Just assume that his numbers are about equivalent to the losses in WWI, but he's only counting their side.

Chapter 14 Chapter Text

Elizabeth was halfway through her piles of paperwork when she saw Elrond stirring from the corner of her eye. She finished the report that she was working on and placed it gently on the table as she watched Elrond slowly sitting up. He reached for the pitcher of water at his desk and slowly took several steps. For the first time since after his healing session, he seemed fully awake and coherent.

"You did well," she spoke and Elrond looked up sharply as if he had forgotten that she was there.

"Thank you, my Lady."

"You did not have to offer your help, and yet you did. The patients are recovering well... and it seems that you did not tamper with them in any way."

"I would not dare, my Lady. I am pleased however to hear that they are well. All of them?" he added the last words as an afterthought, and Elizabeth knew exactly who he was asking about.

"The little girl with the dark hair and grey eyes is healing just fine. Her body took a bit longer to mend and thus she is still on bedrest, but she will make a full recovery."

Elrond nodded, immediately reaching for the bowl of lukewarm stew that Elizabeth had set out for him earlier. For the past several days he was constantly in and out of consciousness, only waking long enough to take a few bites of food or sips of drink. Now that he seemed properly recovered however, it was time for her to speak with him.

"You did well and thus will be rewarded. Do you have a particular request?"

"If you would allow it, my Lady... I would ask to speak with Glorfindel," he moved to kneel, head down and shoulders hunched. Elizabeth inhaled sharply, but said nothing to his actions for he was acting as one would expect an elven slave to act when requesting something from their master. No matter what she told herself though, it still felt so wrong to have one of the wisest beings in Middle Earth prostrated at her feet.

"I will allow it on these conditions..." she predicted that such would be his request and thus had already thought it over well. "I will be present during this meeting and all words will be spoken in Common... no elvish tongues. If I catch even the slightest hint of deception... you will not like the consequences. Am I understood?"

"Yes my Lady."

Elizabeth turned and strode into her bedroom. Glorfindel was exactly where he was the night before, chained to the wall and mindlessly tugging at the threads of his blanket. She noticed that thankfully, one of her maids had given him a bowl of water to wash up with and thus his makeup from the previous night was gone. He immediately sat up and to attention when she entered the room, nodding enthusiastically in agreement to the terms that she set up for his meeting with Elrond.

She watched him for a moment, as if attempting to discern his honesty in his gaze. Finding no obvious deceit, she decided to go through with the plan and unlocked his chain. Taking a look at his leash, shill draped across a bedpost where Runhild left it, she decided that it would not be necessary and merely gestured for him to follow her.

Glorfindel nearly lept to his feat, following close behind.

***

Elrond was exhausted. He very rarely used his healing gifts as the injuries that elves commonly sustained where usually perfect treatable with conventional methods. Sickness was such a foreign concept to him that he was surprised that his gift worked... but it did. No matter what though, twenty three patients with deep and severe sickness took a large toll on his personal health. He could hear Erestor, his faithful friend and advisor, in his head lecturing him about the foolishness of doing such a thing.

He knew his limits though.

He approached, but did not pass the line.

Now, Lady Elizabeth claimed that she was allowing him to see Glorfindel. If she was being truthful, then he would finally get confirmation that his friend was still alive and maybe even well. Aside from his early slip up, Elrond had not been treated overly poorly by Lady Elizabeth and he could only hope that Glorfindel would be able to lay aside his pride and obey. If he did... then Eru willing he would still be whole.

Elrond did not have much time to worry or contemplate however, as soon the door leading to Lady Elizabeth's bedroom opened to said individual, closely followed by Glorfindel.

Elrond felt his breath catch in his throat as he was finally able to see Glorfindel up close, alive and whole. The warrior appeared far better than Elrond imagined; he stood tall and relaxed, his skin bore no sign of bruising, his short tunic was clean and un-torn, and even his golden hair was brushed and healthy.

"My friend!" Glorfindel cried out in joy, rushing forward and dropping to his knees to be level with Elrond. The blond warrior grasped Elrond's hands, forcing the peredhel to drop his quill as Glorfindel gripped him with an alarming amount of strength.

"It is good to see you, are you well?" Elrond's eyes scanned Glorfindel's form, searching for any sign of harm.

"I am perfectly fine... a pampered pet if anything," he spoke lightly and with a lopsided, self-deprecating smile... but Elrond could feel the inner pain of it. Although Glorfindel was not one known for having an abundance of the common elvish vice of pride... it had to sting to move from a warrior to a trophy. "I am more concerned for you... she..."

He trailed off his words as the gazes of both elves moved to Lady Elizabeth, seated at her desk and pouring off vials of solution. Her eyes were focused on her work, but neither elf held any delusion that she wouldn't be listening intently to their words.

"She treats me with more fairness than I expected," Elrond worked to quickly quiet Glorfindel's fears as he was instantly grateful that his bruises had faded long ago for he did not know what Glorfindel would do if he had seen his injuries. "I am mainly a scribe... on occasion I assist in the Healing Halls."

"You are drained," the joy and elation instantly drained from Glorfindel's face as he realized how utterly exhausted Elrond was... despite the Lord's best attempts to hide his state.

"It is nothing that I cannot handle... I know my limits-"

"And if you are pushed beyond them?"

"It will not-"

"If you ever have a choice," Glorfindel's words were suddenly sharp. "Then remember that I was sent to protect you, not the other way around."

"I will do what I must," Elrond slumped a bit as he attempted to reassure Glorfindel. He knew what his friend spoke of, he knew that the ancient warrior feared for him. Yet, he could not promise to hold his own life to a greater value than his friend. He didn't have it in him. Instead, he focused on the feeling of Glorfindel's hands in his, of the solid touch and contact which reminded him that this was real... that he was not alone and that his friend was safe. He had lost so much... fallen into so much despair... but Glorfindel wasalwaysthere to reassure him, to promise him that he did indeed make thebest choice that he could under the circ*mstances.

"Also," suddenly Elrond heard Glorfindel's tone change in a manner less than subtly... for subtly had never been the warrior's strong suit. "Our Lady has requested that we obey and do not attempt escape... we mustn't displeaseourLady as she certainly knows what is best."

Elrond very quickly came to the conclusion that the "ourLady" was certainly not referring to the one who held them as slaves... but the one who still held control of one of the last elvish hold outs... their Lady Galadriel. Elrond dearly hoped that Lady Elizabeth did not know what they were referring to, but his mind was swimming with questions and Lady Elizabeth had not reacted at all to the words. Thus he deemed it safe to press just a bit further.

"Yes... we must obey our Lady for..."

"For Lady Elizabeth is most generous... if we do well then she certainly will continue to be so."

Does he trulybelieve that LadyElizabeth can help? What does Lady Galadriel know?

"Of course..." Elrond was suddenly seized by an urge to push away the conversation as it was obvious that Glorfindel would be unable to pass on any further information without drawing the suspicion of Lady Elizabeth. "Tell me, is everyone well?"

"Aye," he smiled a genuine grin. "I know not where but they are safe."

"Good..." Elrond's words trailed off, he wanted to say so much more... and perhaps he had been idle too long for his tongue moved before he could stop it. "You shouldn't have done it."

"Done what?" his falling joy indicated that Glorfindel knew precisely what Elrond was talking about.

"You shouldn't have lingered. You couldn't have gotten to me if Manwe himself had lifted you up to this window."

"I had to try."

"I gave you an order."

"I was given a higher one."

"This was never in their plan," Elrond hissed. "You had other duties."

"Perhaps it was."

The pair fell into silence, Elrond rather shocked by the words that Glorfindel had spoken with such grave certainty. His visions had been muddled since his arrival in Gondor and he heavily suspected that the ring, the ring which once belonged to the High King, sitting on King Tirgon's finger was to blame for his lack of sight. Instead, his dreams were hauntings of memories from the past, old lives and friendships torn apart by the cruel hand of man.

Eventually, it seemed that Lady Elizabeth finished with whatever task she had been working on at her desk as she briskly stood and walked over to the elves. Her expression was unreadable as she spoke.

"Alright... time's up."

Neither elf wished for their time together to be over, but Glorfindel dutifully stood and both thanked Lady Elizabeth as graciously as they could. Elrond was no fool; he heard Glorfindel's message loud and clear... obey and get into Lady Elizabeth's good graces for Lady Galadriel commands it so. If she believed it to be necessary... then they would do so.

"Fare well, my friend," Glorfindel replied, placing a hand over his heart and bowing his head at Elrond who returned the gesture. The latter elf was pleasantly surprised that Lady Elizabeth watched this all with no complaint for her knew that many slave owners never allowed elves to bow... or even address each other.

Glorfindel followed the Lady of Gondor through the door and she returned alone a few moments later. She then went back to her work, lightly waving off the second round of thanks that Elrond tried to convey.

"If you keep behaving... such may not be so rare."

Elrond's reply was cut off by a knock on the door. Lady Elizabeth walked out and accepted a cloth wrapped bundle from a young serving boy, offered her thanks, and locked the door behind the boy. She walked over to Elrond's spot and unlocked the chain connecting him to the wall. Elrond remained seated, mildly surprised and slightly concerned by her actions as she beckoned him forward. He hesitantly rose and approached the seat which he pointed to across her desk.

Lady Elizabeth seemed content to ignore him for a while, shuffling papers to the side on her desk, pulling forth several sheets of parchment, those charcoal sticks which she so favored, and a several bowls and vials. She pulled forth the bundle she received and dropped it open, revealing a large number of herb stalks, both fresh and dried.

Elrond recognized them instantly, hand reaching forward to touch before he was given permission, but Lady Elizabeth didn't scold him. Instead she smiled as he ran his fingers over the familiar plants.

"Kingsfoil, or as you know it, Athelas," her voice was measured as she spoke, a hint of a challenge in it. "I know it has powerful properties of healing, but the art is lost among men. I want you to teach me how to use it."

Elrond looked up, surprise rending him silent for a moment. This maiden never seemed to surprise him. He thought that any hint to the powers of Athens had long dissipated from the ranks of man, that the old tales of how Huan sought out the herb to cure Beren's wounds, or how the leaves were a bane to Sauron's dark magic. In fact, he was quite certain that Athelas was known mostly as a weed for few elves even knew of its powers.

How does this little child of the second-born know so much? What is she hiding?

Lady Elizabeth cleared her throat and frowned, obviously taking Elrond's silence as refusal.

"Of course," he quickly corrected. "My apologies my Lady... I was merely surprised that you were aware of the powers of Athelas."

"I know many things." She shrugged easily.

"But still, my Lady," Elrond persisted though he knew that he shouldn't. "It's powers are barely known among the Eldar... let alone Edain. How did you come about such knowledge?"

"Enough questions," her tone turned sharp as her entire body seemed to stiffen. "It is not for you to question where my knowledge comes from. You are only to obey. Is that clear or must I remind you of your place?"

"Of course my Lady," Elrond ducked his head into a bow made awkward by the wooden chair that he sat in. "My apologies, I did not mean to overstep my bounds."

She leaned back and nodded, seemingly appeased.

"Shall I begin by explaining how it is to be properly harvested?"

"Of course."

"Well, the most important part of Althelas are the leaves. Therein lie the healing powers. When harvesting, the stem must be grasped and cut..."

Elrond felt himself relaxing as she spoke, the easy process of explaining the arts of healing brought back memories from his own days in healing tents and halls, learning from masters and teaching youths himself. He remembered how he had once drawn his sons, still barely past elflings, close as he gave them this exact lesson on Athelas.

Lady Elizabeth leaned forward over the desk, eyes raptly drawn to Elrond's hands where he clutched the plant. She seemed entirely focused on Elrond's lesson, her ears soaking up every word, her hands flying across the parchment without looking down as she took notes on everything that he said and demonstrated. There was something open about the way she looked, an innocence and wonder in learning that she embodied.

If this is what the Lady Galadriel wishes for... then I suppose that I can manage such...

Chapter 15 Chapter Text

Elizabeth finished recording everything that Elrond taught her about the Athens plant and its healing properties before re-chaining him to his wall so that he could continue transcribing. She moved around some papers on her desk and did her best to look busy... but it was difficult.

Gorfindel was many many things... he was valiant, brave, honorable, kind, beautiful, and wise... but he wasnot subtle. She knew that he was passing on a secret message to Elrond, a message which she could only assume that he picked up while at the previous night's ball. Sheknewthat they were passing secrets and she knew that she should stop them... but she couldn't bear the thought of revealing her knowledge to them. If they knew that she knew... then she would be expected to punish them. She had been controlling the two elves largely through a series of threats. Threats only work however when the threatened believe that the other party will follow through. If she allows the elves to get off without punishment... they'll stop believing her.

But how long will theybelieveme as I do nothing?

It was a devil's bargain that she was caught in and there was no good way out. She had to dance along this edge, play her role as far as she could before she lost her soul.

As she was contemplating however, she couldn't help but think to the words that Glorfindel used...our lady... NO!

He was talking about Lady Galadriel... it's the only thing that makes sense!

The realization felt like a punch to Elizabeth's gut. If Lady Galadriel knew that she was here... what else did she know? Did she know how Elizabeth ended up in Middle Earth? Did she know who she was? Did she know what Elizabeth knew???

The spinning questions made Elizabeth's head hurt and she wasn't quite sure where to go with them. Depending on how much Lady Galadriel knew... the clever elf could be a source of salvation or ruin. She was obviously concocting a plot... about what Elizabeth couldn't say.

The idea of freeing the elves was certainly something that had often weighed heavily on Elizabeth's mind in the past. She determined several years ago however, that a revolution would simply not work. There were too few elves and too many who despised them for something of the sort. The only way that the elves could ever achieve their freedom with violence would involve a near genocide of humans. As much as Elizabeth disliked slavery... she couldn't condemn an entire race.

No, the best solution that she could imagine would be for all the elves to sail, to leave Middle Earth for the old scars of the war were unlikely to fade. The likelihood of such happening though, was slim. The race of man was filled with anger and hatred, anger that only festered and grew with each plague outbreak, each time the earth was deemed poisoned and unsafe.

A knock sounded on Elizabeth's door and she bid them enter. It was Aragorn, dressed surprisingly smartly.

"Elizabeth, it seems your assistant was right to instruct me to fetch you. We have a council meeting to attend."

Elizabeth shot up, looking at the tick marks left on the candle and cursing her lateness. In the stress of the meeting between the two elves and her impromptu lesson on Athelas... she completely forgot about the council. Almost the entire High Court was to convene on their annual, several day meeting to discuss everything from grain stores and trade to threats of war. All of the top officials from Gondor would be there including Aragorn who was sitting in as a representative of the Dunedain. Luckily, Elizabeth's staff was far more attentive than her and she was already dressed. She only had to pack a quick pouch of supplied before standing and making her way to the door.

"Ah... one more thing," Aragorn frowned slightly. "Your elf?"

"He can transcribe the papers tonight," she dismissed easily.

"I mean your other one."

"You can't be serious."

"You know who's attending."

"I've never brought an elf to these things before. Besides, I don't see you with one."

"That's because no-one cares what the Dunedain do. You however, represent not only yourself but Tirgon. You know that he's expecting you to bring it."

Elizabeth considered his words and sighed in resignation. She knew that he was right... that it would now be expected of her to bring her elf with her to the more elaborate affairs at the very least. She then realized why Runhild had lingered in her chambers after she set out that morning- she was preparing Glorfindel as she expected for her to take him with her to the meeting.

"Fine, I'll be a moment," she allowed Aragorn access to her parlor while she marched to her bedroom.

Yanking open the door, she found Glorfindel already dressed in a silver and purple tunic, siting on a stool with his hair combed and a few small and delicate braids framing his face. They weren't his warrior braids that he seemed to prefer, but were rather decorative accents that Runhild had added in. Sometimes Elizabeth wondered how her staff worked so well around her.

"Do you know what's going on?"

"I was informed that I would be attending to you at a council meeting."

"You know your duties?"

"Your maids were... thorough in their explanations, my Lady."

Elizabeth nodded and stepped forth, taking his leash in her hand. She gave one sharp tug and he obeyed, standing and walking behind her. As they passed through her parlor, Elizabeth could feel Elrond's eyes upon them... more so Glorifndel and the leash he was tethered with.

Aragorn walked alongside Elizabeth, guiding her to the meeting as they conversed about things more pleasant than the oncoming hours of listening to petty squabbles and greedy lords. Aragorn spoke at great length of his excitement for he would be leaving Minas Tirith soon and traveling North with some of his Rangers. He described their task as a scouting mission of sorts for it was to be but a small band of his most trusted and skilled. Part of Elizabeth envied Aragorn for his freedom to roam Middle Earth at will, but she knew that she was not suited to the dangers of the wild. No, her place was there... in the castle amount the Lords and Ladies, the Healing Halls where she could help without getting in the way.

At last, they arrived at the council room and saw that most of the other attendees were already there, mingling and catching up on the latest from everyone. Elizabeth took her seat and was grateful to see that Runhil had already prepared for Glorfindel and thus had a cushion set out for the elf to kneel on. He did so without complaint, keeping his head down and his eyes averted.

"Ah," a rather obnoxiously loud voice called from down the table. "So Lady Elizabeth... you are the owner of the Golden One from last night's festivals."

Elizabeth looked up and locked eyes with Lord Penderon. He was a rather large, overweight man with a deceptive amount of muscle mass. He did not spend much time in the castle, preferring his own estate where he had a reputation for holding a rather large collection ofpersonal elves. Elizabeth usually tried to avoid gossip of this particular nature, but it was well known among the court that histastes were only suitable for the unwilling.

"My newest pet," she replied cooly, one hand going to rest on Glorfindel's hair in a possessive manner. Lord Penderon was on the list of people who she had no intention of ever leaving her elves alone with.

"A fine one indeed. Golden hair is a very rare trait."

"I know that there are some who dye their elves' hair to achieve such an effect," Lady Ashel butted in. "Of course, yours is natural... but it's the first I've ever seen."

"I would pay a fine amount for a night with you pet," Lord Penderon continued, clearly not taking the hint as Elizabeth ran her fingers through Glorfindel's loose hair. She could feel him tensing beneath her and saw the way he ducked his head further so that none could tell that he was biting his lip.

"I'm afraid he is far too valuable for your... preferences," Elizabeth raised her eyebrow to the Sindarin elf cowering beside Lord Penderon's chair. The poor thing trembled with every breath, Elizabeth suspected broken ribs, with lash marks clearly visible above the collar of the too-thin robe that it wore. The elf's pale skin and dull yellow hair seemed to be a poor imitation of Glorfindel's beauty.

Beneath her hand, Glorfindel was shifting, fidgeting and his breath came in shorter spurts.

"I wouldn't do anything permanent," he idly ran his hand through his elf's hair, tugging sharply and drawing a pained gasp from the creature.

"The answer is still no."

"Well is you ever change you mind-"

But Elizabeth had already turned and began a conversation with Lady Amile on her opinions of the recent raises in tax on cloth. It was a few minutes into that conversation when King Tirgon made his appearance and the meeting began.

It was certainly a long gathering. The opening topic was of course in relation to taxes... for what better thing to wast Elizabeth's time with than taxes. She did her best to feign interest, pleasantly surprised by the multiple times that Glorfindel was apparently paying enough attention to her inorder to keep her glass full and her stack of notes neat.

As the meeting wore on, the topic shifted from taxes, to trade agreements, to a potential alliance with the people of Umbar, to a very brief mention on the elf trade where Aragorn did most of the talking, and eventually to a few day to day affairs in the castle- mostly regarding safety. Elizabeth did her best to avoid groaning as she knew that they would not get to truly talking about the army and the Healing Halls until the end of the second day's meeting, but her position as Head Advisor forced her to remain at the table and engaged.

Lord Baldred just finished a rather impressive and firm valediction on the necessity of keeping a guard at the far end of the Lower Garden wall as opposed to inside the garden when a new discussion popped up.

"There is also the matter of the stranger still seeking an audience with his Majesty," Lord Gerion remarked.

"Stranger?" Lady Ashel, no doubt ready to hear another round of gossip, chimed in.

"Since when have we been so exclusive in audiences?" Elizabeth replied, doing her absolute best to not allow her suppressed eyeroll into her tone.

"That would be my fault," Lord Baldred said. "He introduced himself as a wanderer... but I sensed something strange in him. I feared for his Majesty's safety and thus I denied his request."

"And why is this still a question then?" King Tirgon replied whilst doing far less to hide his annoyance.

"He is still waiting," Lord Gerion looked rather annoyed as well as he spoke. "For the past five days, he arrives at the gates when the sun rises, stands there, and leaves when the sun sets. I myself have spoken to him several times... and he is amicable enough though strange."

"His name?" Lady Ashel inquired.

"Hump," Lord Baldred huffed with a wry smile. "He told me that he goes by many names... that he has many titles and does not care much for which we use... but claimed that most in these lands call him Gandalf the Gray Wanderer."

Elizabeth felt her heart clench.

"Gandalf?" she asked for confirmation

"Indeed... a peculiar name no doubt, and a roundabout way of answering."

Lord Baldred went on to describe the man's appearance and the aura that was about him... the sense that there was something more and dangerous under the skin of that old man. But, Elizabeth wasn't listening. Her world had shrunk entirely into that one name bouncing around her head, ringing alarm bells. Oh things were getting much much messier.

She glanced down at Glorfindel, surprised to see no reaction, but he appeared to only be half listening... mostly attempting to avoid drawing attention. Then of course it dawned on Elizabeth that Glorfindel didn't know the Maiar by that name... that Gandalf didn't arrive in Middle Earth until after the war and thus... Glorfindel never met him or knew him by that title as he went by a different name in the ages he spent in Valinor.

What is he doing here?Elizabeth asked herself.Is Sauron back? Did the Valar send him to battle more evil? Or perhaps is he here on behalf of the elves?

What did the emissary of the Valar want?

"What say you, Lady Elizabeth?" the King's words broke Elizabeth from her internal panicking.

She coughed lightly, taking a sip of her honeyed tea to clear her throat before she began to speak in a calm and measured tone, doing her best to hide the turmoil seething in her mind.

"His name and description strike an amount of familiarity... I believe that I have heard of him before." She had to proceed with caution as she didn't yet know his agenda. As much as she wished to help the elves... she wouldn't doom Gondor and all of mankind. "He is powerful indeed, but mostly with his staff. You should entertain his audience, but ensure that his staff is withheld for the course of the meeting... give him another walking stick if he complains."

"A sage solution," Kind Tirgon nodded slowly after a bit of thought. "Send a messenger out now and inform him of the terms, I will meet with him this evening, after today's council."

A young messenger took the paper that one of the scribes wrote out and bowed briefly before sprinting off to deliver the note.

The council continued and Elizabeth did her best to feign interest... but it was certainly difficult. She spend the rest of the meeting dredging up everything that she knew about the mysterious wizard... pondering as to what his motivations might be... and how much of an ally he could serve as.

She only had a few more hours left in the meeting... after that she would be faced with the wizard who lead the dwarves on their quest to re-claim their home, who lead the Fellowship of the Ring, who faced a Balrog... who actually hadn't done any of those things... but held the potential to do so.

Could mylife become any more of a mess?

Chapter 16 Chapter Text

Finally,finally,the council meeting ended. King Tirgon then requested for Elizabeth's presence at his next meeting and she was glad to comply, stomach flipping as she stood from her chair. Looking down to Glorfindel, she noticed that his tunic was far too short and narrow to accommodate and elf of his size and she smiled at the excuse to send him away.

"Gledswith," she called to her assistant who stepped forward to update Elizabeth's calendar. "Could you be a dear and take him to the tailor. I would like new tunics made that actually fit his frame, I trust you know what I would like. You may then retire for the night, Runhild shall attend me this evening and I will fetch my elf when I am done." She smiled as Gledswith took Glorfindel's leash and the elf followed without complaint.

Satisfied that there wouldn't be a disastrous reunion in the middle of the throne room, Elizabeth followed the King. Her stomach was filled with butterflies and her mind was turning as she contemplated the situation that she found herself in. From the sounds of it, Gandalf either only recently arrived in Middle Earth- making his arrival delayed from that in the books- or he had been lying low and was only now emerging. The former seemed a bit more likely as with how much of a reputation the troublemaking wizard had, Elizabeth had always assumed that she would know of his existence should he walk Middle Earth.

When they arrived at the throne room, King Tirgon took his seat on his lush throne, leaning back into the velvet and gold expanse he waved his hand idly at a nearby guard, signaling him to go fetch the "stranger." Elizabeth too took a seat, frowning slightly when she noticed that King Tirgon had a brown haired silvan elf chained to the foot of his throne. It looked like the elf had been there all day, but he remained perfectly kneeling without complaint. Part of Elizabeth was grateful that at least it was a silvan elf- likely one that was born in Middle Earth and therefore one that Gandalf wouldn't already know.

They heard a slight scuffling from outside and eventually, the doors opened to admit their visitor. The man was old, yet still tall and broad of shoulder. He was dressed in a long grey cloak which looked to be on the verge of rags. Although he was bent over a walking stick which wasn't his staff, the sparkle in his eyes indicated a great amount of life to him. He bowed and then looked up, a slight smile on his lips that Elizabeth recognized all too well- it was Gandalf.

No question about it.

"You have much desired to speak with me?" King Tirgon spoke.

"Indeed, King Tirgon of Gondor. How fares Minas Tirith?"

"The White City prospers as ever, though I am certain you can ascertain such things for yourself. What brings you to my audience?"

"Ah, a man who speaks to a point." He smiled warmly and gestured broadly as he spoke. "I am Gandalf, a wizard and traveller across these lands. I often enjoy... lending a hand to those who need it. However I come today without warning, but simply to meet the King of Gondor who I regret that I have neglected to visit."

"A wizard?"

"Yes, I would be happy to demonstrate, however it seems your soldiers confiscated my staff."

King Tirgon looked Gandalf over for several minutes, obviously appraising the wizard in an effort to discern his honesty. Elizabeth knew that this was a moment when the King did not need her advice. This was one of those moments- the discerning of a man's heart- that defined a king. At last, King Tirgon placed a calloused hand on his chin and leaned back in his chair, crossing one leg over the other. He scanned his grey eyes up and down the wizard one last time before smiling.

"I sense no dishonesty in you. Therefore, welcome to Minas Tirith. You seem to be a man who has traveled much and has many tales to tell. I would like to invite you to supper this evening. You may dine with myself and my court."

"Thank you, King Tirgon. You are most generous." Gandalf bowed low and was promised that his staff would be returned to him after supper for the King did not like weapons at the high table. The wizard was surprisingly obliging and left to be escorted out by a guard, but not before Elizabeth noticed the way his eyes turned soft as he gazed sorrowful at the pitiful elf at Tirgon's feet.

"What do you make of him?" the King asked the moment that Gandalf had exited the room.

"I think your choice was wise, that we have much to learn from him... I do not believe he harbors ill will, but he is certainly hiding something."

"Indeed," he stroked the short beard on his chin in deep thought.

"We should remain vigilant... but take care to not make him into a foe."

"So we shall."

At those words, the King dismissed Elizabeth who returned to her chamber, immediately retiring to her bedroom where she had the luxury of sighing loudly and flopping backwards on her bed. She was exhausted, wrung out, and tense with emotions and anxiety. But, at least with Glorfindel at the tailor she finally had a moment of peace and privacy. It was a moment that she wished to savor.

For the past several days she had felt as if she were constantly walking along a tightrope. Her mornings were filled with sickness and death as she scrambled to save lives with primitive gear in the Healing Halls, her days she played politics with courtiers who were like bloodhounds searching for any crack in her resolve, her evening were filled with paperwork whilst sitting ten feet away from an ancient and wise elf who she had to ensure would fear her, and even as she slept at night she had to remain vigilant as she held a fierce warrior chained like a caged lion beside her bed. Between the restrictions of her status and the damnable corset which she was forced to wear, Elizabeth felt that she was being squeezed to tightly to even breath.

For a brief moment, she considered what it would've been like if she had never met the King's party along that dusty road... if she had remained in that inn where she the local family loved her for saving their child. She could have continued to live there, obtaining a job as a simple healer- perhaps opening her own apothecary. Sure, she wouldn't have servants or fancy dresses or fine parchment to write upon, but she had lived her life without luxuries before. Besides, if she had remained, then she would have her freedom. She could've people in small ways by healing the ill or injured. Mayhaps she could've even opened a small school and taught the local children to read and write.

Elizabeth smiled at the notion, but shook her head. If she had remained in the village, then those people would benefit from her knowledge... but no one beyond it would. She would never have had the opportunity to train others from such a position and thus, she would never have received her hundreds of students who learned the importance of sanitation or the dangers of blood-letting. The dozens of schools that she established throughout Minas Tirith and into the lands of Gondor would never have occurred... and it was her steady head and knowledge of modern diplomacy that aided the King from averting war with the Easterlings. She had made such an impact on Gondor by simple virtue of luck and coming from a modern world where the spread of knowledge was taken for granted.

She owed too much to the people of Middle Earth to sequester herself for the sake of her own ease.

After a while, she figured that she had delayed enough. There was no doubt in Elizabeth's mind that the tailors had finished with Glorfindel long ago and she had merely been forcing him to wait in their offices while she tarried. Sighing and savoring her last moment of true solitude, Elizabeth swung her legs over the edge of her bed and pulled herself other feet. She still had to decide how and if she should approach Gandalf. On one hadn't she could simply let whatever happed play out... acting as much as her position as Head Advisor required. Such would make her life so much simpler. But, on the other she could discern Gandalf's motives on her own, reveal a bit of herself in exchange for a but of him. Who knows, he could perhaps have a plan that would see the elves redeemed and freed from their wretched existence. But, such a plan could put Elizabeth on the wrong side the the line between duty and treachery. It would be a dangerous path to take for she already had enough of herself that she was forced to hide.

Either way, Elizabeth strode out her door and replaced her mask of severity, straightening her spine and walking with a purpose that she pretended to possess. As she passed through her parlor she dropped off a stack of papers on Elrond's desk, ignoring the subservient tone to his voice as he responded to her request to transcribe the papers with a promise to have them done before her next meeting the following afternoon.

Her skirts swirled behind her as she slammed her door shut, locking it behind her and moving in the direction of the tailor's suite. She had an elf to pick up.

***

Glorfindel was equal parts worried and relived when he was led away from the council table. He had done his absolute best to kneel quietly and avoid the other courtiers, but he could feel the weight of their gazes on his body. He could sense the desire in them. So far, it seemed that Lady Elizabeth was content to keep him as a pet for display and he was certain that he could act the part for it... but he feared what would happen if one day she became bored of him.

Having him sent to get new clothes however, made him hopeful. If she wanted him in custom tailored clothes then that meant that she was intending to keep him for the foreseeable future. Thus, he followed the maid obediently, keeping enough slack in his leash so that she didn't need to tug.

They arrived at a room smiling heavily of incense. The windows were thrown open to let in a flood of sunshine which lit up the colorful swaths of cloth that hung from all corners. It was a delightful looking place and before e knew it, an older woman with graying hair and a stern expression on her face came bursting forth from a closed door. She swept across the room, coming to a stop before Glorfindel where she looked him up and down, her face slightly pinched in thought.

"All wrong! All wrong!" she threw her hands in the air in alarm before circling Glorfindel who was quickly becoming concerned. "Waist needs to be here, not here," as she spoke she jabbed at the places where the hemming was obviously designed for a shorter elf. "Golden has Big shoulders, wrong cut here," she poked at the pinched shoulders of his tunic, a miracle in itself as she barely went past Glorfindel's waist. "And color!" she looked as if she would faint in shock. "Pretty Golden needs dark dark purple, not pale. Pale makes hair look dull and no color! Girls!!!"

As she screamed her last line, a group of three girls came flying out from the door that the woman had originally entered from. Two carried measuring strings with a third carrying a parchment and a scrap of charcoal. The once carrying the charcoal gently took Glorfindel's hand and lead him to a stool which he obediently sat on. The other two girls sprung into action, wrapping their measuring strings around his body in all different places, calling out numbers as they went. Glorfindel complied with all of this, still moldy in shock from the ease with which the young girls scurried about him, completely focused on his measurements and their task.He looked up and saw a wry smile on the face of Elizabeth's maid as she gave the older matron instruction on what clothes was to be prepared for him. The maid left and Glorfindel remained perfectly still as the woman Brough cloth after cloth up before him, holding it to his skin before clicking her tongue and moving it away.

Eventually, she informed him that she was finished and pushed him into a chair, telling him wait there and not touch anything until his mistress came to pick him up. He complied easily and smiled gratefully at the young girl who brought him a cup of water and a cookie before the room was vacated. There he sat, eating his snack and drinking the water whilst mulling over everything that he heard at the meeting. Part of him wanted to call Lady Elizabeth foolish for allowing him to attend such a council meeting, but at the same time, there was little that he could do with the information he received. They spoke mostly about public affairs of taxes and alliances with nations who despised the elves no less than Gondor. The few security measures that they did go over were insignificant and being fixed as he sat there.

With no warning the door flew open.

In strode a man who Glorfindel instantly recognized from the meeting... Lord Penderon. He smirked broadly upon finding Glorifndel sitting on the chair, unsupervised and with no one around to see. Glorfindel averted his eyes respectfully, wishing for about the thousandth time since his capture that Eru had not formed him such.

"Oh, what a coincidence!" the Lord called out in mock surprise. It was clear that he had every intention of approaching Glorfindel when he wandered into the tailors. "You know you're a pretty thing, right?"

Glorfindel tensed, but kept his eyes firmly planted on the floor, praying to Nienna that the wretched man would have his fill by looking at him, and then move on. Instead, Glorfindel's head snapped to the side at the force of the firm slap the man delivered.

"When I ask you a question, I expect an answer, elf!" he spat.

"Yes my Lord," he answered dully.

The man then gripped his chin, lifting it up to admire Glorfindel's face in the light. He turned Glorfindel this way and that, looking him over as one might appraise a stallion. Glorfindel's heart was pounding and he used every ounce of willpower to prevent himself from reacting, reminding as still and with his face as neutral as possible. That was of course, until the man's hand strayed the the fastenings of Glorfindel's tunic.

The elf reacted violently to that, wrenching himself backwards and toppling off the chair, he scrambled on all fours until his back slammed into the wall. His hear was racing and his breaths were coming in rapid pants. Lord Penderon looked furious as he stood and stormed over, face turning red in anger he gripped Glorfindel by the front of his tunic, lifting him off the floor.

It took every round of self restraint that Glorfindel had to not fight the man, to not break his arms or wring his fragile neck. But, Glorfindel knew that if he laid hands on a man- a Lord no less- then his and Elrond's deaths were sure to be painful. Instead, he fixed his hands atop the mans and did the only thing he could, he pleaded.

"M-my Lord... please," the man's other hand began wandering across Glorfindel's chest. "Please, my Lady... doesn't like to share. I have orders to not-"

"I don't see your lady her, do you?"

"Please-"

Slap

"Answer the question!"

"No... but she will-"

"She'll what, know?" He leaned in so close that Glorfindel could smell his rotten breath and he trembled. Oh how he longed for the freedom to fight for himself. "It's your word against mine elf... and we both know who she'll believe."

"I cannot-"

"Shut up," he growled, shoving Glorfindel to his knees. Lord Penderon fisted his hand into Glorfindel's hair, pulling back until the elf was forced to crane his neck upwards. The man ran a rough hand along the cress of Glorfindel's ear, chuckling when the elf flinched at having the sensitive appendage treated so roughly. He then stood to full height, one hand still in Glorfindel's hair as a smile split his face. "I think your mouth can be served for better things than talking."

Panic was welling up I Glorfindel as the man's free hand went to his own breeches undoing the ties and reaching in to free his pulsing organ. Glorfindel was trapped... the man was right. If he were to fight then he and Elrond would be killed, if he were to tell Lady Elizabeth, she would never believe him. The man's smirk was growing as he became hard just watching the fair elf on his knees whilst Glorfindel felt waves of nausea and revulsion wash over him.

"Come on now Pretty," Lord Penderon chuckled. "Lets see if you're good for anything."

The pair were so focused on each other, that neither heard the door creaking open.

Chapter 17 Chapter Text

"Come on now Pretty," Lord Penderon chuckled. "Lets see if you're good for anything."

Glorfindel closed his eyes in dread, but he could smell the dark musk of the man's organ so close to his face. He clenched his jaw resolutely through the pain as the puny lord placed a dagger to the swell of his throat. He felt the sharp steel pierce his skin and a drop of blood flowed down his neck. He was so focused on his own torment, mind reeling in such a state of dread that he was completely unaware of his surroundings.

Bang

The door slammed open and Lord Penderon's head shot up.

"What in Eru's name," Lady Elizabeth's voice was slow and cold as ice. "Do you think you're doing?!"

"My Lady Elizabeth," Lord Penderon remained frozen for a moment longer, one hand wretched in Glorfindel's hair, the other with a dagger to the elf's throat. All at once he moved, all but throwing Glorfindel across the room.

The elf, finally opening his eyes, quelled his own racing heart as he watched the man drop his blade and fumble rapidly in an attempt to stuff himself back into his pants. He was babbling, speaking so quickly that Glorifndel could barely make out his words whilst Lady Elizabeth stood staring at him impassively.

"My deepest apologies Lady Elizabeth..." he was on the edge of panic, eyes flickering between Lady Elizabeth and the floor as if he was considering if it would be a good time to grovel. "Y-you see... I-I... I was j-just arriving at the t-tailor's t-t-to pickup a new jacket and your uh elf... at-attacked me! I-I... I apologize for any damages... b-but h-h-he is dangerous!"

Glorfindel allowed the slightest amount of satisfaction to creep into him as he watched the sheer panic cross the man's face. But, he raised cautious as the elf couldn't help but notice the blank gaze on Lady Elizabeth's face. She was as impassive as stone, no hint of her thoughts bleeding into her expression.

"That is what occurred?"

"Y-yes!" Lord Penderon looked incredibly relived and even a tiny bit proud. "They say that this one used to be a warrior... and it seems that he hasn't forgotten his past." The feeble man straitened up and gazed imperiously down his nose at Glorfindel who was all but curled up into a corner. "You know, if you were to loan him to me, I wouldn't mind straightening him out. I would feel incredibly guilty if he ever harmed you and I saw the signs of rebellion early." Glorfindel began to shake in terror as the man's eyes gazed down at him... lust mixed with rage eyes promised unspeakable things. "Or of course, you could always send him to Adravaine."

"So you entered the Tailor's suite, and my elf attacked you? You were merely defending yourself and perhaps teaching him a lesson?" She asked, still a stony mask across her face.

"Yes," Lord Penderon seemed fully recovered from his earlier mess and Glorfindel gazed at Lady Elizabeth with his eyes wide, exploring her with his gaze to not believe the man. His heart thundered in his chest as the threat to Elrond, the threat of Adravaine loomed over. The elf found himself uttering a silent prayer to both Este the Gentle and Nienna, Lady of Mercy that perhaps... perhaps just this once the Maiden of Gondor would believe him.

"She'll what, know?" Lady Elizabeth repeated back with perfect candor.

It seemed that the Valar had, for once, not forsaken him.

"My Lady-" Lord Peneron cried, instantly deflating. He bent so low in his bow that he nearly toppled over. His breathing becoming erratic as panic set in.

"Do you know what the punishment is for lying to the Master of the Healing Halls, the individual who is responsible for the health of all of Gondor?" Her voice was cool and collected as she spoke.

"My Lady-"

"Answer the question," she was unaffected by his pleading.

"Such a crime is punishable by- by the stripping of one's ranks and titles, and immediate expulsion from Minas Tirith," he mumbled to the floor, his entire body sagging with the weight of what he had done.

"And, do you know what the punishment is for lying to the Head Advisor to the King of Gondor, the individual who is closest to the King where a lie to them is a lie to the King himself?"

"D-death," he keeled over, begging for mercy and forgiveness.

While Glorfindel was still becoming accustom to the politics of Gondor, he had participated in his fair share of courtly affairs whilst in Gondolin. He knew how this would go, the word of the individual of higher stature would always be taken, especially when she had the injury to his own neck as proof.

"You have a son, no?"

"Yes, my Lady," he choked out in a whisper.

"How old?"

"Nine winters as of this year."

"What do you suppose would happen to him and your wife if you were to be executed... Minas Tirith is not a kind place for the kin of criminals and traitors. Your wife is quite young and fair though... perhaps she can find a job at one of the brothels in the lower town... doing so might at least save your son from such a fate."

"My Lady please-" he gasped, reaching forward in desperation. Lady Elizabeth merely took one step back, her face still that eerily stony gaze.

"Or," she held up a hand, immediately ceasing Lord Penderon's blubbering. "Perhaps I am feeling merciful. Perhaps I will not take this before King Tirgon and we can move on with our lives."

"Yes, my Lady... anything please!"

"I think... that you will find yourself reconsidering your opinions on several matters..."

"Of course," he gasped, desperate and willing to take any deal to avoid a trial before the King. Glorfindel, having calmed down suitably, contemplated Lady Elizabeth's words as she spoke to Lord Penderon.

"You will do well to listen more than you speak in council from now on." He nodded vigorously. "And..." she added as if in afterthought whilst walking toward's Glorfindel. "You will stay away from my property."

With those words Lord Penderon fell to his knees as he blubbered out thanks. Lady Elizabeth seemed to ignore this as she grasped Glorfindel's leash, taking only a moment to examine his throat where the small wound was already healing, leaving a thin trail of blood. She looked into his eyes which were now unsure as he had no idea where he stood with the Lady.Shall I still be blamed? Will she take out her wrath on Elrond? He asked himself in half panic.

There was no time for that however as Lady Elizabeth tugged once on his leash, leading him straight past the still blubbering Lord Penderon. One step behind her, Glorfindel allowed himself to be led out of the rooms and dragged straight back to Lady Elizabeth's chambers. His mind was still reeling with what had occurred, but he couldn't help but feel the slightest bit grateful that Lady Elizabeth arrived just in time.

***

Elizabeth felt her heart thundering as she walked, putting all her focus into placing one foot in front of the other.

Oh god... oh god oh god...She was repeating those two words in her head like a mantra as she walked.

Now, she had played her fair share of games in the court. She was no stranger to power plays or manipulation... but this took the cake. She had just effectively trapped Lord Penderon... she had reached a new level of courtly height... or low if you were going by morality.

She blackmailed another Lord.

When she arrived at the door and heard what was said, her first instinct had been to rush in and stop it. But... then Lord Penderon would be able to simply brush it off as if it were nothing. Despite her better judgment, she had held back, waiting and listening until she heard undeniable proof that Lord Penderon was attempting to deliberately "damage her property." Just the thought nearly made Elizabeth sick, but it was worth it. After his words, she just had to allow him to wander into his own trap, to choke him on his own words. She strung him along until he blatantly lied.

Such was not a crime taken lightly in Gondor.

Elizabeth did a quick mental calculation on the court and found that with Lord Penderon voting alongside her, she finally had enough votes to bring forth the funding for a new teaching wing in the Healing Halls. Her days were getting busier and busier, but she couldn't be everywhere at once. If she could just train enough healers then they could spread out across Gondor and help those who were unable to make the trek all the way to Minas Tirith.

Of course, Elizabeth was playing a dangerous game... but so were most of her actions these days. There's no room for hesitancy or mercy amount courtiers. She had to fight for everything that she had, everything that she wanted to build. Nothing comes for free.

Elizabeth marched Glorfindel into her room and straight past Elrond, the two of them exchanging a brief nod. This of course reminded Elizabeth that they were planning something with someone... likely Galadriel and she nudged that mental note aside for later. Once in her bedroom, she push Glorfindel onto a stool and went to gather a small water bowl and cloth. Moving gently so as to not frighten him, she kneeled in front of him and used the cloth to gently wipe away the blood.

"Did he go any further?" she asked, noticing how he half raised his hand to his head before stopping himself.

"N-no, my Lady," he spoke to Elizabeth's feet and she tried to ignore that fact.

Taking lightly, Elizabeth walked around and carded her fingers gently through his hair, slowing when he flinched violently at the touch. There, at the bas of his skull was a thin cut rapidly leaking blood, most likely from when Penderon threw him aside. She sighed, understanding that Glorfindel was reluctant to share information with her, but frustrated as she always was when a patient attempted to hide something. She left him on his stool to fetch more supplies and returned with an astringent to disinfect and staunch the bleeding for head wounds always bleed to excess.

"You know that I am a healer, right?" she asked as she diligently worked to wipe the wound clean.

"Yes my Lady."

"Then tell me Glorfindel," she finished her ministrations and brewed a tea that would hopefully help with any lingering concussion. "Is it ever wise to hide injures from a healer?"

"N-no, my Lady," he spoke with a note of resignation. "My apologies."

"Don't let it happen again."

She then guided him gently over to his usual spot, fixing his chain back to its ring. She took one long look at him and before leaving marched over to her desk chair and pulled off the plush sheepskin which she used as padding. She dropped it before Glorfindel in a small act of comfort before striding resolutely out of her rooms and down the halls. The conflict with Lord Penderon had steeled her mind. She knew what she had to do.

A few polite inquiries and pleasant conversations with staff later she arrived where they all eventually pointed her towards... that gardens. She wandered for a bit until she smelled the distinct aroma of pipeweed. Turning the corner at the rose bushes, she found who she was looking for in a long grey coat and pointed hat.

"Gandalf," she hailed with a polite smile.

"Ah," he turned and gave a soft smile in return. "It is lovely to see you, my Lady."

"I would desire to speak with you, if you would be so obliged."

"Apologies my Lady, but I fear that I must beg your pardon. I require a bit of solitude whilst enjoying these lovely gardens." He spoke with a polite candor, but the dismissiveness of his words and body language as he turned to walk away was clear as day.

Elizabeth found a rueful smirk tugging at her lips.Of course... we were never introduced.Thinking back to the throne room, her name and title were never mentioned. Sitting where she was beside the King... any man would had been assumed to be an advisor... but no, Elizabeth as mere maiden was likely assumed to be some sort of consort- a sickening thing considering King Tirgon was old enough to be her father. In the beginning, Elizabeth was forced to quickly become accustom to such assumptions, to smile politely in the Healing Halls when messengers bringing notes for the Master Healer went to one of her pages, when she was forced to physically push her way through throngs of Lords at meetings who smiled sweetly and told her that their wives were sitting at the low table conversing about "simpler topics." She had become used to their condescending and underestimating natures, clawing her way up until she earned the respect she was due twice over.

But Gandalf didn't know anything about her.

I suppose I'll have to peak hisinterest.

"I think you mistook me," she called to his retreating form. The wizard paused but didn't turn. "Perhaps we should start again." She took a deep breath, setting her nerves. "I would very much desire to speak with you, Olórin."

The reaction was instantaneous as the wizard turned with a speed and agility that did not suit his aged form. He closed the distance between the two in a few rapid strides and stood a few feet away from Elizabeth, eyes scanning her up and down with a new light in them.

"Ah... so you must be Lady Elizabeth, the mysterious Advisor and Healer of Minas Tirith."

"My reputation precedes me," she smiled at the new curiosity she saw in his gaze before she remembered her task. "Shall we walk?"

"Of course."

Chapter 18 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I have heard many tales about the Maiden of Gondor," Gandalf spoke lightly.

"Have you now?"

"Yes," he hummed a bit as his eyes scanned the gardens. "I've heard of a young maiden of mysterious origins, who appeared as if from nowhere, becoming the youngest Master Healer of Gondor. I've heard that said maiden rose in the King's favor and has knowledge of history which no other child of Man has been known to possess... and that she became the youngest and only ever woman to be appointed as Head Advisor to the King of Gondor. I've heard that she has a sharp tongue, an agile mind, and that she is one of the most well versed in elvish lore."

"A very flattering biography," Elizabeth replied, her gaze wandering the gardens as well. They were coming to the spot that she intended, a small and isolated patch of roses near a fountain.

"I have been lead to believe it to be true. What I didn't expect however, was for this young maiden to know my name. I would ask you how you came about such knowledge."

"Ah, the question which has hounded me since my arrival in Gondor..."

"For good reason I suppose."

"I suppose so."

They lapsed into silence broken only by Gandalf complaining about his back back and thus sitting down at the fountain's edge. Elizabeth, knowing perfectly well that the wizard was agile enough to swing a sword alongside heroes, took that as a cue to sit down beside him. It was obvious that she had not only caught his attention now, but that he was also already curios about her reputation. Neither fully trusted the other... it was a dance of words.

"From where do you hail, Lady Elizabeth?"

"South Gondor, right at the boarder of Near Harad," Elizabeth spoke the common lie with ease. After many years it sounded as natural as California.

"I have traveled there a bit. What town did you grow in?"

"A small settlement, not a village or town that one would find on a map."

"You have a darker complexion than most..."

"Ah yes... my father was an Easterling, but as you can tell by my Common I was raised among the Gondorian. From where do you hail?"

"I think you might just know."

"Perhaps, perhaps not. What would you tell me if I didn't?"

"I see why they consider you so shrewd in court. You speak like an elf."

"In some circles, saying such would be considered blasphemous," Elizabeth's tone dropped slightly. Her eyes did a rapid scan around the gardens, checking to see in they were still alone. Luckily, the trickling of the fountain covered most of their speech. "What would you know of how elves speak? Have the ones you've encountered not been slaves?"

"There are some who still roam free..."

"Yes, and if any in Gondor knew a man to associate with them, said man would regret his choice of friends." Elizabeth's tone was dangerous, but she saw Gandalf's expression hardening as well.

"Perhaps, but I am not one to fear danger much. What of you, Lady Elizabeth who hales from nowhere in particular, how do you feel about danger?" The lightness in his tone masked something far deeper.

"I would say that the court is dangerous enough, that there are many pitfalls and traps laid out with words."

"Perhaps, but allies can help guide one through many traps unscathed."

"Or they can help guide a knife through one's back."

Gandalf gave a wry smile and looked at Elizabeth in a way that slightly unsettled her. She had known that sparring words with the wizard would be like walking up to a lion unarmed, but she also had to know what he was doing in Gondor, she had to know how much he knew about her. The wizard eventually broke his stare to pull forth a pipe. He lit the fragrant weed and took a few long inhales of the noxious smoke.

"I have also heard," he spoke as if absentmindedly addressing the sky above them, "That the famed Maiden of Gondor has recently acquired two elven slaves."

"Word does spread quickly."

"Strangely, names do not."

Ah, so he is fishing for information. Perhaps he knew a little less than Elizabeth originally thought.

"And yet I am still wondering what your interest in elves is?" Elizabeth relied cooly. "Are you as fond of them as you once were?"

"I believe in forgivness."

"For whom?"

"For everyone, my child," he turned then and looked deeply into Elizabeth's eyes, causing her freeze in place. She swore that she felt her heart skipping a few beats as those ancient, kind eyes gazed down at her. "I believe that it is often the smallest who have the greatest strength within them, and sometimes that people are thrown into impossible circ*mstances. I believe that it is also not wrong or weak to ask for help."

"And I-" Elizabeth paused and cleared her throat. "I believe that when one has little to gain and absolutely everything to lose, it is best to be wary of strangers who speak in riddles."

"Perhaps, but we all must trust someone."

"Or no one at all," with that, Elizabeth stood and excused her self, turning and walking briskly away from the wizard.

He knows something!

Elizabeth's mind was spinning. While it was clear that there were still many things that Gandalf was unaware of... he was certainly suspicious of Elizabeth. He also appeared to want to help the elves, but what his plan was and who he was involved with was obviously unknown. One thing was for certain... he was dangerous. This wizard had the potential to ruin everything that Elizabeth built, perhaps he could even ruin her if he knew too much. To give him more information or to open up to him would be like handing a mad man a loaded gun; who knew what he would do?

Elizabeth continued to walk, pacing several more rounds though the gardens before arriving at the door to her parlor. She froze with her hand on the doorknob, suddenly remembering the elf chained to his little floor desk by the window. Her mind was also drawn to the recently patched up elf in her bedroom and she practically groaned in exhaustion. She knew that Elrond had seen that state that Glorfindel was in when he arrived... she knew that he was suspicious that something happened.

Breathing deeply to center herself and push her worries about Gandalf aside, Elizabeth turned the knob and entered her parlor, sitting at her desk as if everything were normal. She immediately began going through a series of reports, determined to act completely normal until Elrond worked up the courage to speak.

And eventually, he did.

***

Elrond was nearly beside himself with worry. When Lady Elizabeth last entered the parlor, she had guided a rather haunted looking Glorfindel with her. Now, to a child of man the re-born warrior would have seemed fine, but Elrond's keen eyes told him differently. The usually proud warrior had been hunched over, meek and seemingly timid. His hair was in a disarray as if someone had runt heir fingers through it, and there was a small cut leaking at the base of his skull and his neck. Most disturbing however, was the slight tremble that Elrond saw in his hands. His old friend had tried to shoot him a smile and small nod of reassurance as he passed, but Elrond couldn't miss that tremble.

Something happened to him.

There were very few things that could shake his courageous friend so, and Elrond feared what it was that cowed him.

After an agonizing amount of time, Lady Elizabeth returned to her parlor and sat at her desk, immediately setting to work on her papers. Elrond had to admit to himself that he was at the very least, mildly impressed with the young Edain. He saw her work many hours in the Healing Halls, never complaining as she healed with more skill and confidence than he would ever imagine a child of her age having. She then would move on to the King's court and whilst he knew little of what she did there, he knew that she was regarded in high enough esteem to be on friendly terms with the King. Then, she would return to her parlor and to hours of work, never pausing, never resting until she completed the ridiculously large stacks of parchment that always seemed to accumulate. Elrond would swear that the maiden never rested.

Now however, he found himself worrying a thin piece of parchment between his fingers as he thought over his words with care. He couldn't afford to anger this maiden who had such control over his and Glorfindel's lives... but at the same time he had to know if his friend was okay. In the end, his concern over Glorfindel beat out his fears of her retaliation.

"My Lady-"

"Yes," she hummed, not looking up from her parchments.

"Earlier, when you walked through with Glorfindel... I couldn't help but notice he was unwell. Have I... have I displeased you?" he asked, worrying that Glorfindel was for some reason punished for an unknown transgression that he committed.

"Displeased me?" That seemed to catch her attention as she locked eyes with Elrond from across the room. "Have you done something you think would displease me?" she asked, eyes narrowing.

"No- no my Lady... at least," Elrond stumbled a bit over his own words, cursing the loss of his usual courtly grace and tact.I spent countless years navigating Gil-galad's court whilst being known as the fosterling of kinslayers and the elf whose brother left for the secondborn... how am I fumbling now?!"My, Lady... I do not believe that I have done anything to displease you, and I would not willingly do so. However, I noticed a certain amount of... distress in Glorfindel when you moved through earlier. I cannot help but wonder of the condition of my friend. I do not mean to overstep my bounds or to accuse you or myself of any transgressions... but I am merely concerned."

As his speech trailed off, he saw a myriad of emotions run through Lady Elizabeth's eyes before they hardened in a way that caused Elrond's heart to leap to his throat. He kept his expression carefully schooled though as he watched the maiden bring one hand to her temple which she rubbed as if in pain. There was a long pause before she spoke, first to her desk and only eventually locking eyes with Elrond.

"Glorfindel was involved in a minor altercation with another Lord- more so a pig than a Lord," she mumbled that last part half to herself. "He made advances while I was not present and I stopped him before he could do any true damage. The Lord has been handled and I do not blame Glorfindel for his beauty attracting attention from others. No one is being punished."

Elrond blanched at her words.What exactly does she define as "truedamage" to an elf?He had only seen Glorfindel for a brief moment and thus he had no idea how bad his condition really was. For all Elrond knew... he could be in that horrid state that so many elves landed in where their fea was seeking escape and being battered against the collars that choked them. Glorfindel could be in agony and he had no way of knowing.

Then, Elrond realized what he had to do. He had to see Glorfindel no matter what, no matter what the price was. He carefully stacked his writing utensils and stood, drawing a mildly confused expression from Lady Elizabeth, he ignored the confusion and continued. With measured steps he walked around his desk and behind Elizabeth's causing her to scoot her chair slightly so she faced him. Then, he dropped to his knees and rested his hands and forehead on the ground before Elizabeth's feet, speaking in as supplicant of a voice as he could.

"My Lady, I know you care little for the ways of the elves... but please, allow me to see Glorfindel. The Eldar are not meant to survive such encounters and we must seek solstice in the arms of another of our kin for any hope of recovery. Please, he is my friend and though I know that I or he may be worthless to you, I beg that you grant me this one favor. I would offer to repay you, though I know I am in no position to offer anything save my obedience which I already give. But please, I beg of you, allow me to see and comfort my friend."

There was a palpable amount of silence in the air as Elrond waited for a reply. Those few seconds were perhaps the most torturous moments of his life as he awaited Lady Elizabeth's judgment, face still planted on the cool stone floor and thus he couldn't even gauge the maiden's reaction... he could only pray to Eru that she would grant him mercy.

"The techniques you have taught me regarding the athelas have already saved the lives of two different soldiers. I will allow you to see Glorfindel as you reward." Elrond breathed a sigh of relief as he sat up and thanked her with genuine gratitude in his eyes. His words were cut off however by Lady Elizabeth holding up a hand and glaring sharply. "But, the same rules as last time apply. No languages that I cannot understand, and no tricks."

"Of course my Lady," he placed a hand to his heart and with full sincerity declared, "you have my word."

Lady Elizabeth nodded once and disappeared through the door to her bedroom.

Elrond closed his eyes for a moment and felt his own fea, checking for what healing energy he possessed as he was worried that he would soon be healing a broken friend. Satisfied that he still had enough to repair a decent amount of damage, he could only sit and wait for Lady Elizabeth to return with Glorfindel.

He prayed to the Valar to give him strength for what might come next.

Notes:

He he... I love those verbal sparring matched between two clever characters. Of course, Elizabeth is feeling horribly outmatched as she goes against an ancient and wise Maiar... but she's game to try.

Chapter 19 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"My Lady?" Glorfindel spoke softly when Elizabeth walked briskly into the room, unhooking his chain.

He had learned that Lady Elizabeth, much to his shock, generally preferred for him to act as if he wasn't there. While he had often seen Lords and Ladies fawning over their elves, demanding the upmost supplication and attention from them, Lady Elizabeth generally pretended that he didn't exist. At first he had tried to address her when she entered the room, treating her with the amount of deference and respect that had been expected for Lords and Ladies back in the ancient days of Gondolin, but he found her easy annoyed and often snapping at him when he tried to inquire politely about her day or if there was something he could fo for her. Part of him feared that she would think of him as more burdensome than he was worth.

"Elrond wishes to see you," was all she said in response.

Glorfindel was confused, but quietly complied. He was still a bit shaken up after the events from earlier, but truly it was nothing close to his capture. Those men had him for weeks and each moment he prayed that they would slip up just once and send him to Mandos' halls. Those prayers had been in vain, but at least now he had something to fight for... he had Elrond.

"You know the rules," she said, hooking his lead to the same eyelet as Elrond's before moving to sit behind her desk.

"My friend," Elrond reached over his little floor desk to grasp Glorfindel's hands. "Are you well? I was told that there was... an incident."

"It is fine... far less than my capture. How have you fared?"

Elrond smiled lightly. If there was one thing that Glorfindel hated, it was being fussed over. He had, on multiple occasions, been forced to drug the stubborn elf in order to treat his wounds.

"I'm fine. If anything I've been treated like when I was a young apprentice," he chuckled at bit at his own words. "But truly-"

"Nothing but a bit of taunting. I've endured far worse from when I was a young guard," he flashed one of his signature smiles. While his words weren't entirely accurate, their sentiment was true and he couldn't have Elrond worried about him. While his Lord was certainly more level headed than him, he knew that Elrond was prone to rashness when those he cared about were threatened.

***

Elizabeth kept a sharp ear out as the two elves spoke. She was reluctant to put the two together, but it was always difficult for her to keep them apart. She knew how isolated she felt in this world and she would've done anything to have a companion who understood her. If she was going to hold the two elves as her slaves, the last she could do was allow them to see each other.

At the same time, Elizabeth struggled to trust them. She knew that they were planning something... something that likely involved Lady Galadriel who she knew was still free and running a far less powerful realm of Lothlorien. If she was involved in some scheme with Elrond or Glorfindel, then who knew what they could do. As far as Elizabeth knew, with an opinion that she had yet to share with anyone else in Gondor, the Lady Galadriel still held an elvish ring of power. She was most certainly a dangerous opponent.

Middle Earth had a very precarious balance, the wars weren't too long ago and everyone was still reeling from the effects of them. Their people couldn't afford anything more to destabilize them.

Elizabeth found herself staring at the pair of elves as Elrond held his hand to Glorfindel's forehead. Both elves had their eyes closed and Elrond's face was pinched in concentration. Elizabeth recognized that expression, it was the one he used when he was examining a patient for internal wounds. She didn't know how it worked, but she did know that he could identify the source of an injury or illness with such a touch. Elrond's hand began to glow and Elizabeth knew that he was trying to sooth Glorfindel's mind, to heal the wounds that she, with all her modern medical knowledge, was unable to help.

When he finished, both elves seemed more relaxed and she took Glorfindel back to her room. She then returned to her work, and for a little while, things seemed to be going relatively smoothly. Lord Penderon had always been annoyingly opposed to her various proposals in everything from medical clinics in the lower towns to peaceful negotiations- he was a terrible warmonger. But, now all it took was a pointed glance from Elizabeth to quiet him and sway the voices of the council to her favor. Glorfindel remained quiet and compliant, dutifully ignoring the croons over his beauty whilst Elrond did well in the Healing Halls. Aragorn had left as soon as the council meetings ended to go on a journey to the North. He was apparently leading a raid on a known elven settlement. Gandalf, annoyingly enough, had seemed to take up residence in Minas Tirith. He was granted access to the public gardens of the palace and so was often found wandering about. He usually tried to engage with Elizabeth whenever they happened to bump into each other, but she was very good at finding excuses for being busy.

Things were settled into what was almost a routine... until Elizabeth's terse peace was of course interrupted.

She was hard at work on a letter addressed to the King of Rohan. The Horse Peoples maintained a strong friendship with Gondor and King Tirgon wished for her to invite the royal family to the year's solstice ball. It was an annoyingly simple correspondence, but as it was to a King who Gondor respected, she was tasked with drafting the letter. She was interrupted by a knock at her door. Without looking up, she bade them to enter and was greeted by a young, grey eyed lad.

"Lady Elizabeth?" He asked in the typical accent of the Dunedain Rangers. His eyes were wide as they scanned over her high bookshelves and tapestries. The child had likely grown up in the roving camps of the Rangers, the castle must have seemed a strange thing to him.

"Yes child, I am she. Have you a message for me?"

Her words snapped his attention away from her shelf containing jars of various herbs and back to her, a slight red tinge to his cheeks at being caught.

"Aye ma'am. Aragorn- er- Lord Aragorn has returned and requests your presence at his office. He wishes to show you his latest prize."

"Prize?" Elizabeth froze in place, forcing herself to return to her work and act with an air of indifference. "He has never kept one before."

"Aye, but he likes this one... he thinks it's special and wanted your opinion."

For a split second, Elizabeth felt her temper flare. She was the Master Healer of Gondor, the Head Advisor to King Tirgon himself. She save the lives of hundreds of patients, taught medical techniques completely unknown to all of Middle Earth, negotiated treaties, strategies in war, and held the ear of King Turgon in nearly all matters of ruling Gondor. And yet, everyone in the castle seemed obsessed over their elves and seemed to think of her as their personal encyclopedia. She hated the concept, detested the practice, and yet since she acquired elves of her own, everyone wanted to talk to her about elves. Her popularity amongst the court had significantly grown since she started taking Glorfindel along with her to meetings- tugging him along like a pet on a leash. But, she couldn't stand any of the people who now flocked to her. She still much preferred to company of her fellow healers, and Aragorn had always held a special place in her heart... but now apparently he found an elf that he wanted to keep.

"He caught the elf himself, all the way up in the forests past Rohan," the boy continued.

Elizabeth couldn't help but notice how Elrond stiffened at those words. She decided to file a mental note on that one and get back to it later. Instead of reacting, she sighed heavily.

"Did he just arrive?"

"Yes ma'am."

"Then tell Aragorn," she briefly looked up from her letter and locked eyes with the youth. "That I will not be seeing him or his elf until he has bathed thoroughly. Furthermore, he is to either attend to Healing Halls to treat whatever injury he has managed to acquire first or I willbring my kit and he will have to endure me. Is that clear?"

The boy nodded once and took off like a rocket. He returned less than an hour later with a promise that Aragorn had bathed enough to wash away the stench of the wilderness, and after a bit of prodding, admitted that he had an injured shoulder that he refused to attend the Healing Halls over. He was apparently hoping that he could hide it from Elizabeth. She scoffed at the idea and dismissed the boy, rising and collecting her kit from the wall.

From the corner of her eye she watched how Elrond's gaze followed her as she gathered her materials to see to her friend... and his newly acquired elf. There was an unmistakable tinge of worry in his eyes.

"Have this letter finished by the time I return," she ordered as she dropped the letter to Rohan on his desk before sweeping out the door.

Her steps were far more hesitant than usual as she made her way down the familiar path towards Aragorn's chambers. He lived in a different wing of the castle, but the pair often made a point of sharing dinners of evenings together when they could find the time. As Elizabeth walked, she worried. She had always seen a certain gentleness in Aragorn, a hinting of the Aragorn that she knew from the books and movies that she loved. He was fiercely loyal to Gondor, true, but he also lacked the cruel streak that so many of the other elf-catcher held. For him, the thrill was in the hunt, it was in facing opponents that proved an actual challenge and learning their ways to better understand how to think like them.

But keeping elves, he always seemed mildly displeased by the concept. He never had the desire to train his own elf and he greatly disliked the "training" methods most commonly used by the slavers who the Rangers sold off their captured elves to.

If he had caught an elf that suited his interest however, then perhaps he would linger in Gondor for a little while longer as he trained said elf.

The real question though...

Who could he havecaught that he thinks to be so important?

Notes:

Sorry, short update this time. Life's been pretty busy but I'm doing my best to juggle all of my stories.
Anyway, thanks for all the lovely comments! I really appreciate them and they help to keep me motivated to write!

Chapter 20 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

As Elizabeth walked, she made a mental list of anyone who she thought it could be. Usually, she would assume them to be some elf that she had heard mentioned in passing, maybe a minor lord who had somehow succeeded in remaining hidden. But, with how her luck had been running the past few months, she figured that it would be someone far more important, maybe even another one that she knew.She surpassed the urge to sigh loudly and continued to walk resolutely down the hall. Part of her was tempted to become "distracted" and delay the meeting, but she also knew that such was useless.

She arrived at Aragorn's door and knocked. It only took a few seconds for the door to open and reveal Aragorn, hair still damp from his bath, dressed in a casual tunic.

"Elizabeth," the joy in his eyes and the spark of his smile was enough to temporarily melt away Elizabeth's anger. As much as she dreaded further dealings with elves, she had truly missed Aragorn while he was away. "I am bathed and cleaned as promised," he smirked at bit at line.

"Well," she feigned a dignified huff. "I wasn't about to meet you while you still stank of weeks gone without washing."

"And how am I supposed to prevent myself from being killed when naked and bathing in a stream?"

"Well you smell like a corpse half the time you're out there anyway. And I would know what a corpse smells like."

"Ah, your tongue is as sharp as any sword."

She chuckled and silently accepted Aragorn's offer of entrance. She walked in and was comforted by the familiar and homey feeling of the room. While her parlor had to remain at least somewhat formal due to the number of dignitaries and officials who met with her there, Aragorn largely delt with other Dunedain or soldiers. Thus, his chambers were warm and inviting with simple decor, dark colored wood furniture, rugs on the floor, a blazing fireplace, and vast windows open to the courtyard. She settled into a plush chair and gratefully accepted Aragorn's offer of tea.

For a little while they chatted about mundane things, Aragorn telling of more fun stories from time out with his men, and Elizabeth shared many details of court affairs that he had missed. She did decide to leave her little "incident" with Lord Penderonout for the time being. She still wasn't quite sure how she felt about that herself, and she wasn't sure how Aragorn would react.

She then took a last sip of her tea and instead on bandaging Aragorn's shoulder. He whined quite a bit about it, but in the end she managed to wrestle him into stillness long enough for her to disinfect and bandage a wound that, for once, didn't seem to need stitches.

When the conversation came to a natural lull, Aragorn pulled out his pipe and began chewing lightly on the unlit stem. Now, the Ranger didn't have many tics, but Elizabeth recognized that one. He was thinking, and he was unsure.

"I suppose I should show you why I called you here so suddenly," he smiled lightly as he spoke, but Elizabeth could sense the slightest edge to his voice.

"And here I was thinking that you just missed me," her smirk was half hearted as Elizabeth said the words that she had been dreading for some time. "I thought you never wanted your own elf?"

"I thought the same for you."

Elizabeth shrugged, but she could feel a lingering sting from those words. He was right of course... she never did want the mess that she was now in.

"The first was a gift, the second... an joke which went a bit too far."

"So I've heard," he paused and chewed on his pipe stem for a little while longer. "This one is different, unique... I think I caught a Sinda."

Elizabeth felt her heart drop. One elf came to mind and she didn't know what she would do if she had to face him... if she had to deal with him as Aragorn's slave. She coughed lightly to cover up the choking in her throat as she forced a casual tone.

"Really? Sindas are quite rare," her mind raced as she ran calculations on all the possible catastrophes that this could cause.

"I know, and he was one heck of a fighter too. I'll admit that's what first caught my eye... I don't think an elf has gotten so close to beating me in some time."

"Ah, so the great Aragorn was nearly bested by this elf?" Her voice was tight despite the teasing words.

"Yes, and don't think me so prideful to be angered by this... merely curious."

"And so you've claimed him as your own?"

"Yes, I informed him that I am his new master and he didn't seem particularly thrilled at the prospect."

"I believe that few are of having their freedom taken."

"True, but I haven't mentioned the most interesting part," he easily brushed off the slight bitterness of Elizabeth's tone and, as usual, sh was grateful that he always seemed capable of doing so. "He has a bearing about him, a certain pride that both of your elves carry. I know that he's someone important."

At that, Aragorn stood and began walling over to the little door of his elf chambers, fiddling with his keyring to find the right one.

"And you haven't gotten a name?"

"Aside from him claiming that he 'will never be owned by a filthy Edain' after I claimed him, I haven't gotten a word."

Elizabeth raised and eyebrow at this. Most elves who were so stubborn didn't last long as personal pets. Those were usually the ones sent to the dwarfish mines, or if they were special enough, to Adravaine to be broken.

"Oh don't give me that look. You know that I think beating a beast into submission doesn't even work on dogs, let alone elves. Also, I'm not fond of Adravaine's hollowed out toys. I wanted to wait on training until I knew more about him."

"Very well... lets see this Sinda," she fiddled with the edge of her dress in anticipation as he found the right key and inserted it into the lock. He opened the door to the dark room and reached inside, grasping someone firmly and giving a tug.

"Oh, I should to warn you," he seemed to be pulling rather hard. "He got pretty freaked out at the smith's so I had to gag him. Since getting the collar however, he's been pretty subdued... angry but subdued. He was also injured and didn't let anyone close enough to heal him. I was hoping that you could help with that."

Elizabeth nodded and with those words he gave one final yank and an elf came tumbling out, falling to his knees on the ground where he kept his eyes firmly planted. He remained absolutely still and Elizabeth felt her breath catch in her throat.

It was worse than she thought.

Somehow, it just got so so much worse.

We're all screwed,a very helpful voice in her head proclaimed.

There before her was indeed a Sinda elf.

He was indeed a prince.

A very tall, silver haired prince.

Elizabeth slowly approached, her hand reaching out to touch his head before she could stop herself. She saw the way he tensed as her hands glided lightly across his silver tresses and her eyes were drawn to the stain of red on his side. She traced her hand down the side of his face and to his chin which she pushed up on lightly, forcing him to raise his head. He complied easily enough, but he refused to look at her, instead glaring at Aragorn's desk behind her.

But, there was no denying it... he was the elf that she saw on screen countless times as she watched Lord o the Rings.

We're all very very screwed.

"You certainly have caught a Sinda," she glanced at Aragorn for permission before she reached behind the elf's head to remove the gag. He readily enough allowed for her to remove the offensive cloth, but then shut his jaw and continued his resolute stare. "And yes, he is very important."

There was a slight flickering of something in his eyes, but Elizabeth continued. Aragorn had to know... he had to keep this elf because if he didn't... Elizabeth was even more afraid what would happen if he was passed on to the wrong person. If she thought her life was complicated before... it was about to absolutely fall apart.

"You caught him in the Northern woods?" she asked lightly.

"Not too far, just past Rohan."

"Ah, I see."

"He is a lord of some sort, right?"

"More than that... I believe that I know who you now poses... and he's quite a fine capture." She forced the words out with a weak smile as she felt the headache settling in. "Aragorn, I would like you to meet Celeborn, former prince of the elvish kingdom of Doriath."

Celeborn's head shot up sharply in shock, the widening of his eyes was enough to settle any doubts as to whether or not Elizabeth was correct. His gaze turned dark as he scowled fiercely at Elizabeth, his eyes darting to Aragorn as he spoke.

"Well... that certainly is something," he smiled as he walked closer, ignoring the poison in Celeborn's glower.

"I assume he took part in the Dark Truce," Aragorn's usual good humor was silenced with those words and Elizabeth hummed lightly in response.

"In truth, I'm not sure... it was Gil Galad who signed it and he was Noldor... but-" Elizabeth hesitated. Of all the people who she had known in her time in Gondor, Gledswith probably knew the most of her secrets and the woman was like a surrogate mother to Elizabeth. But aside from her it was probably Aragorn who she trusted most. The man had always proved to be level-headed, discreet, and despite his profession, he lacked that streak of cruelty that so many had developed for the elves. He treated his job more like a solider hunting down fugitives than a trader seeking new commodities.

Plus, this was a situation that could, and likely would become dangerous. Elizabeth needed someone else to help her... and maybe Aragorn could. Of course, she would have to test the waters first, build things up before she broke the dam and released everything. Thus... it was time for her to try.

"But?" Aragorn smiled a bit as he prodded Elizabeth. They had been friends for some time, and he knew how easily she could become lost in thought. He was never offended by it though. If anything it never failed to amuse him.

"But you should be cautious... his wife is-"

In an instant he was on his feet, eyes blazing like fire as the full fury of an ancient elven lord rose up to stare down his nose at Elizabeth- he was very very tall and truly terrifying.

"How dare you... you Edain Child who knows nothing of my kind. How dare you Slavers speak of things far greater than you could ever understand-"

He was interrupted as Aragorn moved between the two of them, using his own body to block the furious elf from Elizabeth as he grabbed him firmly by the chain attached to his collar and yanked him brutally to the ground. In and instant he had his sword out and pressed to the elf's throat.

"If I were any other man I would have you flayed until there was no skin left on your miserable hide. You should take care when threatening the Head Advisor to the King of Gondor," he hissed before yanking him backwards and throwing him back into his cell. "Some time in the dark may teach you some manners."

He slammed the door and immediately rushed over to Elizabeth. When he placed a warm hand on her shoulder, she startled and only then realized that she was trembling. Aragorn guided her over to a seat and helped her to sit down. He then poured her a warm cup of tea and folded her fingers around the steaming cup. After a few moments, she managed to calm her nerve.

"I'm so sorry," Aragorn began, but Elizabeth cut him off, holding her hand up and then placing her hand on the desk to prevent the tremors.

"No, really, there's nothing for you to be sorry about. I should have expected such a reaction as he is expected to be furious and confused right now... really I'm just being silly," she held her tea with both hands as she sipped the comforting liquid.

"Confused or not... I'll have to discipline him for that," when he spoke the words, he seemed decently unhappy about them and that unhappiness gave Elizabeth the slightest spark of hope.

"I- I don't know if that's the best idea..." she hesitated. "I don't believe that he is one who should be... broken."

"Something about his wife?"

"Do you trust me?" She asked suddenly, fixing Aragorn with a very pointed look. She was so so tired of all this dinging around, she needed to know if Aragorn could be any help.

"Yes," he responded without the slightest hint of hesitation.

"His wife... is a very powerful elf. The type that the ancient legends were based on. The type to posses magic."

"And you fear that she is threat to me?"

"And all of Gondor."

"Well," he replied slowly. "I suppose that I'll have to keep a close eye on him then. You know that I never intended to destroy him... just, well I am to be spending the next several months here in Minas Tirith and..."

"And even you, the wandering Dunedain who ignores the rules of court couldn't avoid the stigma of owning an elf," a slightly harsh laugh escaped her throat as she realized that he was nearly as uncomfortable as she was when first placed in this situation.

"I suppose you could say such. I was just trying to think of a way to get out of it when we ran into the patrol of elves being led by him. When I saw the way he fought and the fire in him... there's a sort of nobility in the way he bares himself... I couldn't watch that be destroyed."

"But you think you can train him for the court?"

"I think he will be smart enough to realize that the alternatives are far worse."

"We can hope he comes to think such."

"And there's the issue of his injury. I don't know if we have time to wait him out on attending to it."

"I think..." Elizabeth frowned a bit at the idea as it was risky, but it could also turn out to benefit everyone in the end if she played it correctly. "I think that I know someone who he would allow to help him."

Notes:

Didn't see that one coming, did ya?!
He he he... now the drama only gets worse from here.

Chapter 21 Chapter Text

Elrond was bent over and frowning at a piece of parchment. Lady Elizabeth's handwriting could be considered atrocious at best, but the particular scrawl before him was very much illegible. For not the first time Elrond considered the words he would've had with her if she were one of his apprentices. Aside from some very obvious ideological differences, in the private quarters of his own mind, Elrond couldn't help but often ponder what she might have been had the young woman been born to the Eldar. She was by far the most skilled Edain healer that he had ever met and possessed a strange amount of knowledge of treatments so obscure that he oft wondered how she could have ever possibly learned such. She was also incredibly obsessive over certain details of healing... but somehow her strange tendencies seemed to be effective.

There was a dichotomy to the child for he watched her sure steps in the Healing Halls where she commanded her fellows like a general on the battle field whilst whispering soft words and stroking fevered brows. Meanwhile, at her desk she spent hours laboring over the smallest detail in her letters, her hesitation was evident in the many smudge marks and scratches on her drafts as she reluctantly yet thoroughly signed every report and treaty before her. She agonized over minute details and Elrond had oft seen her nearly tearing her hair out in frustration as she reread every single line till he was certain that her eyes would bore a hole through the parchment and into her desk. He had learned to remain absolutely quiet during those moments for she disliked being disturbed.

But, no matter her skill, no matter her politics, Elrond still despised her handwriting.

He always made a point of figuring things out himself for the last thing he wanted was to annoy the Lady over asking for confirmation of her words at every line, but after spending over three hours staring at one line of charcoal scribble he was beginning to resign himself to such a fate.

Then, there was a clicking of a lock being undone and Lady Elizabeth entered the room. Unlike usual, where she would walk to her desk and begin work without acknowledging his presence, she paused and stared at him with an unreadable expression on her face. Thinking that perhaps she was upset at him, he quickly put the papers down and moved to in front of his desk, kneeling with his head bowed.

"My Lady?" He kept his voice low and his eyes on the bottom hem of her dress. He had absolutely no desire to start anything that would earn her ire. Whispers had been moving around the castle and he wasn't the only one aware that something big was happening among the free elves.

"You have a patient," her voice was that eerie monotone that made it impossible for Elrond to read her. "Grab the healing satchel and follow me."

"Yes my Lady," he quickly stood and did as she bid, stopping short in front of her, waiting to go.

But, she didn't move right away. Instead, she looked him up and down, eyes scanning him in silence. Now Elrond had faced many things before, he had fought in wars, he had stood before kings and walked among those who served his father and despised his foster father. Yet still, this young maiden never failed to make him uneasy.

"Your patient is an elf, a newly caught elf who refuses the touch of man. He must eventually learn to endure it."

"Of course my Lady."

"He's an elf you know. Will that prove to be a problem?"

"No my Lady," he resisted the urge to ask how she knew that he was familiar with this elf, but she beat him to it.

"He's the former prince of Doriath, Celeborn."

Elrond's head shot up in shock, but he quickly lowered it and took a deep breath, centering himself as best he could. If Gondor had truly managed to capture Lord Celeborn... he wasn't sure what would happen... but it wouldn't be good.

"I asked if that would be a problem."

"No my Lady," he kept his eyes on the floor as he was snapped back into focus. "I will not cause any trouble whilst I heal his wounds."

"Good. Follow," she commanded and Elrond did as he was told, following her out of the room and down the corridor. He kept his eyes focused on Lady Elizabeth's back as they walked, grateful that there seemed to be no other of his kin wandering the halls. Every time he saw another of his race in such bondage it made his heart ache. As must as he despised living in chains, he knew the he was incredibly lucky with his position. Lady Elizabeth was firm, but never cruel. She also never seemed interested in anything more than what Elrond could do in the Healing Halls, a rare mercy.

They arrived at an unfamiliar room and Elrond felt his heart sink when it was Aragorn who opened the door. The Dunedain smiled at Lady Elizabeth and barely glanced at Elrond before ushering them inside. Elrond kept his back straight but his eyes averted at he walked past the young man who was one of the last links to his dead twin.

"You think it's a good idea to let them see each other?" Aragorn asked.

"He'll behave... they're old friends," Lady Elizabeth replied.

"Oh even better," Aragorn's voice dripped sarcasm, but he gave Lady Elizabeth a look that Elrond was very familiar with. It was the look that Elros used to give him whenever he came up with another hair brained idea and Elros was making it abundantly clear the he didn't agree, but was going to go with it anyway. It was the look that Elrond himself had given to Glorfindel or Erestor many times before.

Either way, the Dunedain walked over to the small and cramped looking door on the other side of the room. The door was identical to the one that he had been locked behind for several days after arriving at Minas Tirith... it was impossible to forget.

Lady Elizabeth placed a hand on his shoulder and gripped him firmly. He took the hint and kneeled down on the ground, breathing deeply to settle himself as he prepared to see his father-in-law. He had his healing kit sitting on his lap and he waited to see his patient. From the corner of his eye, he saw Lady Elizabeth nod and watched as Aragorn unlocked the door and stuck his head into the dark chamber.

"I have an elf healer for you," he said to the unseen individual still locked in the dark. "I expect you to be on your best behavior and-" the man paused for a moment before speaking in a language that Elrond had not heard for some time. "I hope you will not be foolhardy enough to plan something that Iwouldn't like."

Elrond had little time to contemplate how Elros' descendent, an elf-hunter, knew how to speak Sindarin for the man was already reaching into the dark room and pulling on something. It took a few times, but after a bit of tugging a tall, silver haired elf tumbled out and sent a cold glare toward Aragorn before he noticed Elrond.

Both of them froze.

It was Lady Elizabeth who stepped in.

"Celeborn, I believe that you and Elrond are old friends. I suggest that you allow him to tend to your wounds before they become more severe," she said.

Celeborn said nothing, but Elrond was pushed forward lightly and thus he stood and approached the elven prince. He did a brief visual examination of the elf to take in his condition. The prince was filthy with dirt marring his pale skin and his silver hair a tangled mess. The dark collar was prominent around his neck and, although Prince Celeborn had always been skilled at masking his emotions, Elrond knew that he was far too composed to have been violated yet. Although violation was devastating to any elf, to a bonded elf it was far worse.

There was a clear stain of red on Celeborn's side and Elrond knew by the tightness of his brow that the wound was very painful and thus likely infected. He knelt down beside the prince and opened his healing bag. He hesitated for a moment as he took in the mildly board expressions of both Lady Elizabeth and Aragorn, the former of whom was tapping her fingers against her side in what Elrond could only assume to be a gesture of impatience. Still, he couldn't bring himself to simply reach for Celeborn's tunic and so instead he clutched the bowl of water that was placed beside him and held up a cloth to his father-in-law, asking in a voice as polite as if they were sipping tea in Imladris,

"May I?"

Celeborn gave one sharp nod and so Elrond lifted his tunic and frowned at the gash that was still leaking blood. It wasn't very deep, but it was an ugly thing, wide and with jagged edges. He immediately began dabbing at it with a damp cloth for it also appeared to be rather filthy. Even the Eldar could be subject to infection from such a contaminated wound.

"A few of my men were using grappling hooks to tear down the structures that they use as archer stations in the treetops, one of the hooks snagged him," Aragorn spoke to Lady Elizabeth in explanation.

Elrond resisted the urge to turn and gauge Lady Elizabeth's reaction, instead focusing on treating the wound before him. The pair continued to speak on the details of Aragorn's fight with Celeborn whilst Elrond doubled down on his focus with the paste he was grinding to promote faster healing. He was so engrossed in his actions that he almost missed the barely whispered words that Celeborn spoke.

"Everyone is well," Celeborn kept his eyes focused on the stone wall behind Elrond who continued with his actions as if he hadn't heard a thing. "They have taken control of the warriors and she works with our Lady to care for the refugees."

Elrond's heart fluttered in delight as he realized what Celeborn was saying- his sons were leading the group that he and Glorfindel was led while his precious daughter was at the heart of the safest elven settlement left in Middle Earth.

"And they are?" In truth, Elrond was most worried about his sons. While they could handle themselves with a sword or bow just fine, they did not grieve well.

"Angry, and desiring vengeance, but with just enough sense to restrain themselves," Celeborn's lips barely moved while he spoke and Elrond sincerely hoped that the two Edains in the room wouldn't notice.

"Any other news?"

"Listen to the Gray."

Elrond nodded. He was nearly finished with his ministrations, but he was dragging out the moment as long as he could. He finally decided to give the same advice that had once been imparted onto him from Glerdil, advice that he was certain save his and Glorfindel's lives on multiple occasions.

"My Lord," he dropped his voice lower and flickered his eyes over to where Lady Elizabeth and Aragorn were still engrossed in their conversation. "They like it when we beg... they desire our submission more than anything and in it, we may find mercy."

While Elrond had expected some sort of protest from the silver haired prince, instead Celeborn merely nodded. Elrond wasn't certain that he would follow the advice, but the prince was no fool and was likely already feeling the weight of the collar at his throat. Celeborn loved his wife more than the stars themselves and Elrond knew that the prince would do all in his power to keep himself mentally sane, if only for the sake of Galadriel.

Lady Elizabeth seemed to notice Elrond finishing up the bandages and she announced that it was time for them to leave. Aragorn thanked her for her help and Elrond gave a slight nod of farewell to Celeborn before he stood and took his place by her side. There was a pause where Aragorn looked at Celeborn expectantly before prompting him to speak.

"I believe there's something for you to say to Lady Elizabeth..." he slowly drawled.

The room froze and for a moment, one could cut the tension with a knife. Finally, much to Elrond's relief and surprise, Celeborn turned too Lady Elizabeth and bowed stiffly, his voice low and as subservient as Elrond ever heard as he spoke.

"I thank thee for the ministrations of your... attendant."

Lady Elizabeth merely gave a sharp nod. She then bid her farewells to Aragorn and Elrond followed her as they walked out of the room. He couldn't help but notice that Lady Elizabeth's steps sped up a bit as soon as the door closed, but his long strides were easily able to keep up with the rather short Lady. They walked in their usual silence before Lady Elizabeth abruptly stopped and smiled at a man sitting in a strange, wheeled chair.

"Joshua?" She called in delight. The man turned his head and his entire face lit up upon seeing her.

"Lady Elizabeth?! What a pleasant surprise!" An elf with his head firmly tiled downwards immediately grasped the handles on the back of the man's chair and wheeled him around to face Lady Elizabeth. Elrond nearly missed the suspicious and almost vindictive glare he sent to Elrond before turning his attention back to Lady Elizabeth.

Now while the healer in Elrond would usually be drawn to whatever ailment caused this young man to be bound to a chair, his focus instead was set on the elf who was obviously his attendant. Said elf had his eyes downcast and his shoulders hunched as if he were making every effort to sink into the floor. He was frightfully thin and though he appeared clean and well dressed as any attendant of a high ranking man should be, no amount of cloth could hide the obvious lash marks and bruises that were plastered across his exposed skin. The fair hair hinted that the elf likely was of Silvan blood, but he steadfastly refused to lift his gaze. Elrond's heart ached for he seemed like a well and truly broken spirit.

"Elrond," Lady Elizabeth's sharp tone caused the Silvan elf's shoulders to shudder in a flinch. "You are to report to the Healing Halls. Inform the Matron that you are to be conducting my usual rounds of the plague ward."

"Yes my Lady," he bowed, his gaze shifting for one last lingering look at the elf whose face he never caught.

As he walked away, sure steps taking him straight to the servant's tunnels so he could get to the Healing Halls quickly, he heard a small snippet of Lady Elizabeth's conversation.

"Its been far too long. Care to take lunch together? I can have some sent out to the gardens."

"That would be lovely, please, lead the way."

Elrond allowed his mind to wonder over the Silvan elf for one last moment before he returned his mind to Celeborn. Seeing his father-in-law was certainly a shock and he could only pray to the Valar that Aragorn wouldn't be quite as cruel as he had seen man to be. He equally respected and feared lady Galadriel and he truly didn't know what she would do with her husband captured.

Only time would tell.

Chapter 22 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Glorfindel was, of all things, practicing his braids. He felt rather foolish sitting on a cushion on the floor, braiding and unbraiding his hair like a young elf maiden... but there was nothing else for him to do. At these moments he almost envied Elrond for at least his lord had tasks to complete, however menial copying letters may be or however draining healing was.

But he was stuck, chained by a collar to the wall in Lady Elizabeth's bedchambers. It wasn't quite the life that he had been expecting when he was first captured by men and a small voice in the back of his head was telling him that he should be grateful that boredom was his largest struggle whilst in chains. But, either way he was always an elf of action, he was used to leading training with the guards, riding hard across the plains, and battling orcs. He was not adjusted to living his life in such a stationary manner.

Yet, there he was, the great Balrog Slayer of Gondolin, considered one of the mightiest warriors of Middle Earth, confined to being an accessory brought along to balls and council meetings. That was what he had become... a side piece meant for show. He was as his mother had always feared he would be, reduced to merely his appearance and nothing more. Such was a feat that he had not been forced to endure since his first death at the hands of the Balrog. It was to his great surprise when he first met the elves of Imladris that when they stared at him in awe, it was because of his deeds and not his golden Vanyar hair.

But then came the war, the Dark Truce, centuries of hiding, and finally his capture. To no ones surprise as a captive he was once agin reduced to merely his appearance and, for neither the first nor last time, he cursed the face he was born with.

Boredom is a wretched thing. For those of action like Glorfindel, it tears at the soul like slow torture.

***

Elizabeth and Joshua were seated at a table in the gardens. Joshua's elf attendant, who Elizabeth just barely recognized as Haldir, was meticulously slicing up food and bringing it to the young man's lips. It was clear that the former soldier had made amends with his father for he was dressed far more lavishly than his compensation payments would allow.

"I must admit," as he began to speak, Haldir gently dabbed a napkin along his chin and Elizabeth did her best to focus on Joshua, not the cowed shell of an elf. "That when I first heard that you had an elf aiding you in the Healing Halls I was rather... upset."

"Oh?" Elizabeth replied. She knew from his tone that he had more to say and she had learned that it was often best to let others simply say their piece.

"Since my injury I've been rather... angry at the elves. I'm sure you could imagine."

"Understandable."

"Of course when I heard of your elf in the Healing Halls my mind first went to my own experience of betrayal and I was terrified that another loyal servant of Gondor would be wronged like me."

"I can understand your fear."

"But," a hint of a smile crossed his face. "Then I thought... well you certainly knew what you were doing when you treated me and you seem to have a more than capable head on your shoulders."

"Oh, you flatter me Joshua," Elizabeth did her best to continue with a playful smile. She was very glad to see Joshua so well. She loved catching up with her former patients and he was recovering more than she ever hoped. Joshua already appeared to have some mobility in his hands... but at the same time she was a bit concerned at where this conversation was going.

"Tis not flattery when it's true," he smiled back and continued. "So I thought... well she must have discovered a secret to assuring loyalty. Apparently being raised alongside them and never finding any hint of ill intent is not enough of a reassurance. Of course, by this time I was moved back in with my father who forgave me for falling into the silver tongued trap of the elf and we made amends. He began to train me for his business when the subject of you came up. I never knew that you were a scholar of elves as well as medicine."

"Well I dabble a bit in history. The ancient legends are a favorite of mine."

"Yes and then it came to me! To control these creatures we must know them." His smile turned something sharp as he continued to speak. "And so I began to study the elves, I went through history books and legends, I spoke to Adravaine and learned of the secrets that he pried from these creatures. And then... I learned the funniest thing about my favoriteelf."

At those words, Haldir stiffened slightly but continued his task of caring for his master. Elizabeth was secretly very glad that she hadn't brought along Glorfindel.

"My father of course wished to send the traitorous orc bait to Adravaine to suffer before being sent to the dwarf mines. But, then I learned that he had brothers! Could you imagine, two of them."

"Really?" Elizabeth feigned surprise. She knew exactly who he was speaking of...Rumil and Orophin, the brothers of Haldir who met the Fellowship...

"Yes and with a bit of work... I found the brothers and purchased them." He made a small gesture with his fingers and Haldir immediately dropped to his knees. "And now my dear Haldir knows that should he do anything that I dislike... should any harm happen to come to me... his brothers will suffer more than he ever imagined."

"That is... creative," Elizabeth finally managed, taking a deep sip of her tea as she ignored the horror in his statement. She felt bad for Haldir... she had to as no one deserved the depth of suffering that he was facing.

And yet, even as Joshua sat before her with his wicked grin... she couldn't quite be as furious or disgusted with him as she usually was with others whose minds sought out such dark places. The Joshua she met had been a boy. A boy who was terribly wounded, who paid a terrible price for saving the life of his companion and whose life was ruined by a betrayal. Haldir had practically raised the boy and Joshua had admired the elf more than his own father... but then he was lied to... tricked and he fell into such darkness that can now hardly be recovered from.

Elizabeth really didn't know who was more at wrong there. Both were so terribly wrong, but both were also so terribly wronged.

Oh how she longed for the days when she was an ER doctor, racing between patients with the simple goal of saving whatever life was most in need. Yes she had to make tough calls, yes there were struggles and moral dilemmas... but nothing even close to as much of a mess as her life was at the moment. She hated herself for feeling sympathy to either, and she also despised herself for blaming either.

"But enough of that," Joshua's boyish smile was back to replace that dark glint as he pivoted the conversation. "I fear that I was most rude and spilled my entire life story when we last met without even bothering to ask a thing about you. How came you to Gondor Lady Elizabeth?"

"Ah, tis a funny story," and thus, Elizabeth happily switched the topic of conversation as she told her usual tale.

Their conversation from that point was rather pleasant as they spoke of Gondor's beauty, of the tales of young soldiers and guards, and of the strange darkness that seemed to be plaguing the outlying lands. It seemed that orcs were indeed becoming more prominent to the south of Gondor. Luckily, Mordor still seemed rather clear, but the soldiers were never far from the Black Gate where they stood guard. Nonetheless, Elizabeth tucked that last bit of information into the back of her mind. There were still several mysteries surrounding this version of Middle Earth that she had yet to unravel. Time would tell how those would all play out.

The pair finished their meal and Joshua assured Elizabeth that it wouldn't be too long until they had time to do such again as he was to become more involved in his father's business and thus be in Minas Tirith more often. Elizabeth of course nodded her head and said her farewells.

She lingered a bit longer in the gardens, walking among the beautiful greenery and enjoying the solitude of such an act. Her own chambers had become stifling with and elf in both her parlor and her bedroom. She no longer had a place of solitude, save her dimly lit office where she was surrounded by the secrets of Gondor. Fresh air was a nice change and something that she missed dearly in her usual days of the Healing Halls and council meetings.

As she turned a bend however, she nearly ran collided with a tall figure. She paused to apologize when she registered who it was and they both froze... it was Gandalf.

"Ah, Lady Elizabeth," he was the first to recover. "What a pleasant surprise to see you here. How do you fare?"

"I am well enough," she smiled and began pondering ways to make a hasty retreat.

"If I may be so bold to ask," the twinkle in his eye was all that Elizabeth needed to know that he didn't think it bold to ask, and that he probably already knew the answer. "But I have heard that you are a close friend of Master Aragorn... the chieftain of the Dunedain Rangers."

"I do hold the honor of being considered among Lord Aragorn's friends," although as a Ranger he seldom used the title, it technically was proper to refer to him as such.

"Yes, well I have heard that he has recently returned to Minas Tirith from a rather... exciting expedition."

"I am sure that his adventures were adequately interesting," Elizabeth once again slid on that polite smiled that she used in negotiations and verbal spars.

"Indeed, and no doubt new captives were brought in?" When he said that, he raised a single bushy eyebrow. Elizabeth didn't miss the fact that he referred to them as "captives," not slaves as most referred to them.

"He is a skill Ranger so I would presume such."

"Skilled enough to capture those of great skill as well?"

"I suppose it would depend on their skill."

"What would you say of elven lords of old? I've heard that you are an expert in such things."

"Ah, my apologies," Elizabeth kept her tone even and light. "But I fear you have overestimated my knowledge. I am a scholar of history... but I have never claimed knowledge of such things as battle skills."

"But you knew Lord Aragorn well enough. How would you rank his skills fo I've hear rumors that he is the greatest pathfinder and tracker in all of Middle Earth?"

"Quite the rumor."

"Rumors often hold an hair of truth."

"Perhaps, but perhaps it would be better to ask Lord Aragorn of such things yourself. I fear that I know less than you think me to."

"Oh, Lady Elizabeth," there was that twinkle in his eyes again. "I think you know far more."

"I am flattered, but I fear I must be going."

"Of course, you have a busy schedule and I won't keep you from it..." Gandalf paused for a moment. "I think it might be some time before I see you again... maybe a little, maybe a lot... but I have business to attend to elsewhere. Would you give my thanks to the King for his hospitality?"

"Of course," Elizabeth had a suspicion of what Gandalf was up to, but it was at least worth an effort to ask. "Might I ask where you are traveling? I am most curious about the lands surrounding Gondor."

"Oh here and there, I find myself attending to business in most corners of Middle Earth."

"Then I bid you safe travels," she tilted her head in acknowledgment before turning and walking back to the castle.

Oh that wizard is up to something...

When Elizabeth finally arrived back at her chambers she was pleased to have her parlor empty for once. Elrond was attending to what was usually one of her shifts in the Healing Halls and thus, she was free during a time she would usually be rather occupied. Elizabeth was glad to have an empty room for once and thus, quickly got to work. She made her way through several correspondences and drafts of new regulations before she found herself quite tired. Without really thinking about it, she began to nod off at her desk.

Just as she reached the peaceful realm halfway between sleep and wakefulness, she heard a sound that had her mind jolting to wakefulness.

There was a slow, quiet creak of her door opening and then closed.

Now, usually her door opening was no strange thing. Many people came in and out of her door on a regular basis. However, everyone- guests, her maids, and even the King knocked. There was the occasion where her door was flung open as someone came in a panic over an emergency meeting, a severely wounded patient, or other such urgent matter... but no one ever crept in.

In fact, there was only one reason why Elizabeth could imagine someone creeping in and such was not a pleasant thought.

She could hear footsteps, quiet, barely there treads- the type of silence that could only be accomplished by an elf. Elizabeth's whole body went tense at the realization... she was the Head Advisor to the King of Gondor... in her time there was no shortage of enemies that she had made.

She could hear this individual moving about the room; maybe they saw her and thought her asleep, maybe they had yet to notice her. But, she carefully wrapped her hand around the rope under her desk. She made sure that it was firmly in her grasp before she sate up in her chair and opened her eyes.

She was met with the sight that she expected to see- and elf looking startled out of his skin as sat up and leveled her eyes at him. He had one hand on the screen that she presumed he had thought her to be behind, and the other hand was resting on a dagger in his belt.

There was also a collar around his neck- he was an owned elf.

"Make one move towards me," Elizabeth was honestly proud that she managed to keep the tremble out of her voice. "And I pull this rope that rings a bell and sends forty soldiers pouring into this room."

The elf managed one jerking nod and a tense silence fell over the room.

There was one question first and foremost in Elizabeth's mind:

"Who sent you?"

Notes:

Wow... lots of dialogue! Okay so things are heating up now. I can safely say that this is about to get a lot more interesting.
Also, as a side note I just wanted to check in. I hope everyone is doing okay with the world being a little insane right now. I like to think that our little community of writers and readers can help to keep people cheerful during these difficult times!
So stay healthy and don't be afraid to reach out to others.

Chapter 23 Notes:

*Warning*
There is slight mention/pondering of suicide in this chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

The elf was frozen, his eyes almost comically wide as Elizabeth awaited her answer.

"N-no one," his voice was so quiet that Elizabeth had to strain to hear.

"No one sent you?" Her tone very clearly indicated that she didn't believe him in the slightest.

"I- I was-"

"You are going to drop that dagger and slowly kick it towards me," Elizabeth's voice was eerily calm as she pushed aside her fear. "Then, you're going to explain to me exactly why you're trying to kill me and maybe I won't call the guards and have you brought before the King for the attempted assassination of the Head Advisor."

The elf complied readily enough, kicking the dagger over to Elizabeth who retrieved it without once taking her eyes off the elf or her hand off the rope. She felt a little more secure once she held the weapon, but it still concerned her that even as scrawny as this elf was... he was likely still strong enough to squeeze the life out of her. But, she had her alarm and part of her didn't want to use it until she found out why this elf was in her chambers.

"I want you to give me one reason why I shouldn't call the guards and have you arrested for an attempted assassination. Do you know what the consequences for that are?" She asked, keeping her tone icy as she hoped that he couldn't hear the way her heart was threatening to punch a hole through her chest.

"I-" he paused and exhaled a shaky breath. "I swear, I didn't come to kill you."

"So there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for sneaking into my chambers with a dagger?"

He was still frozen in place, but his eyes flickered around the room as if he was searching for something. His expression was closely guarded, but Elizabeth felt fear and grief in him far more than the anger she expected in an assassin. Still, the elves were far too good at hiding their emotions for Elizabeth to be certain of anything.

"You were meant to be in the Healing Halls at this time, I did not anticipate finding you here," he spoke the words slowly, his tone frank and full of reason.

"So then you are a spy, attempting to collect information on Gondor's secrets?" He was collared with tags showing that he was owned by the castle. Yet, something told Elizabeth that he wasn't sent by any man. Whatever this was, it was his plan.

"You are the Lady Elizabeth, famed healer and well known for your knowledge of the Eldar," he stated in lieu of answering her question. Then, much to Elizabeth's shock, he slowly lowered himself to one knee and placed his hand over his heart. "I hereby swear, before the witness of Eru Illuvatar, that I did not come here with the intention to murder you or steal secrets from Gondor."

Elizabeth was too shocked to even begin thinking of a response. For elves, oaths were a dangerous thing. They weren't just certainly damned if they broke them, but they were also compelled to follow them. It was the ultimate triumph to have your elf swear an oath to you. In the entire history of their enslavement, only a few elves had ever been so far gone as to swear such an oath. Most became guardians of entire lineages after they swore their oath and eventually died by purposefully entering a fight that they knew they couldn't win. Death was the only escape for them at that point, and for most it was kinder.

"Please," Elizabeth's attention was drawn back to the elf who now had his head bowed. "I made an error in entering your chambers and I am sorry. I am no spy, and no assassin. I beg of you, my Lady Elizabeth, punish me for my error and I shall not make it again."

Smart,Elizabeth thought.He's trying tomanipulate me, betting on my punishment being lesserthan the King's. He's trying to get me to "punish him"and then send him on his way snd forget about him... and all the while hehasn't even told me why he's here.

Suddenly, Elizabeth was far more curious about who this particular elf was. He had pale skin, dark hair, and grey eyes... clearly Noldor. But beyond that, she couldn't get a single read on him. He wasn't overly scarred as particularly rebellious elves often were and he wasn't built like a warrior. His clothing was neat and far too clean to work in the stables, kitchens, or with the cleaners. He seemed far too ordinary, and that combined with his silver tongue made Elizabeth instantly suspicious.

"Who are you?" She repeated her question.

"I am merely a slave, a slave who became too curious and know knows their place," he spoke humbly, but the lines sounded well rehearsed and almost too sincere.

"My patience runs thin. Tell me you name," she demanded more forcefully this time.

"I am-" he paused, his head still bent in a bow so Elizabeth couldn't see his face. "I am Erestor, my Lady."

Erestor!Alarm bells were instantly ringing in Elizabeth's mind. Of course, it all made sense. A Noldor elf with a silvertongue, plain looking but sharp of mind, wandering in my chambers where it is well known that Lord Elrond is kept!

The puzzle was beginning to come together. He was clever, Tolkien always seemed to imply such for an elf to hold such high of a position in Imladris. If he was clever enough then it was quite possible that he managed to learn of Lady Elizabeth's schedule. He then picked the time when she was always in the Healing Halls to attend to patients and no one was in her room. But, if he was searching for Elrond, then did he not know that she usually took him with her to the Healing Halls? Enough elves picked up and dropped off supplies in the Healing Halls for word to have gotten around that Elrond served as an aide there.

This would be more tricky than she initially thought. The elf before her once held the same position in the court of Imladris that she now held in the court of Gondor... only he had a few thousand years of practice on her. Elizabeth suddenly felt very very over her head as she realized how her relatively few years of court experience paled in the comparison to the elf kneeling in front of her. This was an elf who had fought in wars against gods.

"Well," her tone was casual as she spoke. She just needed a few more pieces to complete her puzzle, and she was determined to get them. "Tell me then, Erestor, once the Chief Counselor to Lord Elrond in Imladris-" her words had the desired effect of shock for he was so surprised, his head shot up and his grey eyes met her. "You would have to be fool, which I know you not to be, to creep into my chambers at this hour expecting to find your former Lord for you must know that he works the Healing Halls with me."

"I-"

"And choose your words carefully," she warned. "I will know your true intent or I shall drag you before the King on charges of attempted assassination. If you are honest, I may find some small mercy, though you will find none if charged with an intent on my life."

Elizabeth desperately hoped that he wouldn't call her bluff. If she called the guards and had them escort him to the King, then Erestor would be destroyed. In all likelihood, the King would ask for Adravaine to punish the elf very publicly and very painfully before sending him off the the Dwarven mines... for an elf there was no worse fate. It was obvious that he wasn't there to kill her, but at the same time shehadto know what he was doing. He crept into her chambers when he knew they would be empty bearing a dagger... there was a story and a plan there.

"I shall be honest with you then, my Lady," he spoke with a note of resignation in his tone that Elizabeth hoped would carry truth. "I came not for you or Lor- Elrond... but for Glorfindel."

"And the dagger?"

"For him if he so wished it," his voice was low and he now spoke to the floor beneath his knees.

"So you wished to aide in an assassination?" Elizabeth was back on her guard. It wasn't a bad idea, really. Slip a dagger to the Advisor's pet who just so happened to be one of the greatest warriors alive and let him take care of the rest.

"No-" to Elizabeth's surprise, he seemed to choke on his words. Doubt and a deep sense of sorrow filled the elf as he explained himself. "The dagger... the dagger was meant for him... for him to wield upon himself."

Now that... that came as a surprise. In all her readings of Tolkien's works... there was only one elf in history known to have commited suicide and that was Maedhros Feanorian. Even as horribly as elves were treated... Elizabeth could count on one hand the number of elves who she knew to have ended their own lives and two were in the hands of Adravaine for too long while the other two were at the Dwarven mines.

If he thinks Glorfindel would be so desperate to die...

I'm trying,she thought desperately.I'm trying so so hard to allow us all to live. I live every day in fear that mykindness will be discovered, and yet I am thought so cruel that death would be kinder.

"You risked much to bring him this offer of destruction," she kept her tone even, giving away nothing.

"Yes."

"And?"

"Why?"

"Must I say?" The elf before her suddenly looked wretched and Elizabeth watched with a morbid sort of fascination as the silver tongued counselor gave way to broken slave. "Must I say that I have known Laurefindil since before Elrond's birth? Must I say that I know his beauty and that I know all too well the lust of men?" His tone grew bitter and his next words he nearly spat. "Must I say that I've seen the way you show him off at balls and council meetings, that I watch the eyes of your Lords and the Unger in them? Must I say that I also know you, that precarious position you hold, and how easy a bribe like Laurefindil's body must be? I do not wish to know how many Counselors, Merchants, and Representatives you send him to for your own political gains."

His last words were spat with so much venom that Elizabeth nearly flinched back. Instead, she found herself gripping her desk so tightly that her knuckles turned white.It seemed that it hadn't escaped Erestor's notice that she held the position he once had in Imladris... but it also seemed that he held an even lower opinion of Elizabeth than she held of herself.

But for some reason, his judgment stung. It was like a little knife, jammed into her gut and every word that Erestor spoke, in that angry voice dripping with contempt, twisted the blade just a bit further.

"Is that how you think I accomplish my goals? Peddling flesh for votes?" She tried to ignore the voice in the back of her head reminding her of Lord Penderon for that sort of blackmail certainly wasn't as rotten as what Erestor seemed to believe her to be taking part in.

"It has crossed my mind," Erestor's tone had become steely, seemingly accepting that he would be punished for his actions and thus speaking his mind freely for what was likely the first time in a long while. His words however, were certainly not helping the growing rage within Elizabeth.

All she ever wanted to do was help... it was all she tried to do since being ripped from her perfectly happy life and dropped in Middle Earth. First as a foreign healer saving lives by scraping the bottom of the barrel of her medical knowledge, then she was tossed into a high court and forced to learn to play politics with men who saw her as nothing but a young bit of skirt. Both those roles she handled well, both of those roles she learned and adapted, changed everything about herself to fit the mold that Gondor had created... but that wasn't enough. She had to pull two- probably three now, slaves from certain destruction and now she crept upon a dangerous precipice where her own chambers held beings who probably wanted her dead whilst she was the only one standing between them and destruction... but they could just as easily cause hers.

And I am failing... failing in my promise to the people of Gondor and to the moral code that I never thought I would break. I'm damned if I fail either, and I can't follow both.

"Is that how you achieved your tasks in Imladris?" The bitterness was evident in Elizabeth's tone and she glared at him with a challenge... a challenge that he evenly met.

"We held no slaves in Imladris, and we deal not in the cruel proclivities of your kind."

Oh the knife twisted deep with those words.

Later, Elizabeth wouldn't be quite sure where her rage came from... usually she was so skilled at masking it in court amounts the elder men who constantly berated, underestimated, and dismissed her. But for some reason, this elf set her off.

All the anger of her situation, the frustration of dual roles each with such high demands, the terror of her split loyalty between her adopted King and her own morality, and the stress of balancing every new trouble maker who all seemed to be encroaching on Minas Tirith from all sides at the exact same time... she snapped.

"Of course," now she was yelling, spitting her words in rage as she stood and approached Erestor, the dagger still in her hands. "You're right, ohCouncilorErestor," she drawled out his title with a palpable amount of distain. "You have stood in my presence for mere minutes and of course you know my soul."

She reached the kneeling elf and yanked him by his hair, pulling him towards the door that led to her bedroom.

If he wants me to be a cruel, vile thing... perhaps Ishould give him what he wants.

Notes:

Uh oh...
So Elizabeth is kinda having a moment... and Erestor is now in the game!

Chapter 24 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The blond elf looked shocked, his eyes first being drawn towards his old friend who he certainly recognized before he noticed the rage in Elizabeth's eyes. He reacted as one would when terrified. Instantly, he pushed himself to his knees, pressed his palms flat on the floor, and bowed his head so far down the his forehead kissed the backs of his hands. Both elves were then frozen.

"Well Glorfindel... it seems you recognize your old friendErestor," she didn't know why she sneered at the word "friend," she didn't know why she was doing anything that she was at the moment. The sane thing to do would've been to send Erestor running with a threat to never get in her way again... but it seemed that she was long past sane. "He came all this way to visit you... and to give you a gift."

With those words, she held up the dagger that Erestor brought, allowing the afternoon sun to glint off of the cheap, crudely sharped dagger. Elizabeth found herself musing that the rough edge would certainly have made it painful if Glorfindel intended to end his life with it.Would he go for his throat, or his heart?That morbid voice asked.

"Erestor-" Glorfindel whispered, half rising from his supplicatory bow to flicker his eyes between Elizabeth, the dagger she held, and the elf who brought it. "My friend, why-"

"Oh he seemed to think that I'm so cruel, so evil that you would choose death over staying with me. He figured that I was having every lord in Gondor f*cking you just to get my bills passed... because I could never do such a thing with my own mind. No, I must be using your body as currancy," Elizabeth laughed a terrible, humorless thing at the end of that sentence. The elves probably thought she was mad... maybe she was.

"No, Erestor- it isn't... I'm well, nothing has-" the horror was evident in Glorfindel's eyes as it seemed he caught onto Erestor's plan far more quickly than Elizabeth did.

"But maybe," she laughed again and walked over to that terrible chest, dropping the dagger in it and digging through to find something else. "Maybe that isn't such a bad idea. Maybe I'll take up Erestor's suggestion and start running my own whor*house," Elizabeth wasn't even really aware of what she was saying, she was just... talking. She was letting all her pent up emotions spill out of her mouth as she grabbed a long, heavy cane from the chest.

Erestor saw what was in he hands as she approached, and he blanched.

"Maybe, maybe I should be a proper slave owner and punish you for breaking into my chambers with a blade," she approached with the cane in hand, rapping it slowly against the ground.

"My Lady please, I beg of you-" Glorfindel, still kneeling, held his hand out reaching towards Elizabeth as if begging for mercy.

Without thinking, Elizabeth brought the cane down sharply across the palm of his hand, instantly raising a large welt. Glorfindel hissed slightly in pain and yanked his hand to his chest. He kept his head down and his eyes averted.

"Well Erestor, what do you think? You think me a monster," she spat. "Does this look more the part?"

She snapped the cane on the floor in front of Erestor when he didn't respond, the heavy and supple wood creating an audible crack in the air as it came down. Erestor startled and collected himself from his sprawl into a kneel. He crouched there, trembling as pent up rage poured off of Elizabeth, but he didn't say a word.

"Well?!" Elizabeth was getting more and more furious, but again only Glorfindel spoke.

"My Lady please, he didn't mean-" the cane came down again, this time striking Glorfindel's exposed forearm. He gasped audibly in pain as blood began trickling down his arm.

Then, Erestor whimpered.

It was a small, pitiful sound, the type of sound one would hear from a pup abandoned on the side of the street. It was the helpless cry of a creature who was utterly lost and afraid, a creature who knew its life was at the mercy of others.

That sound pieced Elizabeth's heart.

What... what am I doing?She asked herself.How could I... why?

She took a few, stumbling steps back as her heart raced and she looked at the cane in her hands and the elves trembling before her. It was a type of position that she would have never imagined herself to be in... she was a slave owner, she was beating her slaves just because...

Because what? Because they offended me... because he saidsomething and I knowhe's right? Am I punishing him because he can see what I've become.

Elizabeth's rage was gone, but her limbs still trembled as she grabbed Erestor by the back of his tunic and began to drag him out of the room.

"Please-" she heard Glorifndel beg as she viciously slammed the door shut behind them. Glorfindel probably thought that she was intending to take Erestor before the King, but she had no intention of doing so.

Instead, once the bedroom door was shut behind them, Elizabeth gave the elf a firm shove in the direction of the door leading out. He was frozen, standing in the middle of the room, half crouched and staring at the door as if it where both his salvation and his doom. He wasn't moving.

"Go," Elizabeth ordered, pointing at the door. "Go, and never, ever, try something like this again."

He didn't need to be told a third time as he raced out the door, shutting it gently behind him as if afraid that he would wake a sleeping beast... which probably wasn't too far from the truth.

Once he was gone, she locked the door and collapsed onto the floor.

She tried so hard, she maintained her facade well in public and was as kind as possible in private... so why was she so surprised that others thought her cruel? Wasn't that the point? Why did it sting so much that Erestor believed her to be a monster? It was that kind of persona, that kind of reputation that would save her skin in this world. If she was known as kind- not even kind, but merely sympathetic she could be seen as weak and destroyed. Yet she reacted so violently to being called cruel... such a thing she rightly deserved as a slave owner.

For a while she sat... this time though, there were no tears. Hopefully Erestor would be terrified enough to leave her be, although she now had to deal with Glorfindel. Elizabeth slowly stood and began collecting supplied from the cupboard. She was exhausted, emotionally drained, and wanted nothing more than to lock herself away and ignore the world. But, she couldn't.

Instead, she gathered a bowl of water, a few cloths, and a jar of healing salve. She then made her way to her bedroom door.

The moment she stepped inside, Glorfindel collapsed onto his knees, his injured arm cradled against his chest and his other held out in a supine position. He kept his head down and his hair flowing into a pool around him as Elizabeth walked in and crouched down in front of him. She paused and watched the slight tremble in his bent spine. He looked like a fallen angel; not one who fell from his evil deeds, but a beautiful angel whose wings were severed and who fell into the grasp of demons, a captured creature of light.

"My Lady," his voice was barely a whisper as he spoke. "My Lady I apologize for the actions of Erestor and I can assure you that he will do nothing of the sort again. I would never have accepted the blade to do harm to either you or myself and I beg of you to show mercy-"

"Give me your injured arm please," the last word slipped out, more out of habit than anything. Honestly, Elizabeth should have been more concerned about her slip up, but she had bigger things to worry about and she doubted that her "please" would mean anything in the grand scheme of things. Her words did however cut Glorfindel off and he turned to look at her, openly gaping for several moments before slowly extending his arm.

She grasped the uninjured underside firmly so she could get a better look. Across his arm, the cane made a long welt that was split open and dripping blood. The entire palm of his hand was swollen and colored an ugly purple. He would likely be unable to close his hand for at least a few days.

Elizabeth set to work on the gash first, dipping her cloth in the water and wiping away carefully at the wound. She worked as meticulously as usual, washing the cut and bathing it in an antiseptic rinse. Luckily it was ugly but not too deep and thus she deemed stitches unnecessary. Instead, she applied a thick paste and wrapped his arm in a long bandage. She then moved to his hand where the large welt had swelled to encompass his whole palm. As she tapped it, she noticed Glorfindel wince before sharply covering up his reaction.

Repressing a sigh, Elizabeth bathed that wound as well before applying more balm in an attempt to sooth some of the ache. She then gathered her tools and stood. For a moment, she opened her mouth as if to speak, but no words came forth for what could she say? She couldn't apologize, she couldn't offer him comfort, she couldn't even assure him that Erestor would be okay. So instead, she turned and left the room.

Once back in her office, Elizabeth only had a few moments of peace to collect herself before there was a hesitant knock on the door.

She slowly rose and opened the door to find Runhild standing before her. Elizabeth's usually vivacious maid appeared nervous, fidgeting with the hem of her cloak as she stood before her Lady.

"M'lady... I'm sorry to bother you... but I think you might want to go to the Healing Halls. The Matron is out and.... well it's, it's Elrond- your elf... m'lady..."

"Has he caused problems?" Of all the unlikely events of the day, Elrond causing problems in the Healing Halls was the least she expected to occur.

"No, m'lady... it's Adravaine. He-"

That was all Elizabeth needed to hear as she was on her feet in an instant, striding at a barely proper pace towards the Healing Halls.

Adravaine wasneverin the Healing Halls. He believed that if he tortured an elf too far then it was better to let it die than bother to treat it. If he was in her Healing Halls, then it meant he was up to something and Elizabeth didn't trust the man a single bit.

Adravaine wasn't the sort of man who was evil because of circ*mstances, he wasn't cruel out of fear or hatred, nor was he a victim of some wrong that he was trying to right. He just enjoyed it. He enjoyed listening to screams and to his victims beg for mercy. He took a sick pleasure in finding a beautiful and pure thing, shining and powerful... and then destroying it.

"How long has he been there?" Elizabeth asked Runhild as the girl raced behind her to keep up.

"I'm unsure m'lady," she looked hesitant, but Elizabeth gave her a small nod of encouragement. "I stopped by to collect the usual daily reports and I noticed him hovering near El- your elf. There was only a Junior Healer in the room and she couldn't leave to alert any other as she was with a patient... I fetched one of the Senior Healers who then asked him to leave, but he refused to listen."

"He has no authority in my Healing Halls, Matron or no Matron present," Elizabeth's earlier weariness was gone as fear and anger took over.

What does he want? She asked herself as she raced through the castle.

Notes:

He he he... so we finally get to meet who everyone has been talking about...

Chapter 25 Chapter Text

When they reached the Healing Halls, Elizabeth paused and turned to Runhild.

"Thank you for altering me, but I think it might be best for you to not be here," she said as calmly as she could.Runhild hesitated a moment, her eyes glancing nervously at the door.

"Are you certain m'Lady," her fists clenched and unclenched a bit. "It's just the Junior Healer who was in there-"

"It's alright. I promise I'll take care of it," Elizabeth replied. Runhild nodded in understanding and left.It was a well known fact that one did not want to be on the receiving end of Adravaine's wrath. Mysteriousaccidentstended to befall those who he disliked.

Adravaine was a bit of an anomaly in Minas Tirith. Everyone in the castle had a specific role, specific titles, and therefore specific powers and expectations. The only acceptation to this was Adravaine. He was useful to Gondor's continual success against the elves and thus was afforded a position in Minas Tirith. He had free range of the elvish cells in the dungeon, his own quarters, and a private workshop. But, at the same time, King Tirgon was no fool. Adravaine delighted in cruelty far more than any normal man and the darkness in him was clear. Thus, Tirgon never granted him with a title.

All this left him somewhat in limbo. Adravaine wasn't a Lord and thus didn't have a vote on the council, but he often had the King's ear. He was also, on occasion, brought into the council for the purpose of observation and advising. He had no voting power but he was a strong and manipulative speaker. Though his actions were those of a brute, he was surpassingly intelligent- intelligent enough so that very few trusted him, but none were willing to confront him directly.

He was a dangerous man.

Elizabeth took a quick moment to look herself over, checking that she was perfectly presentable. She didn't want to look as if she just rushed over and so she tugged the hem of her dress back into place and fixed the pins holding her hair. Steeling her nerves, she pushed the door open and was greeted by one of her Junior Healers.

"Alysana," she greeted the young maid who paused to bow politely. "Have you seen my elf?"

"I believe he is assisting, Junior Healer Tristam in the burn ward," she said, bowing once more before returning to her task.

Elizabeth gave her thanks and made her way to the ward on the far end of the Healing Halls. It was purposely placed out of the way of other noise and activity for burn victims tended to need as much rest as they could get. She swept the door open and was greeted by the sight of a rather nervous looking Tristam changing the bandages on an unconscious patient's arm, Elrond diligently bathing the wounds of a young girl who had the misfortune of spilling hot oil on herself, and Adravaine leaning incredibly close over the elf's shoulder.

"Adravaine?" She kept her voice as casual as possible. "Is there something I can help you with?"

"Ah, Lady Elizabeth," he straightened quickly and Elizabeth couldn't help but notice that Elrond was visibly pale. "A pleasant surprise seeing you here."

"These are myHalls, Adravaine," she knew how he hated the reminder of her status and authority. He was also of the type to believe that women were better suited for the home than "meddling with the affairs of others" as he once put it. Yet, it was painfully clear that in a few short years she rose to a rank that he could barely dream of whilst he remained title-less. "There is no Council meeting today so I am naturally found here," she kept the smugness out of her tone as she smiled placidly.

"Of course, how silly of me to forget." He paused as his eyes casually scanned across the room. "I merely came to observe your treatment of burn victims. I've found that while elves don't burn quite as easily as men, the wounds eventually look much the same."

"A fascinating discovery, I'm sure," she replied dryly. "Was Healer Tristam able to answer your questions to your satisfaction?"

"Actually," there was a glittering in his eyes as he took a step forward. "I was observing your elf."

Elizabeth co*cked her head to the side, looking past Adravaine as if she were just paying attention to Elrond. She watched his methodical movements for a few moments. He had his head down and his hands worked steadily, not even once glancing upwards. For all intensive purposes, he appeared to be solely focused on his work... Elizabeth knew that he was listening to her conversation closely.

"He is bathing and redressing a second degree burn, a simple procedure," she looked up for a moment in thought. "I believe that I am teaching a course on burn treatment, the procedure he is doing is part of it, in three weeks time. You are welcome to attend if you would life."

"As generous of an offer as that is," he took a few steps back, stopping when he was standing next to Elrond. "I find you elf's work in particular to be... fascinating."

Elizabeth watched, biting her tough to prevent herself from saying something that she would regret, as Adravaine's hand reached out to tuck a few strands of Elrond's straight hair behind one ear. The touch was mockingly gentle and Elrond suddenly fell very still. It didn't take much effort to notice the way that Elrond's entire countenance stiffened, one hand still halfway stretched towards the water bowl on the nearby stool. He was holding his breath still as Adravaine's hand wandered further to caress the exposed side of the elf's neck.

That was too much and Elizabeth could no longer prevent herself from speaking.

"I would ask that you respect my property," she snapped, causing Adravaine to slowly and reluctantly remove his hand from Elrond's throat. "I do believe that I had a red stone set in his collar."

"Of course my Lady. I do apologize if I overstep... although I cannot help but find myself rather amazed with your faith in your slave."

"He does his work well and I have yet to have a problem with it."

"Ah, but such a distinct... scholarof elves such as yourself should know that they are a deceitful bunch. With immortal lives it is easy for them to play... long games so to speak. One may appear as tame as a kitten and yet as cunning as a serpent," Adravaine's predatory smile was enough to send shivers down the spine of a lesser man.

Luckily, Elizabeth was not.

"Elrond, heel," Elizabeth ordered sharply, silently praying that he would obey.

Strictly speaking, she had never taught him how to respond to such commands, only Glorfindel as her attendant has been trained such. But, luckily, Elrond was obviously an elf of no small amount of intelligence. He had apparently picked up on enough of Gondor's slave culture to know exactly what that meant.

With his head still down and his eyes still averted, Elrond slowly placed the healing supplies in his hands down and rose to his feet. He gracefully moved over to Elizabeth and kneeled on her left side, very nearly pressed up against her leg. Elizabeth allowed one hand to idly card through his hair as she gave Adravaine a rather unimpressed look.

"Down," she ordered, pushing her luck a bit. But, as with before Elrond knew precisely what the command meant as he placed his palms on the ground in front of him and leaned forward till his forehead was kissing the stone floor of the Healing Halls. "As you can see," Elizabeth drawled with the perfect amount of false bravado and ease. "He is perfectly obedient. The fact that I choose not to mark up my elves and mar their appearance with ugly scars does not mean that I don't have my own methods of controlling them."

She ignored the little voice in her head reminding her that mental torture could oft be crueler than physical.

"You are right that he looks prettier on his knees," Adravaine leered. "But, for the safety of you Healing Halls, I would humbly offer my services in refining the training of your elf. It would take but a few weeks and I can even promise not to permanently scar him. Your elf will be returned to you with the assurance of perfect obedience."

Elizabeth couldn't help but notice the slight tremor that started to spread through Elrond's form as he remained prostrate on the ground.

"While I appreciate your concern," Elizabeth's voice dripped with so much sincerity that it was dangerously sarcastic. "I am quite capable of overseeing the safety of myHealing Halls myself. Speaking of which, unless you would like to finish watching the treatment of our two latest patients I must ask you to leave. Those in the burn ward are incredibly sensitive and must remain in an undisturbed environment. I do not permit idle guests here."

"Very well," Adravaine bowed in a grand matter, barely concealing his disappointment. "I shall take my leave of you. But, please remember my offer for it still stands."

"I will," she responded dryly and watched Adravaine's back as he exited the room.

"My apologies Lady Elizabeth," Tristam, the young healer who had remained in the room during the whole altercation suddenly blurted out. "I- I tried to request for him to leave, but he refused... claiming that he was merely observing. Runhild came and- and I sent her with a message for the Matron- but she was out and none of the Senior Healers were free and I- I didn't want to leave any patients alone with him and-"

"Easy," she held out a hand, walking closer to calm the rambling Junior Healer. It was becoming more obvious that the young man was on the verge of a panic attack. Elrond remained frozen on the ground, but Elizabeth could only handle one crisis at a time. "Easy Tristam, easy..." She spoke as soothingly as she could as she guided him to sit back on a chair in the corner of the room, waiting until he caught his breath before she continued to speak. "You did well. Adravaine is a... difficult man and you did the best you could. I couldn't ask for you to do more."

"I- I should've kicked him out... even as a Junior Healer I have the authority to order the removal of any disturbing the peace in the Healing Halls... he's not even a Lord he just-"

"It's alright to be frightened," she ran a soothing hand through his bright, auburn hair and down his trembling back. "You are a good healer Tristam, you did your absolute best."

Elizabeth continued to mutter soothing words as she calmly stroked Tristam's back, encouraging him to match his breathing with hers. The young man was twenty three years of age- a fully grown man by the standards of Middle Earth. However, to Elizabeth's modern senses he was still barely at the cusp of adulthood. He had an interesting backstory with a father who was a Rider of Rohan and a mother born and raised tough on Gondorian soil, the boy's mild mannerism and achingly bleeding-heart was an anomaly. Upon turning seventeen he enlisted in Gondor's army and Elizabeth spotted him nearly killing himself on a wooden practice spear. She was about to walk past shaking her head as she did to so many youths who she saw joining the army too young, but was stopped in surprise when she saw him dart away from his training sergeant to scoop up an injured fledgling that was right in the path of a group of soldiers practicing their march. Elizabeth interrupted what she was certain would be a thorough dressing down by sweeping in and asking the youth if he would mind accompanying her to the Healing Halls to treat their little patient. The sergeant backed down quickly when he saw the gleam in Elizabeth's eyes and the rest- well the rest was history.

Tristam was a good lad. A bit skittish and nervous, but he had a kind heart and a sharp enough mind. He was willing and eager to learn and Elizabeth spent quite a while fostering his entrancing into the Healing Halls.

"I was a coward," he whispered to his knees, his voice utterly devastated. "I was a coward and I failed in my duties to the Healing Halls... I failed as a healer-"

"Tristam," she cut in firmly. "You did no such thing. There are many, manyways for one to fail in their duties to these Halls. Your actions were none of them. You remained with your patient, administered the proper pain tinctures, and properly dressed his wounds to prevent infection despite a rather unpleasant disturbance."

"But-"

"No buts, you did well," Elizabeth spoke with a note of finality in her voice. "Now, I think our young patient over there still needs to have her wounds bandaged. Unfortunately, I have other matters to attend to at the moment and I require my elf. Would you be capable of tending to her?"

"Of course my Lady," Tristam spoke in a relieved exhale.

"Good," Elizabeth smiled and called for Elrond to follow which he silently did.

She lingered for a short moment to watch Tristam's trembling stop as he stood and set about his task. The more he worked, the more he seemed to calm. While the youth certainly wasn't the most skilled at dealing in conflicts with others, his confidence seemed to practically glow through his work as a healer. Quickly, all traces of trembling ceased as she set about delicately bathing the young girl's arm, this time being the one to whisper reassurances as he calmly explained to the unconscious patient what he was doing and how he was going to ensure it hurt as little as possible.

Elizabeth slipped from the room and completed a quick set of rounds, checking on her most critical patients and appraising the work of the other Healers. She did this as quickly as she could before making her way back to her chambers and her office. As much as she loathed Adravaine, there was the tiniest kernel of truth in his words. If the actions of Haldir and Joshua indicated anything, it was that elves were skilled enough in the ways of men to offer deceit.

There was a question that had been tugging at the back of Elizabeth's mind since she first learned of the Betrayal and the Dark Truce. She had laid awake in anguish over it for many nights and had spent countless hours wracking her brain for an explanation. And now, now she had an elf who was there when it was signed an elf who was likely the one to deliver the document itself.

She had to ask him.

She had to know.

Thus once they reached Elizabeth's office she didn't place Elrond in his usual spot at his floor desk. Instead, she locked the door behind them and sat at her desk chair. It took Elrond a moment to get the hint, but he quickly moved to kneel in front of her. Elizabeth sat there still in contemplation for some time. Finally, she decided that she could silently wonder no longer. It was time to ask the question.

"So," she began, noticing the way Elrond remained tight in apprehension. "The Dark Truce..."

Chapter 26 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"The Dark Truce?"

"You were the High King's Herald. Gil-galad wished to name you as his heir. He consulted with you and you delivered the message. Why?"

Elrond's eyes, still sitting on the floor, widened. Elizabeth knew that she was treading into dangerous waters, but she needed to know.

"How do you know such things?"

"It is not your position to question me," she replied sharply. "Why did the elves sign the Dark Truce?"

"There are... there are things that I cannot explain-"

"Cannot or will not?"

His expression was pained.

"It was... it was a mistake," he finally said.

Elizabeth couldn't help but snort at that.A mistake... oh if only he knew... Elizabeth was likely the only person in all of Middle Earth who understood exactly how much of a mistake it was. No one else knew of how it was supposed to go, how the Last Alliance of Elves and Men united Middle Earth together to defeat Sauron. Elrond was supposed to be there, fighting alongside Gil-galad and leading armies into battle.

Instead, he delivered a truce to their greatest foe and condemned thousands of men to death.

"Elaborate," she crossed her arms and leaned back in her chair. "You've seen the destruction, you witnessed the spreading darkness as Sauron blanketed the land. Yet you and your kin did nothing." She leaned in close to him, forcing his eyes to line up with hers. "Many in Gondor believe the elves to be spineless cowards, they think that your kin stepped away from the war out of fear and the belief that Sauron would hold his end of your bargain... But I know that you can't be so dense. After all, your foster father was the one who allowed his own brother to be tortured by Morgoth because he knew that Morgoth was not to be trusted. How could your High King think any different of Sauron?"

"I-" Elrond's eyes blew wide. Elizabeth knew that she was letting her anger and frustration cloud her judgment. There should be no way for her to know such intimate details of ages past. Few elves still remembered those details of the Feanorians, no children of men should... but she did.

"So tell me then, Elrond, whose father sails the sky with a Silmarillion on his brow, why did your kin shirk from war?"

Elrond remained still and silent for a long while. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he seemed capable of speaking which he did so slowly.

"There are aspects of it that may prove... hard to explain... There are times... I-"

"I know of your foresight, Elrond. Was that involved?"

The look in Elrond's eyes was enough, his entire face paled, she swore that she saw he blood rush from his visage and an expression of pure torment flickered across him. There was a time when Elizabeth was younger, when she watched the movies religiously. She played them over and over and over again, memorized every word of dialogue, every character's tics and expressions. There was only one time that Elrond looked like that, only one thing that could throw him to such pain...

"The One," the words came out in a whispered breath, but she might as well have screamed it for the pain that Elrond expressed.

"You... you saw a vision of the One, didn't you? You saw... you saw elves battling alongside men and you saw the One in the midst of it all."

The spell was broken and Elrond finally spoke with a distant clarity to his voice.

"I saw many men and elves fall, fighting shoulder to shoulder. I saw flames ravage the battlefield and great kings of both men and elves cut down in the slaughter. But... above it all, I saw the Prince Isildur, cut the One from the hand of Sauron, and keep it. His actions doomed that race of men, elves, and all creatures of Middle Earth-"

"So you thought that by elves not fighting the war, that Isildur would die before he could get the One..." Elizabeth paused, one hand cradling her forehead. What he saw... what he saw was how it was supposed to occur, he witnessed the story that the books and the movies told... the tale of the One that would betray Isildur as it did all its bearers, finding its way to the Hobbit Smeagol who would become Gollum.

"We planned to join the fight when news of Isildur's death reached us but-"

When his vision would no longer be possible...

"But by then, men had declared elves to be an enemy one step lower in evil than Sauron," Elizabeth finished for him.

"Yes."

Elizabeth didn't know if she wanted to scream, cry, or laugh. This strange, twisted,broken, version of Middle Earth came into being because fear of the One Ring won. It wasn't even the One itself that corrupted a mind and bent the world out of shape, it was the fear of it. She closed her eyes for a long moment, her mind becoming lost in thought. Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked anywhere but at Elrond.

When Elizabeth had first arrived back at her chambers with Elrond, she was so flushed from her encounter with Adravaine, that she had hardly noticed a thing. As their conversation came to a lull, she leaned back in her chair and swept her eyes across her room in thought.

It was then that she noticed it.

Her heart rate sped up once again.

There, on the other side of the room was the dresser that she kept much of her healing supplies in.

It was open.

Elizabeth never ever left it open. Furthermore, the screen next to the dresser was just slightly shifted from where she had left it. Her door was kept locked when she wasn't in. Her two maids had both been dismissed for the afternoon and would not have a reason to enter her parlor and most certainly wouldn't have had a reason to go through her healing supplies.

The only thing that came to mind was Erestor. She thought that she had scared him off and never imagined that he would try again so soon. But one thing was for certain, someone had been into her chambers.

Now, Elizabeth had spent her first several months in Minas Tirith filled with paranoia. Every day she thought that her poorly formed tale of a young healer from the boarders of Harad would fall through, that she would be locked up or executed by the King. She never put anything into writing, she barely socialized, and she was constantly looking over her shoulder. Over the years she leaned to relax, to take solace in moments of solitude, and to trust her instincts when dealing with people.

She was quickly finding herself back in those initial days of paranoia.

Elizabeth shot up from her seat, fast enough to alert Elrond, but she didn't care. She had a singular goal in mind. She walked over to the dresser and pushed the screen aside, opening the cabinet all the way. There, in the far corner, tucked away in a manner that would appear inconspicuous was a note written in plain paper. She grabbed it and turned to Elrond whose eyes were now alight with fear.

Just as she opened her mouth to say something, there was a rather urgent knock at her door. Without prompting, it opened to a grim looking Aragorn.

"There's an emergency meeting of the High Council," he said.

"What happened?" Elizabeth was instantly on alert. Such meetings were rare and only called in the gravest of circ*mstances.

"There's been an attack."

"Where?"

"Osgiliath."

Elizabeth's heart dropped.

Without another word, she grabbed her satchel bearing her writing utensil, shoving the note to the bottom of the bag as she follow Aragorn. They walked quickly through the halls of the castle, the only sounds echoing in the corridors were their footsteps. There were very few things that could cause an attack on Osgiliath.

In truth, the ending of the last Great War was muddled, no one was quite certain of the series of events leading to Sauron's fall. To the best of anyone's knowledge, Sauron and the One were destroyed. King Tirgon's ancestor shoved him into the fires of Mount Doom. But, there was still an undeniable darkness over the land of Mordor. Minas Morgul was never retaken, whilst, in time, Oslgiliath was transformed from the wreckage to a well fortified and bustling city.

If something was attacking Osgiliath though... nothing good could come of it.

"How bad?" She asked as they passed the hallway that would lead her to the Healing Halls.

"Bad," Elizabeth recognized that look in Aragorn's eyes.

"I should be at the Healing Halls right now," she couldn't help but look over her shoulder as they passed.

"The attack is underway as we speak. We haven't had a chance to retrieve casualties and King Tirgon specifically requested your presence at the Council."

Elizabeth nodded reluctantly. While she appreciated the influence that she had on the council and the faith that King Tirgon put into her opinions, she always felt more at home in the Healing Halls.

"My Lady," Gledswith appeared from a side corridor.

"Gledswith?" Elizabeth was shocked to see her in a casual dress but for her apron tied atop it. "I thought you were gone for the day?"

"Of course my Lady," she curtsied lightly in acknowledgment to both Elizabeth and Aragorn. "However I heard news of the attack and I knew that you would require my services."

Elizabeth couldn't help but smile. She didn't know what she did to deserve such a loyal staff, but Gledswith never failed in watching out for her.

"Thank you Gledswith, thank you," she took the woman's hands in hers for a moment. "I have to attend the council so please, find the Matron and make sure that the Healing Halls are prepared. We're probably going to need to call in all Healers, Junior Healers, and Apprentices for this. We'll need to be fully stocked from the apothecary gardens, clean bedding, bandages, sutures, everything."

"Of course my Lady. Runhild is already on her way to fetch as many staff members as possible. She's going room to room as we speak. I shall organize with the Matron."

"We need the Halls prepared, as many beds as possible need to be cleared," Elizabeth dug into her satchel and retrieved a pre-written note of approval with her seal on it. She handed the parchment to Gledswith. "We'll need to send a team to Osgiliath for triage. At least half of the experienced Apprentices and two- no three Junior Healers must be sent to Osgiliath where they'll determine who can be treated there, and who needs to come here. I want you to take this notice to the barracks and fetch an escort for them. None of my Healers leave Minas Tirith without an armed escort."

"Of course my Lady," Gledswith took the notice, keeping in step with Elizabeth and Aragorn as they walked. "Shall I send in an order for broth and porridge to the kitchens?"

"Please do... boiled water as well, and make sure they know that it has to be a roaring boil before it's sent up. Oh-" Elizabeth remembered one last thing. "Have Elrond sent to the Trauma Room. They'll need his help."

"I'll see it done," Gledswith carefully set the note into her dress pocket.

"Thank you," Elizabeth breathed in relief as she was forced to turn and follow Aragorn into the council chambers. Gledswith gave a quick bow and was off to ready the Healing Halls.

Most had already arrived, but the spot at the King's right was noticeably empty. Elizabeth took her place there, the velvet lined seat feeling all together wrong when she knew the chaos brewing in her Halls. But, she had two duties in Gondor and this was one of them. After a few minutes, everyone had arrived and it was time for them to begin.

All faces at the table were grim and a palpable tension rang in the air. The silence was so thick, one could slice it with a sword. And so, as customary, the King began.

"My Lords and Ladies, we have grave matters to discuss..."

Notes:

One poor decision is all it took...
And yes... I did just blow everything up at once.

Chapter 27 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There was a palpable silence in the room as the King's words washed over them. The summons that had brought them all together contained very little substance. They knew there was an attack on Osgiliath, they knew it was bad, and that was about it. Elizabeth's eyes scanned the table. All the High Lords were present and the only woman save herself was the Lady Elthbelion, a remarkable woman of Rohan who married a rather vile Lord, a Lord who mysteriously perished after their son was born. While her son technically held the family's official title, she served as regent despite the grumblings of a few of the more sexist members of court. She had a shrewd head on her shoulders and a decent bit more sense than several of the Lords whogenerouslyoffered to take such a responsibility off the shoulders of such adelicatemaiden. Elizabeth herself had sparred lightly with Lady Elthbelion on more than once occasion, enough to know that she was truly a Shield-maiden of Rohan. Hopefully, she would be an ally in whatever mess was to come.

Lord Penderon too was sitting at the end of the long table. She spared him a single glance and made sure to put enough weight into it to warn him. She had not forgotten the "deal" that they had made, and by the way he quickly swallowed and looked away, neither had he. Aragorn of course would be trustworthy for he had a far better mind for warfare and strategy than she ever did, and of course Sir Baldred was always reliable.

Elizabeth just managed to settle her parchment and charcoal when King Tirgon continued his speech.

"As most of you are aware, there was an attack on Osiliath this morning. Captain Deneloth, Commander of the South Watch, was present at the attack and has come to make a full report. Captain," he gestured to a man in bloodied armor who had been lingering at the back of the council room. He looked exhausted and there was a clear line of blood slowly leaking from a shoulder wound, but he held himself tall nonetheless.

"Thank you my King," he gave a short, stiff bow before turning to speak to the Council. "Your Majesty, my Lords and Ladies, this morning, at approximately two two candle marks before sunrise, a small group of orcs approached the Eastern gates of Osgiliath. They were killed but, a lone scout managed to temporally escape. The South Ithilian Rangers were deployed and managed to capture him before he could return to what we presumed to be a larger group, but he was clearly heading for Mordor. Once this was discovered, all four Watches were altered and the city was placed at a Level 2 Alert," he hesitated a moment, a flash of remorse crossing his face. "That was our first error, and I shall take responsibility for it, for I was among those who voted for a Level 2 Alert."

"You all followed protocol," King Tirgon's voice was hard, but his eyes portended a slight softness. "I have no interest in seeking blame. If you must absolve yourself then find a priest once there is time. For now, we need your report and I need your focus on protecting our people."

The Captain nodded, his spine straightening and his chin raising up an ever so little more. A slight burst of warmth blossomed in Elizabeth's chest. Moments like those reminded her why she tolerated so much, why she continued to serve Gondor so faithfully. King Tirgon was far from perfect, but he was a great King.

"Whilst alert was heightened as we scanned for more orcs, a small army of Haradrim attacked. Amongst their soldiers, intermingled with the men... were Uruk-hai. We knew not where they came from... it was as if they just appeared, already nearly upon our gates. But, they attacked from the East. Currently, defenses are holding and I have been already informed that more soldiers from Minas Tirith will be reinforcing the current troops."

King Tirgon leaned back in his chair as the Captain finished his report. He brought a hand to his chin, closing his eyes for a moment in though before waving towards the table, opening it up to permission for questions.

"What do you mean... they just appeared?" Sir Baldred spoke first. "How can an army come from nowhere?"

"I... I am unsure, my Lord. All eyes were on the watch, searching for any trace of orcs... but it was as if they appeared between blinks."

Magic

It was the only answer. Someone with very powerful magic had a very good reason to keep an army cloaked right before the attack.

"Do you have an estimate on the numbers of Uruks and Men?" Lady Elthbelion asked the ever practical question in a tone of clinical calculation.

"From the initial wave, as of approximately two marks ago, we estimated two score Uruks and three score Haradrim."

An army of one hundred... hardly a conquering force.

"Casualties on our side?" Elizabeth asked.

"They used some sort of strange weapon which exploded along the East Wall. At least a score of men were wounded in that, another score or so casualties during the fighting. I know not the number of deaths for I have yet to reach the infirmary."

A few more questions followed as other Lords inquired over specifics of the assault and how much walling had been damaged. But, three things stuck out to Elizabeth. First: an alliance of Uruks and men was bad news, second: someone with very powerful magic was aiding them, and third: who sends one hundred to attack one of the most well fortified cities in Gondor? Something wasn't adding up.

Once the Council was confident that they had gleamed as much usable information as possible from the Captain, he was dismissed with a firm order from Elizabeth to head straight for the Healing Halls. Then, the Council was launched into debate.

"We need to triple the soldiers stationed at Osgiliath," Lord Valhain, a powerful but rather rash man, spoke before the doors had even fully closed. "And we should send a platoon of men to Minas Morgul."

"And what good would that do?" Lady Elthbelion questioned. "If we drain the barracks then we leave Minas Tirith open for attach. We aren't even sure if the Uruks came from Mordor."

"If we leave the city unprotected then Osgiliath will be overrun!"

"A hundred foes is not enough to take the city," Sir Baldred pointed out. "Lady Elthbelion is correct, we cannot risk leaving Minas Tirith open to invasion."

"If Mordor is active again, if there is stirring in Minas Morgul we would known!" Lord Penderon looked a bit offended and Elizabeth remembered that his nephew was an Ithilian Ranger, one of the ones tasked with monitoring signs from Mordor. Commander Faldrin of the Ithilian Rangers nodded silently in agreement, but otherwise offered no comment.

"And so there we know that the attack wasn't from Mordor. Many Uruks still wander the land. Perhaps this band of Haradrim formed an alliance with a small hoard-" Sir Baldred tried, but was cut off by Lord Valhain.

"But the attackers launched from the East-"

"We do not yet know that," Aragorn's calm voice, as usual, sent a slight hush through the room. He had a way of speaking that demanded attention even without raising his voice. "An army came from the East, but they did not spot said army until they were nearly upon the city. Magic may have been used to conceal their true point of origin."

"Lady Elizabeth," King Tirgon spoke for the first time since the Commander left. "I know that look, you're thinking."

"Something's not right, my King," she had indeed been thinking, only half paying attention to the arguing council. "I believe we're either being tested... or distracted."

"Why?"

"An army of one hundred is enough to cause damage and harm, but not to take the city. Any fool with an ounce of strategy would know that. But, it might be enough to cause a fool to concentrate too much effort into fortifying an already strong city." She ignored the glare from Lord Valhain at the slight barb and continued. "But there's something else... I don't believe that this army is from Mordor... at least not for now."

"And what makes you say that?" there was a note of curiosity in Lady Elthbelion's eyes.

"If they have magic powerful enough to cloak them from view, why approach from the East?" It was a thought that had bothered Elizabeth since she first heard that detail in the report. "Cloaking would be a great way to conceal themselves before approaching the city, but why choose to then attack from the direction in which we already suspect an attack. The East Wall is the most fortified and without the fear of being detected, it would've been much wiser to launch an attack from the north."

"And if they wanted us to know they were from Mordor?" Lord Flaverion, not amongst the brightest of the Lords and Elizabeth often wonders why he had a seat on the Council at all.

"Then they would've marched straight from the gates," Sir Baldred pointed out. "Or they could've launched an army of all Uruks... why have men?"

"Perhaps those were all the Uruks that they could find?" The barest hint of a smile twitched at the edge of Aragorn's lips. He was catching on to what Elizabeth was thinking.

"I believe," she spoke slowly, "that someone is trying very hard to make us think that we are under attack from Mordor... I believe that someone wants us scared."

"To what end?" the King asked.

"We've been at peace with the other races of men for so long..." Lord Valhain sighed.

"Yes, but now the Haradrim-" Lord Flaverion began, but was cut off by Lady Elthbelion.

"It's hasty to say theHaradrim. Their tribes have been known to be disjointed in their unions. We may be dealing with a small sect."

"Perhaps this is a discussion for a later time," Sir Baldred's right hand was twitching slightly. It was a gesture which Elizabeth was all too familiar with... he was longing for a sword in his hand. "Our immediate concern should be the defense of Osgiliath and Minas Tirith. Then we can argue over what the attack means and who sent it."

"Sir Baldred is right," King Tirgon, who had been listening closely to the discussion, placed a firm hand on the table. "I want Osgiliath protected, but we will not do so at the cost of Minas Tirith."

"Should we evacuate the civilians?" Lord Flaverion asked.

"I don't know if we could spare the resources of such an act," Lord Valhain replied.

"I fear you may be right," Elizabeth ran through a few quick calculations in her head. "Even more so, I fear that such an act could initiate a panic. But, I want the wounded to be transferred here to Minas Tirith."

"I can set aside a small guard to do so," Sir Baldred said with a nod.

"The Ithilian Rangers should be called forth to fortify Osgiliath, then we don't have to spare so many troops here in Minas Tirith," Aragorn added.

"I can bring one hundred and fifty more men in from our camps," Commander Faldrin spoke up. Conversation was flowing fluidly now, each Lord or Lady to their expertise.

"The wall must be repaired as soon as possible," Lady Elthbelion said.

"The team of engineers from the Citadel should do," Lord Penderon nodded along.

"Good," Kind Tirgon's eyes scanned the room. "I want doubled men in Osgiliath reinforced with the Rangers of Ithilian. The engineers and healers sounds like a good plan, and I want every soldier ready to be deployed with a moment's notice. I would like to speak with Sir Baldred about the defense of Minas Tirith, and I suspect that Lady Elizabeth is needed in the Healing Halls. I trust you will all complete your respective tasks. If all goes well, we shall reconvene once the battle has finished and casualties have ben counted. Until then, may the stars light your way."

All heads at the council table bowed and the room was soon vacated in a flurry of motion. Aragorn, his men being too far to be of any help, chose to follow Elizabeth and lend his aide in the Healing Halls. They arrived to what Elizabeth deemed a suitable amount of organized chaos. It seemed that the first round of patients had already arrived.

One of the Senior Healers was standing on a crate so that she could see the entire room. She was shouting out orders and giving directions like one would expect a commander on the battlefield.

"I want all Junior Healers with cards. Red cards are Immediate, that means you're active working on them or calling for a Senior Healer to stop them from dying. Yellow cards are Urgent, that means if there's time you handle them, if there's not then you send them to an Apprentice. Green cards are fine and you have them wait in the other room. If you think you've found a Black card, then they shouldn't have survived the trip here so before the poppy you call over myself, Elrond, or-" she spotted Elizabeth who had just entered and gave her a nod. "Or Lady Elizabeth for a second opinion. Am I clear?"

A chorus of "yes ma'am" flooded the room as the Healers all set about rushing to categorize patients and move them if possible. Said Healer stayed on her crate, expertly organizing the flow of Healers and patients and they rushed about. Nearby, the Matron was coming in and out of the Halls, carting supplies of fresh bandages, hot water, and newly cleaned tools

"Black card?" Aragorn questioned as he followed Elizabeth to the first patient who required a shoulder to be put back into place and a chest laceration to be immediately stitched. He fell into the pattern easily as Elizabeth threaded a needle whilst he set about re-aligning the soldier's shoulder.

"Black card means Expectant... it means that there's nothing we can do to help with the time and resources available to us. Whoever is closest generally administers a spoonful of poppy to ease their way." It was a sad and morbid thing for a doctor trained in healing to do, but it saved the lives of many others waiting for treatment. In moments where they had more patients than Healers, they did what they had to do.

There was no time for a reply as a shout of "Black card" rang out. Elizabeth quickly found herself tying off a tourniquet on a man's leg. The artery that was gushing blood was deep set and she knew that she didn't have time for a proper surgery. She would have to mark him as a Black card and move on... or...

"Elrond!" she shouted, the elf appearing by her side in mere seconds."He's got a ruptured artery I need you to heal the vessel and then we can move him to a Yellow."

The elf nodded and set his hands on the man, humming something lightly under his breath before he opened his eyes as the blood stopped. Elizabeth gave him a nod and he disappeared back into the chaos once more. Part of Elizabeth was a bit surprised. She had half expected him to be missing or defiant as, due to his reaction to the letter, he no doubt knew that he was in trouble. But, he seemed as focused and dedicated as any of the other Healers and Elizabeth decided that it wasn't the time to be questioning motives.

Instead, she launched herself into what was truly her element, healing. It was like her days working the ER, with the exception of primitive technology and a team who she had all trained. She contemplated her tools as she intubated a patient without the use of a laryngoscope and with a tube made out of reed as opposed to flexible plastic. She handed off the small bellows to an apprentice who was to act as the man's ventilator until one of the Senior Healers had enough time to deal with his chest trauma.

There was conflict brewing in Gondor, someone was very determined to stir up trouble and they were willing to use Uruk-hai to do it. Elrond was involved in plotting something, Glorfindel was probably equal parts confused and worried, and Celeborn was still held within the castle. Gandalf was loose in Middle Earth and King Tirgon would expect her to advice him on uncovering whoever was behind the latest plot in just a few hours time.

But, the Healing Halls were overflowing and Elizabeth had patients who needed her care. She had a full staff who were expecting her to lead them and she didn't have time to worry about the rest of her problems.

Help the wounded, speakwith the King, then solvethe letter. Just keep goingElizabeth, you can do this.

It was triage, active triage playing out in her daily life. The Healing Halls overflowing with wounded soldiers were her Red card, they needed her immediate and full attention. The political mess and impending war was a Yellow card, Gondor wasn't about to take a nosedive in the next few hours, but if she ignored it for long then who knows what would occur. Lastly, the letter and Elrond's... situation was the Green card, something like a dislocation or a deep gash that hadn't hit an artery, it would need to be dealt with eventually, but no one was dying in the meantime. But what of Black cards... she had encountered plenty of those. In many ways, she had been viewing the issue of the elves as a Black card, if she pushed all her time and energy into them she likely wouldn't succeed and would neglect further issues that needed her attention and had a chance of being solved. She didn't have long to contemplate however.

"I have an arrow wound to the base of the skull!" One of the Junior Healers, Tristam, called out. Elizabeth could hear the way his voice wavered as he desperately clung to calm despite the rising panic.

"I want you to stabilize it. Don't touch it and don't let him move! I'll be right over," she was actively in the process of trying to stop some severe bleeding that seemed to be coming from a young man's abdomen.

She handed off her patient to another Healer and rushed over, surprised by the panic ebbing its way into Tristam's voice. He was at times a fragile man, but healing always seemed to draw on some hidden strength within him. When she arrived at the side of the patient however, Elizabeth understood why. The arrow was lodged so deeply between the C3 and C4 vertebrae that it had certainly sever a large portion of the spinal cord and she was surprised the man was still breathing. Not even Elrond's magic could repair such damage. Tristam's hands hovered above the man's neck as he was afraid to touch him, and afraid he should be.Maybeif she had been in the ER then she could've called for neurosurgery and maybeifDr. Bahik, the only neurosurgeon she knew who was crazy enough to try something like this, was on call thenmaybethe man would stand a chance. But she wasn't in a hospital in the 21st century. She was in a place where her sutures where horse hair soaked in brandy and her surgery suite was lit by torches.

"I'm sorry," she tried to meet Tristam's eyes, but the young man was distraught.

"But... but... he's still breathing," his hands flitted about as he knew not what to do with them. "He's... it doesn't feel right. We have to do something!"

Elizabeth remembered her first Black tag. It was her second week of Residency at the ER and they were called to do on-site triage at a building collapse. Her Attending had to physically pull her off a woman who had lost close to six pints of blood and had a chunk of rebar stuck in her heart. The Attending had screamed at her to look around at the number of people dying because she was too selfish to help them, too tied up in her emotions to do her job. Elizabeth then clipped a black tag to a still breathing woman and lifted up the six year old girl clinging to the woman's bloody shirt, clipping a yellow tag to the girl's dusty pink dress as she carried her to the med-tent. The worst was that the woman's eyes were still open... she never forgot the look in her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but there's nothing we can do and there are too many others who need your help," she gestured to three more wounded soldiers who had just been carried in. "If you can't, then I can-"

"No," his hands trembled a little, but Tristam's eyes were firm. "He's my patient, I'll administer the poppy... then I'll keep working."

Elizabeth took a brief moment to squeeze the man's shoulder. She made a mental note to check up with him after, but they didn't have the time for sentiment at the moment.

"I'm sorry, and I know it won't be easy," she was already standing to go, but she made sure her eyes were firmly locked with his. "But if we want to give anyone else a chance, it's what we need to do."

Tristam nodded, already reaching for the bottle of poppy extract and a spoon.

"Black Card!" Someone yelled.

And so she was launched back into her work. Red cards were scattered about and soon, the sun's light would fade enough so that they would have to light the Halls with torches. Elizabeth dearly hoped that they wouldn't obtain any more patients before then.

Notes:

So yes... Elizabeth trained her Healers in triage. Usually tags are used instead of cards, but the black tag thing is real and so heartbreaking. It makes sense, to prioritize those who you can help, but looking at someone and deciding to do nothing to help is a terrible burden.

Chapter 28 Chapter Text

It had been four days since the attack and luckily, there were no following assaults to any of Gondor's cities. No one was certain for how long the peace would last, but Minas Tirith finally had a moment to breath. The Healing Halls were back under control with the last of the casualties being declared stable before Elizabeth was forced out by the motherly Matron who decided that she needed some sleep. Of course, she didn't have a chance fro sleep as as soon as she finished up in the Healing Halls she was summoned to speak with King Tirgon. Their conversation was long and fruitless as they determined that they had no clue as to who could've launched such an attack. They could assume that the actions of the Haradrim were that of a lone group, not the collected race, and that the attack was not actually launched from Minas Morgul... but not much more.

Now, finally back in her chambers, she had her third problem to deal with. After her meeting with King Tirgon concluded, Elizabeth fetched Elrond from the Healing Halls. He was sitting in his usual spot, chained to the wall before his little sitting desk and looking rather determinedly at the floor. Elizabeth had the note from several days ago sitting on her desk, the crinkles smoothed out and the elegant elvish script clear on the parchment. She fixed Elrond with a withering glare.

"I am going to give you an opportunity to tell me what this note contains before I translate it," she was a bit proud of herself for how steady her voice came as she was internally panicking. If Elrond had been finding a way to pass messages about Minas Tirith and the actions of Gondor's court, then that information could put all of Gondor at risk. Elizabeth would have to report it, no matter her personal opinion on what would happen to Elrond, if she allowed those secrets to slip then it could result in the deaths of thousands who she was supposed to protect.

"I have not read the letter," his tone was supplicatory and his eyes remained down. "Therefore I cannot tell you what it contains."

"But you know who sent it, you know how, and you know why."

"I-"

Elizabeth stood and moved to her bookshelf, shuffling through until she came out with a pair of books. They were translation dictionaries: one Sindarin to Common, one Quenya to Common.

"I will translate these words. But, I am offering you an opportunity to tell me first where this letter is from. I will find out on my own and the consequences will be far more grave,"empty threats Elizabeth... what's the number one rule of pulling off an actual bluff? You have to be able to back it up.

"The note is likely from Lady Galadriel," his words came out in a rush. "Her bond with her husband is strong and I am certain that she fears for him."

"How did this note arrive, and how many have you received before?" Elizabeth was a bit surprised, but not truly as she knew that Galadriel was going to be causing problems sooner rather than later.

"..." there was a beat of hesitation. "Another... another elf must have received it by bird and deposited it here. I know not who and likely it was passed through several to hide its trace." Elizabeth nodded along. It was a clever system really, passing it between their kin until it reached someone with an opportunity to give it to the desired individual. "And I have neither receive nor sent notes before... I know the precarity of my situation and I would never dare to endanger Glorfindel such."

Honesty... a bit refreshing. He didn't even try to spin lies about loyalty to me... just loyaltyto his friend.

Elizabeth decided that aside from beating it out of him, something that she was unwilling to do, she just had to believe him for the moment. Therefore, she opened the dictionary and began translating the note line by line. She could practically hear the anxiety coming off Elrond in waves as she did so, but she did her best to ignore it.

Luckily the message was brief, written in Tengwar script and clearly Quenya.

Dear Elrond,

I hope and pray that you and my beloved fare well. I know I ask the seemingly impossible, but I beseech you to earn the trust of the Lady Elizabeth. I must speak with her. Foul things are at work and soon all of Arda may be doomed.

A grey-speckled dove will arrive in 4 days time, please send word if possible.

~Artanis

Elizabeth knew that name... Artanis, Galadriel's Quenya name. This had the potential of being very very bad. Gondor was already under attack and they couldn't afford to deal with attacks from elves, especially not if the elves were creeping upon them from inside their court.

She pulled out another piece of parchment, worrying the edges with fretful fingers as she contemplated what to do next. There was only one solution that she could imagine being possible, but it would be incredibly dangerous. She could quite possibly be risking everything. But, Galadriel was right, someone foul was afoot and Elizabeth wasn't sure that it was something she could solve. Whoever was moving against Gondor was powerful enough to cloak a rather large attack from view of the sentries. This was a magic beyond the simple spells and enchantments that Elizabeth had seen.

She penned a reply, taking the time to use a dreaded feather quill before drying and rolling the paper, sealing it with her purple wax but not her seal. The note had said four days... that meant that the dove expecting a reply was to be coming sometime that day. She walked over to Elrond, her expression blank as she handed him the sealed note.

"When the bird comes, you are to attach this note, and only this note to it. You will not open it, you will not attempt to read it. I will be sitting at my desk watching you the entire time," she said.

He nodded silently in response.

And thus, Elizabeth took a seat at her desk. She still had a lot of work to do. Over four days she had barely been to her chambers. In fact, she was quite sure that she hadn't slept more than a few hours in the Healing Halls during the time since the attack. She had a mountain of paperwork to catch up on because despite living in an era where paper was expensive and all documents had to be written by hand, there was still a lot of paperwork.

From the corner of her eyes, as she filled out supply requests, bills from the Healing Halls, letters begging audience with her, and a myriad of other far more menial requests that reminded her that she should hire another assistant besides Gledswith, Elizabeth kept an eye on Elrond. The elf was silently working despite being as exhausted as Elizabeth. He seemed determined to be on his very best behavior as he diligently wrote. She didn't miss the fact that he kept glancing upwards towards her and she could practically feel his question at the tip of his tongue. But, she ignored it.

Several people passed in and out of Elizabeth's parlor and she got a surprising amount of work done, running most off of the caffeine from a special tea blend that she had made for situations such as the one she found herself in. She sent off a very polite letteraskingLord Drendon to reconsider his opinion on launching a preemptive attack on the Haradrim, authorized several commissions for much needed equipment in the Healing Halls, politely declined and then vaguely threatened a representative from Dale who thought that she would be easier to manipulate than the King, shooed away a cocerned Gledswith who thought that she needed sleep, and discussed the fact that Celeborn seemed to be on some sort of a hunger strike with Aragorn. At that last conversation it was even more obvious that Elrond wished to speak up, but he knew very well that he was on thin ice and thus he remained silent.

Finally, once her pile was once again empty, just as dusk seemed to be approaching, a grey-speckled dove landed on the windowsill, cooing lightly. Elrond glanced at Elizabeth who gave him a nod before he carefully tied the still sealed note to the dove's leg. The bird trilled once and was off.

With that done, Elizabeth stood. She hadn't been to her room and thus hadn't seen Glorfindel for four days. She knew that Runhild and Gledswith were responsible enough to ensure that he didn't starve while she was absent, but she also knew that they weren't the sort to idly gossip and thus she was rather certain that he had no idea why she was gone and was likely still stewing after the events with Erestor. Thus, she ignored Elrond's concerned glances as she strode into her chambers.

As soon as the door opened, Glorfindel was on his knees with his head bowed towards her. Elizabeth had to restrain herself from rolling her eyes and once again silently cursed the fact that she was always being watched, even in her own bedroom. She resisted the urge to sigh as she sat at her vanity, washing her face with the pitcher and bowl of water left there for her. Feeling slightly more refreshed, she turned and walked across the room to face her other responsibility.

"Show me your arm," she ordered.

The elf flinched slightly but held out his arm obediently. It was obvious that he had fiddled with the bandage a bit, but he had left it tied. Thus, Elizabeth unwrapped and carefully inspected the site of injury. As she suspected, Glorfindel's elvish body had already healed the injury and the skin was clear and blemish free. She rolled up the bandage and tossed it into the basket for dirty laundry.

There was still a noticeable tension in the room as Glorfindel seemed to be waiting for the other shoe to drop. But, Elizabeth wasn't really sure what to do. She still had one more errand on her to-do list before she could retire for bed. But, she was stuck. Once again she was uncertain as to how to deal with the elf. She had already, quite physically, punished him for something that wasn't actually his fault. Now it was clear that he still feared more and Elizabeth wasn't certain if it was wiser to capitalize on that fear to ensure obedience or to make amends.

In the end, it was Glorfindel who spoke first.

"My Lady," his gaze remained pinned on the floor and Elizabeth had a brief and foolish wish to be able to look into his impossibly blue eyes. "I apologize for my transgressions. I beg of you to not-"

"What has happened is past and all consequences were dealt on that day," she realized that he probably though that she had punished Elrond for the entire affair. She had been gone for quite a while. "I was occupied by an attack on Osgiliath. The King required my services as did the Healing Halls. Elrond is recovering from his healing efforts and nothing more."

She watched the way tension seemed to drain from Glorfindel's frame as she assured him that his friend was safe. For a brief moment, Elizabeth longed for that kind of bond with someone, for someone, in this world that was still so strange and foreign to her, to trust to much.

"Thank you for your mercy, my Lady," he still had his head bowed as he spoke.

Elizabeth was honestly impressed by the elf's acting. She wasn't an idiot and she knew his submission was all an act. But, it was a skilled one. She had always imagined Glorfindel as a warrior, but it was clear that she has quite often dismissed his time as a Lord in Gondolin. He was once the head of his house and was certainly no fool. He knew how to play the game of court well. With that in mind, there was a slight chance that he could be of a certain amount of aide.

Thus she sat in her chair and gestured for Glorfindel to approach. She knew that there would be a good number of meetings to discuss the attack in the coming days and that there was every chance that the other Lords would have their elves as attendants. If she had to deal with that then so be it. Maybe he could do more than simply refill her glass. Thus, she began to speak. She explained the situation, the events leading up to the attack, and the strange method with which they approached the city. She of course wasn't dumb enough to discuss their military response or the defenses of Osgiliath, but Glorfindel was a skilled warrior. He was certain to have ideas on how the orcs and men approached the city in secret.

"And so..." he had listened to her entire tale with rapt attention. "And thoughts?"

"Thoughts?" He seemed genuinely surprised and Elizabeth restrained the chuckle at his bewilderment.

"You once were a Lord of a hidden city. Surly you have thoughts on this matter?"

"I-" there was a clear pause as he warred with indecision. "I can be certain that it was not the action of the Eldar," he said slowly. That time, Elizabeth didn't hold back the scoff.

"I know that," the mere thought of it was absurd. "Though your kin once signed the Dark Truce with Sauron, you would never be capable or organizing an attack alongside orcs. Ideas on how they approached with such secrecy?"

"Magic... powerful magic that hasn't been present since the First Age." He seemed to mull over his words, picking them carefully in a way that reminded Elizabeth of how Elrond always spoke. "Sauron isn't capable of this and I truly believe that he was defeated... but I know not of any mortal men who are capable of that power."

"So there's how... what about why?" What he had said so far was mostly what Elizabeth has presumed, but she wasn't certain. Hearing Glorfindel say the same was somewhat reassuring for her theories.

"If I had to guess, and this is only a guess... I would say that whoever this is is testing their powers. It sounds like they wanted to see if their deception was successful so this is someone trying this for the first time."

"So probably not an ancient foe brought back, but a new enemy?"

"If I was making a guess, that would be mine."

"Thank you," Elizabeth stood and made her way over to her cabinets, removing a few items and placing them in a satchel as she spoke. "I am always open to wise council," she ignored the shock on Glorfindel's face as she spoke. "Have you eaten yet today?"

"Yes my Lady."

"Good."

With that, she left. One last task and she could finally sleep.

Dark had fallen and the castle was lit by oil lamps along the walls casting strange shadows and shapes. Not many traversed these corridors past sundown. She made her way along a familiar path, stopping at Aragorn's chambers. She knocked on the door and was met by a slightly harried looking Aragorn. He smiled tiredly at her and let her in.

"I'm sorry," he began with a rueful apology. "I know you're exhausted but I've only just been informed that this has gone on for several days."

"That's alright," she responded with her own soft smile. "I'm a Healer, this is all part of my job."

He guided her over to his elf quarters which were open, but not empty. Celeborn, still in the same tunic that he had been dressed in when Elizabeth had brought Elrond to tend his wounds, was backed so far into the wall that he appeared to be attempting to meld with the stone. There was a tray of bread, cheeses, and fruit sitting on a small table just outside of the cell and Celeborn was quite clearly avoiding looking at it.

"I've been so busy these past few days, I've barely been back." Aragorn gestured to his chambers as he spoke. "But earlier today I was just informed that he has been refusing the food that the servants bring to him. I'm not sure how long this has been going on."

"I see," she watched his wary eyes. "Perhaps this might be easier if you leave the room?"

Aragorn nodded, glancing back at the elf one last time before exiting, leaving it as just Elizabeth and the chained elf. Elizabeth took a moment to compose herself, pulling up the chair form Aragorn's desk to sit in front of the tiny cell.

"So..." she began in as casual a voice as she could. "Celeborn, shall we chat?"

Chapter 29 Chapter Text

The elf held her gaze, a challenge alight in his eyes. Elizabeth swore that he wasn't even blinking.

I'm way too tired for this sh*t right now...a small voice in Elizabeth's head wanted to drop her forehead to her hands and just scream in frustration. She had spent four days working non-stop, not returning to her chambers once. She desperately needed to wash the stench of the Healing Halls off her skin and sleep for just a few hours before she had a meeting with the King to once more argue about what Gondor's best defense options were. But, instead, she was right there, sitting in front of an elf who was throwing a tantrum and refusing to eat like a toddler.

That's notentirely fair... a slightly more reasonable voice tried to remind Elizabeth that Celeborn was, from his perspective, in a terrifying position. He was a slave along with many of his brethren and it made sense for him to resist in any way he could. But, that didn't make it any easier for Elizabeth to deal with.

"Is there a reason why you refuse to eat?" Elizabeth inquired.She saw something flinch in his expression, a tiny bit of shock perhaps, likely gained by opening with a question as opposed to a demand. He still refused to speak. "Ah, so you think that if you serve yourself until you are too weak to move will vastly improve your situation? I must say, facing the famed wisdom of the Sindar Prince of Doriath... I'm impressed." She couldn't help the bite in her tone.

"What do you know of the Sindar?" he hissed back.

"Ah, so he speaks," she leaned back in her chair. "I know much about you, Telep*rno."

One of the many things that Elizabeth learned from her time as a member of the court of Gondor was that throwing information that one shouldn't know at another tended to created an advantage in their discourse. Something about knocking them off balance, it seemed to work nearly every time.

Celeborn inhaled sharply, but still refused to speak.

"Tell me then Celeborn... what do you gain by refusing to eat?" Perhaps an appeal to reason would do more for him. "You know that your life will not end by doing so... and even if death were your goal... would you leave behind your wife?"

In a flash, Celeborn was on his feet. He still remained firmly at the back of his cell for he was not stupid enough to attempt to attack Elizabeth, but his fists were clenched and shaking at his sides. He was the picture of righteous fury and if Elizabeth had not spent the last several months constantly under the eyes of elven lords, she would've been terrified.

"Do not speak of my wife," his voice held the edge of a tremble and Elizabeth knew that she had found his weakness.

"Why? She worries for you."

"And how would you know that?"

"I know many things," Elizabeth forced a casual shrug. "In the same way that I know the two of you met in the First Age when Finrod and Galadriel were guests of Thingol in Doriath, I know that you are lucky beyond belief to belong to Aragorn of all men. Tell me, if you continue on this path and irritate Aragorn to a far enough degree... what do you expect to happen? He will either send you off to be trained by Adravaine or he will sell you. If you are sold, I guarantee your next master will not afford you the kindness that Aragorn shows."

"How dare you speak-"

Elizabeth stood. She had had enough. She wasn't a babysitter and she had far more concerns than one elf who sought his own destruction.

"I will speak as I see fit," she showed him a flash of fury in her eyes. "Refuse to eat or obey and seek your own destruction, or learn to swallow your pride and maybe you'll live a better life than most of your kin. The choice is yours."

With that, she swept out of the room. Aragorn was of course waiting at the door, a small frown on his face though he did brighten when he saw Elizabeth. She released a sigh that she had been withholding for far too long.

"I did what I could... but you've somehow picked one of the most stubborn elves in all Middle Earth."

"Hmmmm... it seems that stubborn creatures are attracted to me," he said with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. Elizabeth huffed out a laugh and shoved him lightly.

"Perhaps it is you who is attracted to them."

Aragorn smiled and thanked her before ordering her to get some actual sleep. She rolled her eyes and began the walk back to her room. It was late and the torches created an ambiance of flickering light, burn rage flames casting shadows over the gleaming stone. Elizabeth turned abruptly and moved down a small side corridor. She had no desire to run into any more Lords or Ladies as she was close to collapsing with exhaustion and thus determined to take the servants' corridors back to her own chambers.

As Elizabeth turned the corner however, she froze in surprise. There, tucked away in the shadow of a deep column, was a pair wrapped around each other in a deep embrace. Elizabeth coughed lightly to alert them of her presence.There was a whirl of red and blonde hair and, much to Elizabeth's surprise, two very familiar faces emerged.

Runhild and Tristam.

"My Lady I-" Runhild began, but Elizabeth held up her hand, chuckling.

"No need to explain, this is not my business." Elizabeth couldn't help the smile that crept onto her face at the sight however. "You have both had a very trying few days. Take tonight to rest and enjoy each others company if you so desire."

"Thank you m'lady," Runhild curtsied, a smile of her own playing on her lips.Tristam beside her remained red faced, mouth openly gaping in shock.

As Elizabeth continued down the path, she found another chuckle emerging. Really, she should've seen it earlier in the way Runhild was so concerned about him. They made an antonymous pair: the fire-hearted Rohirrim girl with the tender-hearted healer. But, at the same time, neither where so simple; Runhild was fiercely loyal but had a deep-set nature of mistrust whilst a hidden strength lied beneath Tristam's apparent timidity. They might just each be what the other needs.

When she reached her chambers, Elizabeth was greatly pleased to find that Runhild had already run her a bath. The water was still steaming and she could smell the oils and salts that had been added. Elizabeth ignored the elf in the corner and slid behind the privacy screen, gratefully shucking off her clothing and sinking into the warm water. For a just a little while, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to relax and imagine that she was back home, half dozing in the tub after a particularly long shift in the ER.

"My Lady," a hesitant voice pulled her out of her fantasy

"Yes," she responded dryly. Her eyelids were dropping and she was ready to fall asleep in the tub.

"I was thinking about what we discussed before... I was wondering-"

"The Council is meeting again tomorrow. This time it isn't an emergency meeting and thus most will be with their attendants," she dragged herself out of the tub, more than ready to fall into the bed she hadn't seen for four days. "I expect you to be listening... and I would be glad to hear your thoughts."

"Of course my Lady."

Elizabeth dressed in a nightgown and collapsed into her bed. It didn't take long for Glorfindel to take the hint and extinguish the room's candles.

She already knew that having Elrond transcribe her correspondences and work in the Healing Halls was a risk... picking Glorifndel's brain for strategy was a far larger one. But, as skilled of a doctor as she was, Elizabeth was certainly not a politician. Her position as Head Advisor had put her in way over her head when it came to dealing with a potential war. Glorfindel was once charged with the protection of a hidden kingdom. He had centuries of experience and at the moment, Gondor needed all the help it could get.

She could only hope that this wouldn't come back to haunt her.

***

Glorfindel barely slept. He equally loved and loathed being dragged along to court meetings. On one hand, it was a break in the monotony of sitting in Lady Elizabeth's room. He learned quickly that so long as he disturbed nothing, no one cared what he did during his hours of free time and thus spent most of the day exercising... but that could get very dull and the meetings gave him some change go pace. But, on the other hand, there were far too many eyes on him.

Glorfindel was no stranger to stares. In Gondolin he had been a lord, seated high in King Turgon's favor and well loved by his house. His features were also notably distinct in a kingdom of Noldor elves, it was hard to miss his bright golden hair. Then, when he was returned to Middle Earth he found himself a legend. He never liked to think of himself as some great hero. Ecthelion too had fought the Balrogs that laid siege to Gondolin, he too fell... yet it seemed his name was the most exalted. But, those stares were far different from the ones he received in this court.

These Lords stared at him withhunger.He could see it in their eyes, he knew their desires. Every time he was paraded before the men, his head bent demurely down as he sat on his knees beside Lady Elizabeth, he wondered if this time they would strike. He heard the number of propositions Lady Elizabeth received for him. He was also not so stupid as to miss the subtle hints that they would be willing to exchange a great number of favors for the use of his body... but every time she turned them down. Every time he was relived beyond belief, but terrified of the prospect that she would one day acquiesce. Erestor had been right to assume that the other Lords were willing to pay a great deal for his body, but he was so far wrong about Lady Elizabeth's possessiveness. He hated how helpless he was, how at the mercy of this young maiden his fate rested.

His fingers idly traced across the collar around it throat. It rested perfectly against his skin, not tight enough to restrain his breathing, but enough to create a firm grip. There was never a moment where he didn't feel the collar like a hand gripping his throat. It was perhaps the cruelest invention of the Edain... a collar that prevented Mandos from calling the Firstborn to their home.

Only an hour after the sun had risen, there was a light rapping at the door. A maid who Glorfindel had learned was named Runhild entered. She made a motion for him to keep quiet as she moved him to sit on a stool, handing him a bowl of water to wash his face. She then stood behind him and brushed through his hair. He would greatly prefer to do the task himself but remained still and silent as the maid braided his hair in a style that he would never consider wearing if it were his decision. She than handed him a new tunic and, surprisingly, turned her back as he changed into it. She then applied a small amount of make up around his eyes and smeared across his lips before slipping out the door once more.

She returned a while later with a tray of food which she set down before fetching a gown and several artifices of clothing from the closet. Only then, once everything was set out, did she wake Lady Elizabeth. Glorfindel realized that Runhild had been trying to allow Lady Elizabeth as much sleep as possible. He then of course noticed that he hadn't seen her sleeping in her bed for quite a while and wondered if she had found rest elsewhere the previous several nights.

The maid fussed over Lady Elizabeth's appearance for a while longer and soon the leash was clipped to his collar and they were off to the meeting. It began as normal, he kept his head down and ignored the burning eyes watching him as he kneeled on the velvet cushion at Lady Elizabeth's side. A small part of him hated that he was grateful for the small mercy.

Turning to his left, Glorfindel was shocked to see a familiar face kneeling next to Aragorn- Celeborn. The Sinda Prince was kneeling on a cushion with his back ramrod straight and his eyes burning a hole in the floor, but he remained kneeling. It didn't take long for Celeborn to notice Glorfindel out of the corner of his eye. There was a brief nod of acknowledgment, but that was all they dared to do as the meeting began. It never failed to horrify Glorfindel when seeing one of his kin enslaved, but there was something about seeing another wise and strong warrior, almost as ancient as him, that made his heart ache even more.

Glorfindel did his best to put thoughts about the former prince out of his mind as he listened to the various arguments swirling round the table. It was clear that most didn't believe that this attack was singular. Several members of the council were out for blood, they wanted to launch a preemptive strike though they weren't certain on who. Glorfindel knew that type, the hot-headed blood and vengeance warriors always spelled trouble. Luckily, it seemed that Lady Elizabeth was among the more level-headed faction. It didn't take long for Glorfindel to notice how she asked more questions than any other and used the time whilst the more vile tempered ranted and raved about war to jot down a fair number of notes with a charcoal stick.

For the first half hour or so, Lady Elizabeth presented a series of reports detailing the casualty list broken down into numbers of deaths, minor injuries, and debilitations. She had apparently kept quite exact records and a hint of a smile slipped across Glorfindel's lips as he pondered how even Erestor might had been impressed.

At one point, a page slipped into the room and handed the King a note. He read it, his brows furrowing before he held up a hand, instantly quieting the room.

"I've just received an urgent message from Rohan..." the tension hung heavy in the air. "Edoras has been attacked... and it was nearly identical to the attack on Minas Tirith."

There was a beat of silence before a cacophony of noise broke out. Everyone seemed to have something to say at the exact same moment. The news was alarming to Glorfindel. He had been working through several theories in his mind on who could possibly be orchestrating these attacks... but none of the subjects who came to mind were capable of orchestrating both, probably on the same day if one factored in the time it would take for a messenger to send word from Edoras.

"This proves it..." the man adorned in thick velvet with grey streak hair who Glorfindel had learned was named Lord Valhain stood from his seat. "Someone is seeking war with Gondor and our allies. We must strike back."

"And who, pray tell," Lady Elthbelion drawled with no small amount of sarcasm. "Do you think we should attack?"

"Lady Elthbelion makes a fair point," Sir Baldred, a broad shouldered man whose appearance belied a surprisingly even-temper leaned forward as he spoke.

"We must know who are enemy is before we even consider attacking." Lord Aragorn had remained calm and collected throughout the entire debate.

"Consider attacking?" Lord Flaverion parroted the words.

"Are you implying that we should consider simply allowing these attacks?!"

"Lord Valhain, sit down," Kind Tirgon ordered the increasingly agitated man.

Valhain reluctantly sunk back into his seat, absentmindedly elbowing the elf kneeling by his chair in the head. Glorfindel had a bad feeling that said elf was to bare the Lord's frustrations as soon as the meeting ended.

"Commander Faldrin," Lady Elizabeth broke the tense air as she looked up from her parchment. "Of the Ithilian Rangers, how many trackers not following the trail near Minas Morgul can you spare?"

"Not many," he frowned. "And many aren't familiar with the land that far East."

"Lord Aragorn?" Glorfindel watched the hint of a smirk form on the man's face. It pained him o think that this man was the heir of Elros, but the resemblance to his Lord was all too striking to mistake him as a normal man. "I could send Commander Halbarad and a company of... near thirty competent trackers."

"And what if this waiting comes at the cost of more lives?" Lord Valhain was far from appeased.

"What can we do until we know who we fight?" Lord Penderon, always on the quiet side since theincidentraised his eyebrows at the challenge.

"If any can find a trace, it would be the Rangers of the North," Lady Elthbelion nodded in respect to Aragorn.

"So be it," as King Tirgon spoke the council fell quiet. "The Rangers of the North shall send a company to examine the terrain near Edoras. When they return, they will give a joint report alongside the Rangers of Ithilian and we shall move from there. Until then, I am trusting Sir Baldred to ensure defenses are maintained. Dismissed."

There were a series of bows around the table as everyone stood to leave. But, just as Elizabeth was about to exit, she was stoped by the King.

"Lady Elizabeth," she paused, her hand on his leash. "There is a matter that I wish to discuss with you in my office."

"Of course my King," she nodded her head and followed him, Glorfindel trailing behind.

He couldn't help but feel a slight lump rise in his throat as he realized that he too would be brought to the offices of the King of Gondor. If he hadn't been determined to play his part as the meek and willing slave before, he certainly was now.

Chapter 30 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Elizabeth followed the King, her heart thumping in her throat as Glorfindel silently followed behind her. Just off the top of her head, she could think of nearly a dozen incidents or suspicions that he could raise over her elves and well over two dozen innocuous but rather tedious topics regarding the Healing Halls or her duties as Head Advisor.

King Tirgon instructed his page to close the door on his way out as he sat down at the chair by his fire place, gesturing for Elizabeth to take the other seat. Part of her calmed as she realized that this was likely a positive conversation as if the King was planning on accusing her of something, he would've seated them at his desk.

Glorfindel gracefully folded himself into a kneel on her left, eyes perfectly situated on the floor. Elizabeth mentally acknowledged that he was kneeling on the hard marble without his usual cushion, but she was hardly about to make a fuss about that with the King.Next to Tirgon's desk was one of his slaves, a Silvan elf chained on a terribly short leash that kept him constantly forced to kneel on the cold stone. There was a slight tremble in his back and it was obvious that he had been forced to hold that position for a long while.

"Tea?" King Tirgon offered, already pouring two cups and handing the delicate porcelain cup to Elizabeth.

"Thank you my King," Elizabeth took the cup and delicately sipped at it. It certainly wasn't a small thing to be served tea by the King. Of course, they were in private and as such the gesture had much less to do with show than it would usually.

"Please Elizabeth, just Tirgon," he smiled gently. "This isn't exactly an official meeting."

"Of course." It was perhaps an odd time for a social call, but she and the King did often engage in informal, rather friendly company. Being King is a lonely job and the man had no immediate family.

For a while they sat in a comfortable silence, Elizabeth relaxing more with each moment that passed. He certainly wasn't about to call her out on something after drinking tea together. After a while, Tirgon finished his bite of a scone and began to speak.

"Tell me Elizabeth, why do you think I've never married?"

"I'm sorry?" She nearly choked on her biscuit. This was certainly not the direction she though the conversation was going in.

"You must have theories. There are so many rumors circulation... perhaps I am impotent, perhaps I prefer the company of men, perhaps I am paranoid of assassination?"

"I've... never presumed anything. I don't believe such matters to be my concern," Elizabeth took another long sip of tea and the King smiled.

"Indeed, but I'd like to share the reason with you," he paused a moment, gazing into the fireplace before turning to her and smiling grimly."What do you know of my younger brother?"

"I know his name was Ezeral," she spoke slowly. "And I know he abused his position as Prince and engaged in several illegal prospects. He was banished as a result and most are unwilling to speak of him outside of calumny."

"And what do you think?"

"I don't enjoy spending time on useless rumors." The conversation was certainly becoming stranger than Elizabeth predicted.

"Another thing I've always admired about you Elizabeth, you're not much one for gossip."

"I find that those who engage in such idle affairs are often those with too much free time. As you're well aware Tirgon, I have very little."

"True," a smile tugged at his lips. "I would like to share with you why I have never wed and never will... lineage."

"Pardon?"

"Lineage, bloodlines," he said the words with a great amount of distaste. "It's something that our ancestors were obsessed with... it's something that the elves still are," he cast an unimpressed eye at Glorfindel and his own elf who was chained to his desk. "But it's something that I've never believed in."

It made sense, really. Gondor had always been ruled by the long decedents of Numenor, the bloodlines of "greater men." Yet, during the Great War they were nearly all killed, slaughtered at the hand of Sauron with their "noble blood" doing little to aide them. Tirgon's family rose up and fought against both the might of Sauron and the temptation of the One, yet his younger brother proved to be a shame upon his family.

Elizabeth couldn't help but be reminded of how often the elves, especially Elrond in the Lord of the Rings books described Gondor falling to bloodlines of "lesser men" and looking down on the Kingdom as the "blood of the Numenor" having been spent.

"Your opinion is unorthodox, but understandable," Elizabeth replied mildly.

"My father was a great King, but my brother was living proof that having the blood of an honorable man is no guarantee of honor. If I were to marry and have a child, they would automatically be placed as next in line of succession... but what if they became like my brother? What if they were unfit for rule? I would be condemning Gondor's fate to chance."

"Again... unorthodox... though I cannot say that I disagree." What Tirgon was saying was incredibly modern, very unusual and exceptional for Middle Earth.

"You are a clear example of the other side to this argument... your bloodline means nothing compared to what you have achieved."

"You were certainly unique in appointing me into my positions," she said with honesty. In truth, Elizabeth was incredibly lucky that Tirgon was the King. Any other might not have given her the time of day for aside from being a woman, she came from nowhere, had no family. She didn't even look Gondorian and thus came the rumor that her father was an Easterling... a rumor that she eventually adopted because it made the most sense.

"And yet I know no better to fill the position."

"You flatter me... but something tells me this isn't simply a social call to discuss our opinions of bloodlines." Elizabeth now had a feeling where this conversation was going. She was already thinking of who in Minas Tirith would be well suited for promotion. She could count several pages off the top of her head that certainly deserved positions such as Archivist or Baron.

"Perceptive as always..." he idly turned his signet ring around his finger. "I am beginning to think, though I would love to be proved wrong, that war will soon become inevitable. I know not yet against whom, but I cannot see a peaceful end to our predicament."

"Unfortunately I would agree."Maybe he is looking at increasing the training of Knights?

"And this the risk of war comes a far more immediate threat against myself. Through battle or assassination... Kings often do not survive wars."

"If your concerns are for your safety-"

"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about..." he paused and locked eyes with Elizabeth. "I believe that it is time for me to officially appoint my successor."

"Oh," was her extremely eloquent response. "It seems a bit early but my first instinct would be to suggest that Lord-"

"I would like to ask you to take up the mantle as Crowned Heir to Gondor."

Elizabeth choked a little on her tea.

"What? Er- my King-"

"Tirgon, remember. Those were not the words of a proper formal offer and thus we are still conversing as friends."

"Tirgon," Elizabeth finished coughing. "While I'm truly flattered... I don't believe that I am at all suited-"

"When did you last sleep, Elizabeth?" He had that same calm and easy tone that he used in nearly all situations.

"Just last night."

"And before that, over the past four days?"

"I managed well enough-"

"You spent four days without returning to your chambers once. You personally saved dozens of lives and oversaw your Healers as they brought soldiers and civilians back from the brink of death. Then, you come to me in my office and discuss strategy."

"Truly the credit goes to my staff. They are more dedicated and capable than any I've seen before."

"Yes, but they all slept. You didn't."

"I-" Elizabeth began, but Tirgon held up a hand to cut her off.

"Of the Council I just dismissed, do you how many hours each of those members have put into working on our current crisis?"

"I cannot say that I do," this conversation was absolutely not going as Elizabeth expected.

"I believe that Sir Baldred has engaged in the most work... and even then he has slept as a normal man these past four nights." Tirgon inhaled deeply, exhaling with a sigh. "I have yet to meet a single individual in all of Minas Tirith who puts as much heart and dedication into their work as you. I've witnessed you fight your way through court with grace, defend your patients and their needs with honor, solve disturbances amongst our peoples and allies with tact, and all the while disregarding your own personal desires. I know of no better qualities to make up a ruler."

"Tirgon, your words are exceedingly kind and I am truly flattered by your offer," Elizabeth felt like the room was spinning. She already felt like she was bullsh*tting her way through her current position as Head Advisor... she couldn't even imagine trying to take up the mantle as ruler of Gondor. It was ridiculously beyond her capabilities. Furthermore, as if her current state didn't already, it would tie her once and for all to Middle Earth. Part of her always hoped to return home someday, back to the modern world with her family and friends and career. There was so much weight, so much responsibility in such an offer. "I could not do it. I appreciate all that you've done for me, truly. And I do intend to continue serving Gondor... but if I were to take the position no one would follow an appointed Queen with Easterling ancestry."

He fixed his gaze on Elizabeth with a stern, but warm expression.

"Elizabeth, I hope you know that I've always seen you as something akin to a daughter. I know that certainly, if I ever hd a child it would bring me no greater joy then to see them grow as you have." He placed one large, sword-calloused hand over hers. "I know that you are more than capable of it. There is no one else who I would so readily entrust Gondor to. If you accept this offer than I will place that crown on your head myself... for the good of Gondor, please... just think on it."

"Of course," Elizabeth bowed her head, a lump forming in the back of her throat as an uneasy silence fell upon them.

Oh it would be easy to hate Tirgon if just for the way he treated his elves, for the way he allowed cruelty to flourish in his household and Kingdom. Yet at the same time, he was a good, no- anamazingKing. He was a King who had led his peoples in war from the front. He hired and fired staff for merit as opposed to titles or bloodlines. He worked tirelessly to ensure the safety and health of his subjects. He listened to their complaints and personally worked to solve conflicts that any other King would see as beneath them. He was willing to listen to council, to choose reason over pride in diplomacy, yet he was firm in his convictions and unyielding in protecting Gondor.

He had denied himself companionship, destined himself to live a life of solitude and bear the burden of Kingship alone as he would not trust the fate of Gondor to a gamble in children. Tirgon had taken an extreme chance when he appointed Elizabeth into her position. And he had taken that chance because he believed in her and he believed that it was for the good of Gondor. He did everything for the love of his Kingdom.

After they finished their tea, Tirgon dismissed Elizabeth who promised that she would think on his offer. She was immensely glad of Glorfindel's height as it afforded him legs long enough to keep up with Elizabeth's rapid stride as she practically raced back to her chambers. She placed Glorfindel in his usual spot and moved straight into her private office, locking the door behind her and immediately collapsing into the chair.

Her private office was her last sanctuary of privacy and she spent a moment simply relishing the silence of being completely alone, no appraising eyes on her.

Elizabeth always felt like she was slowly suffocating, like the bounds of her corset and the walls of Minas Tirith were constantly creeping closer and closer upon her. But at the very least, her position allowed her the slightest hint of freedom for whilst the eyes of the court were fixed on her due to her closeness with he King, the eyes of the people were set upon their King. She was already seen as an outsider, a woman of blood not purely Gondorian appointed to a position that none her age had ever attained before. Her ideas were already considered radical and she dealt with near daily accusations that she wasn't "truly loyal to Gondor."

If she were to take the throne, all eyes in Gondor would be upon her. An entire Kingdom would be chomping at the bit to prove that she was the slightest bit disloyal to their ways...

There was a knock at her door.

She took a deep breath, collected herself, and emerged from her office. It was Elrond, he was standing before her, his eyes downcast and a small parchment sealed with wax in his hand. There was a bird still sitting on the window.

Elizabeth wordlessly took the little scroll and unrolled it, eyes scanning it over quickly. She reread it twice before tossing it into the fire. She thought of the letter, the offer in it. She thought of Gondor, sitting precariously on the brink of war with an unknown enemy. And she thought of those books that had once been her favorites, the heroes that were now missing from Middle Earth.

With a surge of resolution, Elizabeth penned a quick reply on another scrap of parchment. She sealed it and affixed it to the bird's leg before it flew off. It was a stupid decision... a really reallystupid risk that she shouldn't be taking... but she made her decision.

Elizabeth could practically hear the questions waiting to burst out of Elrond's mouth... but she just couldn't deal with that at the moment. Instead, she sat at her desk and attacked the mound of paperwork.

She had made her decision on one matter... now she had another to think on.

Notes:

So ya... I know that was a lot of dialogue but I figured that this was the type of scene that needed to play out with characters speaking to each other.
And... the mystery of the note continues!

Chapter 31 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Lady Elizabeth," there was a knock at her door.

"Come in," she called, not looking up from the report from Rohan. The attack in Edoras had been nearly identical to the one on Osgiliath. Somehow, someone had concealed an army or orcs and men on the vast, empty planes of Rohan. It was a nearly unimaginable feat.

"There's been another attack my Lady," it was a Silvan elf with dark hair. He stood with his head bowed, his voice low and subservient. In his hands he carried with him a tray containing a bottle of fine wine and a goblet, an apology no doubt from the King who sent her such news when the evening was wearing thin.

Elizabeth took a moment to study the elf as he placed the goblet on her desk, carefully uncorking the wine and pouring it. His arms were far too thin and it was obvious that he hadn't been eating very well. Elizabeth frowned. His collar marked him as a palace slave, meaning he was staff owned by the White Tower and thus fell under certain rules that Elizabeth had no small part in creating. Part of those rules included specifics on what was considered appropriate rations and it was painfully obvious that this elf had been denied such. She mentally tucked that bit of information away for later.

When the elf when to pour the wine into Elizabeth's goblet his trembling hands shook a little too hard and a few drops of wine splashed over the side. Elizabeth was quick to move her papers out of the way, but luckily nothing was damaged. Absentmindedly, she reaching into a drawer to pull out a cloth. She was halfway to grabbing it when the elf dropped to his knees, his head bent impossibly lower as he quaked in fear.

"My- my... my apologies Mistress, I-"

Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh and instead bid the elf to stand. She watched his trembling face for a while, torn as she swore that he looked familiar. She couldn't quite place his face though and she realized that her staring was definitely not helping his fear level.

"Nothing was damaged," she used as casual a tone as she could manage. "Clean the mess, deliver the report, and be on your way."

Elrond's quill was lightly scraping against a parchment as he worked to transcribe more of her writings. His head was bent over his desk but Elizabeth had no doubt in her mind that he was following the proceedings very very carefully. The frightened elf handed her a piece of parchment and she scanned it for several moments, almost not believing what she read. She heard the elf shifting slightly in place.

"You're dismissed," she waved her hand lightly, not taking her eyes off the parchment that she kept rereading. She apparently didn't have to make the order twice as he was quickly gone.

She reread the parchment, hoping that it would somehow change but it didn't.

Things weren't looking good.

She'd concern herself with the familiar elf later.

***

"Erebor," Elizabeth fell into her chair, barely picking at the foot that Gledswith had all but threatened her to eat before vacating the room earlier. "An identical attack on Erebor. It's so well defended that they never stood a chance so the battle was short, but still... armies can't move this quickly."

It was late and Elizabeth didn't have the energy for an actual bath. Thus, despite Gledswith's fussing, she was dressed in a plain nightgown with a robe tied around it. She was in her bedroom, sitting at the small desk with the earlier report splayed out. It had come in so late that King Tirgon wouldn't be expecting a response from Elizabeth until the next day... but he would most likely want one first thing in the morning. Thus, she had the night to figure out what the heck it all meant.

Now they knew that whoever this was... they weren't only attacking Gondor, but also Gondor's allies.

"No... not if the detachments come from the same unit... but-" Glorfindel was sitting on one of his various cushions, wine goblet that Elizabeth refused to touch in his hand as he thoughtfully watched the red swirling liquid.

"But if this had been planned long ahead of time then they could've already been in position," she finished.

"Exactly."

"Someone's trying to send a message?"

"I believe so."

"What?"

Elizabeth needed an answer, she needed something to bring to the King who was relying on her counsel. The warmongers were already up at arms, prepared to launch an attack against an army that could appear out of nothing. Gondor was in a precarious position where enough time had passed so that the horrors of war had faded from most minds and only the glories remained in memory. So many were itching for a fight, but Elizabeth feared what would become of the people of Gondor if said war was to begin.

"That... I'm not sure." Glorfindel chewed a bit on his bottom lip, a tick that Elizabeth had noticed in him whenever he was thinking hard about something. "A show of power perhaps? Maybe they want Gondor afraid."

"Or maybe they're testing us... prodding our defenses to see how we react?" Elizabeth was jotting down ideas as she went. She would read over them and burn the paper later. "It's gotta be something more though..."

"What if they're testing themselves?"

"Checking to see if their own methods work, or if we've figured out a counter yet..." It seemed plausible. That meant that this foe was very likely someone new... someone who was unsure of their powers and experiments.

"That makes them more dangerous," Glorfindel spoke darkly, his eyes fixed on the swirling liquid in his cup.

"I know..." Elizabeth wouldn't be getting much sleep that night.

***

"He's bleeding," Tristam had his head bent over a young soldier whose stitches had ripped. "I need a yarrow poultice," he ordered to a younger Assistant Healer who immediately handed him an earthen jar.

"Healer Tristam," Elizabeth smiled warmly as she swept into the room. "I see that you're already busy."

After passing every exam with flying colors, Elizabeth had finally promised Tristam to the position of a fully fledged Healer. He was good at what he did and knew every herb they kept stocked like the back of his hand. His knowledge of anatomy had also significantly improved... although the cadavers of deceased soldiers had been solemn studies in human form.

"I think I'm going to have to restitch him... clove oil will numb it a little bit but..."

"Sometimes a few shots of brandy count as medicine," Elizabeth offered with a slight smile.

Tristam nodded and gave the soldier his prescribed alcohol before handing him a leather wrapped stick to bite down on. Oh how Elizabeth missed lidocaine injections. But, she had to make due. At the very least, when patients arrived at her Healing Halls they were treated with medicine, or the closest she could manage, as opposed to having water flicked at their faces in an attempt to rid them of ghosts.

Elizabeth turned and smiled at the young girl who was sitting on the cot beside her, swinging her legs as she wrapped a blanket tighter around her shoulders. It was a small fever, nothing big. Elizabeth flagged down an Assistant Healer and had her prepare a meadowsweet tea to bring down the girl's fever.

Meanwhile, Elizabeth slipped off and carefully scrubbed her arms with soap. She had to perform surgery on a milkmaid who "slipped" and somehow got a shard of wood lodged in her upper arm. It would be a pain to get all the splinters out and find a way to keep it from getting infected... but she also had to open an investigation against the owner of the dairy as there was no possible way that the timid girl being laid out on her operating table had managed to do that to herself.

"Lady Elizabeth," one of the younger Assistant Healers who had been assigned to manning the rosters approached her. "You have an appointment with Joshua of-"

"Yes, I know the man," Elizabeth vaguely recalled having an appointment scheduled with him from a few days ago. She hadn't realized how quickly the days were passing. "Do you have what it is for?"

"More pains... and he's been struggling with some muscle spasms."

"Of course," it really wasn't that much of a surprise. He had taken a lot of damage from the orc poison and Elizabeth really didn't know how his disease would progress... but she certainly wasn't shocked that despite his recovery he was still having relapses in symptoms.

"Will it need to be moved due to your surgery?" The Assistant Healer asked, quill already prepared to correct the roster.

"No... I should be able to finish this in time..." a thought suddenly struck Elizabeth. Where Joshua went... his elves followed. "But make sure he's escorted to a private room when he arrives. I don't want him to see Elrond. Speaking of which, please fetch him for me. I'd like him in on this procedure."

"Of course," she wrote down a quick note and ran off.

Just as Elizabeth contemplated the potential consequences of Joshua running into Elrond when he was dragging Haldir behind him like a kicked dog. Of course, Haldir was a Silvan and Elizabeth wasn't sure if Elrond knew him... but considering he had served under Galadriel it was very possible that Elrond was at least familiar with him. It would be best if they didn't meet.

"Lady Elizabeth," Ruhild's face was flushed in what Elizabeth was certain to be both surprise and embarrassment. "I hadn't realized that you had a surgery today. I came-"

"To see Tristam, yes," she couldn't help but chuckle slightly. "He's tending to a patient at the moment, though he should be done soon."

Runhild's eyes lit up and she thanked Elizabeth before scurrying off in the direction of the main wing. Elizabeth couldn't help but shake her head fondly. Their young romance was quickly budding and Elizabeth could at least be grateful for something in these difficult times.

***

It had been a week since her meeting with the King, a week since receiving the note. It had been a week filled with avoiding King Tirgon's pointed stares, a week of reading more and more reports of trouble all across Gondor. Someone was determined to cause problems and they were very much succeeding. Elizabeth had spent days pouring over battle reports and casualty counts. The Healing Halls were receiving more and more severe patients whilst she had increased the number of Healer Trainees with the intent to send them off to other hard hit regions. So many healers in Gondor still didn't know how to treat the simplest arrow wound without sawing off a limb and, being the only modern doctor in all of Middle Earth, Elizabeth felt the weight of each and every preventable death on her conscience.

There was a stack of correspondences on Elizabeth's desk that had to be addressed. She scanned the titles and noticed a note from Lord Penderon sitting near the top. Like so many things lately, she decided that she would deal with them all later.

Elizabeth had also spent the last week avoiding the questioning looks from Elrond who no doubt was anxious about what that letter contained. But, she had put it off long enough. The day had come.

When Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror as Gledswith brushed out her hair she couldn't help but notice a few marks from the past week. The bags under her eyes weren't attractive, but Elizabeth was so used to them from her days in med school that she could almost pretend that everything was normal. As per Elizabeth's request, Gledswith pulled all her hair back into a tight braid... the style that she always wore when riding. It would have been a usual activity if not for the candles lit around the room, the sun barely kissing the horizon.

Elizabeth picked lightly at her fingernails, an old nervous tick. After what was probably her fourth sigh of the morning and the fifth disapproving look from Gledswith, she broke a little.

"Have you ever done something... something that you knew was a very very very stupid risk... but you felt you hadto do it because the reward was something that you didn't want butneeded?"

"You've asked me this before," the older woman replied.

"I have?"

"That evening in Laketown, you asked me that same question... different words but same question, and then disappeared, only to reappear in the middle of the night, soaking wet and shivering."

"Ah... yes," Elizabeth recalled the event well. "I suppose I did as you the same question... and I suppose your answer would be the same?"

"My dear Elizabeth," Gledswith crouched down to look Elizabeth in the eyes. "You've served Gondor more faithfully than any before in your position and in your short tenure, there have been fourteen thwarted attempts on your life."

"Number three can hardly be counted-"

"You risk enough every day to serve your roll..." the woman looked pained as she spoke. "Please... don't risk any more."

"But what if this needs to be done? What if someone has to do it and I'm the only one who can?"

Gledswith frowned, her expression sad as she stood and continued to prepare Elizabeth for her day. She had already asked the King for a day off which he had gladly granted, declaring that she needed to take more time to herself. Once she was dressed, she dismissed Gledswith who bowed once before exiting, a look of concern clear in her face.

Eizabeth grabbed her satchel, already packed with some light travel provisions and a little cloth sack containing a very important item. She spared a glance at Glorfindel, but found that she couldn't quite meet his eyes that particular morning- not with what she was about to do heavy in her mind. At the last moment possible, she crossed her parlor, ignoring Elrond who looked at her curiously, and entered her private office. Once there, she locked the door and moved her heavy desk to reveal a slightly loose stone. She pulled said stone up and removed from the cavity a small leather pouch. She held it carefully, not bothering to open it as she knew what was inside.

Elizabeth tucked the pouch securely into her belt and threw her satchel over her shoulder, quickly making her way down to the stables where Runhild had already prepared her horse. Unlike many of the other lords, Elizabeth's mount was not a stallion but a mare. Said mare was a bit smaller than the usual massive steeds of high ranking nobles, but the mare was feisty and bold, with legs deceptively long she was able to outstrip many stallions when her mind was set. She and Elizabeth made a fine pairing.

"You know..." Runhild held a hint of a mischievous smirk. "Sir Baldred will have a fit when he realizes that you've slipped out without an escort."

"Yes well I'm sure he'll find something else to occupy his time with," she replied as she tied her bag down to her mare's saddle.

"You know," there was a sudden note of seriousness in Runhild's tone. "You should at least take someone... I could accompany you."

"Don't worry, I'll be fine," she flashed a smile as she mounted in one easy leap. All those years of riding lessons really paid off in a midivil world. "I just need a bit of time alone... to clear my head."

The lie tasted sour on her lips, but she had grown too accustom to lying for it to show. Thus, Runhild bowed once and stood there in the stables, watching as Elizabeth rode off. She waited until she was a far enough distance that she was certain no one would see her before turning sharply, making her way north. She rode hard and fast, carefully watching the progression of the sun.

The little leather pouch felt extraordinarily heavy on her belt as she rode onwards.

It was time to answer that little note carried in on a bird.

She could only hope that she wasn't making averyfoolish mistake.

Notes:

I know this may seem like just a filler chapter... but look closely because there are quite a few hints scattered throughout.

Chapter 32 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Elizabeth tugged lightly on the reigns, pulling Portia to a stop. The mare tossed her head a bit in protest at stopping her gallop, but she obeyed. Elizabeth spent a good amount of time there, lingering in the stillness as she watched the sun climbing higher in the sky. It was nearly time, and she was almost at the agreed upon meeting grounds. She thought over her plans yet another time... it was a very very stupid idea. She was taking a risk that could very likely prove to be disastrous, but she had to do it.

Whoever this new enemy was, they were powerful and dangerous. Gondor wouldn't be capable of fighting such a war on their own. Elizabeth had no doubt in her mind that thousands would perish in an all out war against such an enemy, and Gondor itself might just fall. If that happened and there was something that Elizabeth could've done to prevent it... those lives, the blood of those people, would be on her hands.

I will remember that I remain a member of society, with special obligations to all my fellow human beings, those sound of mind and body as well as the infirm.The Hippocratic Oath that she swore upon her graduation from medical school. As a doctor it was not just her duty to treat the ill, it was her duty to aide society. In her position as Head Advisor, she was responsible for all of Gondor.

Thus, she reached for her one piece of insurance, tucked away in the leather pouch and tied to her belt. She untied the sturdy thread and dumped it out onto her hand. There, glittering in the sun, was a thick gold ring with a large red stone set in the center.

Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls of stone...

She turned it over in her hands several times. Elizabeth could feel the hum of magic in it, the quiet force of the ring pulling her in, practically begging her to put it on. The ring was beautiful, but was clearly not cut for her delicate fingers. It was thick, the gold band heavy and engraved with sharp lines and repeating patterns of interlocking links. It wasn't meant for the hand of any man, but for the race of Dwarves.

She chuckled a bit as she realized that the last time she had done something even close to as risky as this was when she obtained the ring. At the time, she had retrieved it mostly to avoid the risk of anyone else finding it with the added bonus as a bit of insurance on her part... something like keeping a loaded gun hidden away in a safe. She never actually thought that she'd use it... but desperate times and all that...

Just for the meeting... just long enough to stay safe. Then, it goes back to its pouch and back to the hole in stone,she thought to herself.

With a deep breath, Elizabeth slipped the ring onto her finger, instantly feeling the affect. It was like she had been swimming underwater before and suddenly, she burst to the surface. Everything around her was sharper, clearer. Colors were bolder, the sun was shining brightly, and she could tell where the birds were based on their chirps. She took three breaths, steadying herself and adjusting the near sensory overload before she tapped Portia's sides, encouraging her to walk on.

It was time, and as she approached the approved meeting place, she saw a lone figure astride a pure white horse. When she got closer, the sight nearly took her breath away. Cate Blanchette was beautiful, but no mortal human could ever compare to the perfect beauty and grace of Lady Galadriel, an ancient Noldor born in Valinor. She was radiant and terrible, a witness of the Kinslaying at Alqualondë, a survivor of the crossing of the Helcaraxë, the most powerful of her kin left alive in Middle Earth, and the leader of the last stronghold of free elves. In Gondor she was known as Elf-Witch, equally hated and feared.

Elizabeth pulled her mare to a stop and stood still, watching the elf from where she sat on her own steed. The land around them felt strangely empty, a small copse of trees behind the lady in white with nothing but empty fields in all other directions. The midday sun was shining brightly and its heat was nearly oppressive.

"Galadriel, Lady of the Free Lands of Lorien," Elizabeth tilted her head slightly in acknowledgment, not enough to be a bow... but a greeting none the less. She prayed that the elf before her could not hear the way her heart thundered in her chest. "Or do you prefer Artanis as you were once called?"

"I go by the name given to me by my beloved husband," she spoke the words with a sort of grace the comes from culture bred, not taught. "And you are Lady Elizabeth, Head Advisor to the King of Gondor."

Elizabeth nodded her head, waiting for something, anything to indicate that Galadriel was ready to start an all out war with Gondor by killing her right then and there. She focused on her own mind, waiting for the creeping on the back of her neck, the sensation of someone else prying in... but it never came. Elizabeth was relying on the hunk of metal on her finger to protect her mind, to prevent another Ring Bearer from creeping in. If she was compromised... then all could be lost. None save the King knew Gondor's defenses like she. Elizabeth had been there for every planning meeting, every change in guard patterns, every army supply request. All the official documents, written, signed, and sealed away in a vault were organized like a fileing cabinet in her mind.

Elizabeth watched Galadriel's face carefully, her heart thumping wildly. But then, she saw it. A flash, so small that on any other being it would have been nothing- but Elizabeth knew... she couldn't get in. Her mind was locked away and safe for the moment.

She cannot read you

Elizabeth wasn't sure where the voice had come from, but it was like a whisper in the back of her mind. She ignored it as she spoke.

"So you have come to meet with me," Elizabeth resisted the urge to fiddle with the reigns in her hands. This was possibly the most terrified she had been since arriving in Middle Earth and yet she had to keep her voice steady and betray no fear. "What information do you have that you thought I would want to hear so badly?"

"First the token, proof," she demanded.

Elizabeth's hand strayed towards her belt when that voice came again, the barest whisper against her subconscious... barely there and yet audible.

Two more heartbeats

Elizabeth's hand froze and she strained her ears to listen. Her newly sharpened senses scanned the area when she realized that her initiation, for surely that was what she was hearing, was correct. There were two extra heartbeats hidden amongst the trees.

"You've lied..." Elizabeth inhaled sharply, lifting the reigns in her hands, ready to flee at a moment's notice. "Our deal was to meet alone and you lied."

Galadriel frowned slightly before nodding and lifting her hand. Then, with the barest of rustling, two elves emerged from the trees. They were identical figures, dark hair, grey eyes, and a certain sharpness to their features that reminded Elizabeth of someone she had waiting in her parlor back in Minas Tirith. She knew exactly who they were.

"I apologize for the deceit," Galadriel's voice remained calm and even as she spoke. "However, I had no assurance that you would hold to your end of the bargain. You are, after all, the one who holds the advantage in this Age. They are here for my safety... nothing more."

Despite the etherial nature of the Lady's voice, Elizabeth recognized exactly what she was doing. She was trying to gently lead her, to convince Elizabeth that she was secure and in control whilst she was the once calling the shots. It was a careful dance, a classic courtly move.

Liar

"Have you forgotten that going back on your word was what got your race into the situation it is in now?" Elizabeth's feet were twitching in her stirrups. Everything in her wanted to turn around and race straight for Minas Tirith at a gallop. Three to one, her odds against one elf were practically nothing but three of them was far worse.

"We have no reason to harm you," Galadriel spoke soothingly before releasing an order to the two behind her in elvish. Both looked a bit hesitant, but they obeyed nonetheless and slowly withdrew their swords before tossing them to the side. "I have called you here because I have information that can benefit us both. You desire to protect Gondor and I desire to protect what is left of Middle Earth so long as my people are forced to remain on these shores."

She broke her word,the voice whispered and Elizabeth agreed. Galadriel broke her word as the elves always did.Why should I trust her now?

"You will give your information and if I deem it worthy, you will receive one token, not two," Elizabeth didn't know where the sudden surge of steel came from, but she was grateful for it. "And you will be thankful that you receive any after so brazenly breaking your word. Since I was the one who kept my word in this meeting... you will have to trust that I have both."

A brief expression of something that Elizabeth though was pain flashed across Galadriel's eyes before she nodded tightly.

"You offer fair terms," her voice was a bit stiffer than before, but her expression was back to that flawless mask. "So I shall begin... the attacks on Gondor were carefully crafted. I'm sure that by now you know your foe to be more powerful than the average usurper."

"Of course."

"We elves can feel the power... it's dark, black magic. This type of concealment magic has not been seen since the War of Wrath in the First Age, when the Valar fought in the wars of Middle Earth."

"Are you trying to tell me that Morgoth is back?" Elizabeth didn't know if she should be incredulous or terrified at that thought.

"No... but it is someone who bears powers not of this land. Middle Earth did not bare this foe." As Galadriel spoke, Elizabeth swore that her voice was echoing on the empty plane. There was always something unnatural in elves, Glorfindel, being an ancient Calaquendi, had more of that unusual perfection and beauty than most... but something was different with Galadriel. Whilst Glorfindel was considered fair amongst his kin, Galadriel was considered radiant. It was like staring into the uncanny valley... she looked so beautiful that she seemed wrong.

Would youbelievethe Witch

"And why should I trust anything you say?"

"This is not a foe that can be defeated by elves for men alone."

"Much of the same was said in regards to Sauron... and yet men prevailed without the aide of the elves."

"To the doom of both."

"And with whom does that fault lie?" Elizabeth watched as Galadriel inhaled sharply, the slightest crack in her perfect facade. But then, she herself took a deep breath.The conversation wasn't going in any way that she had planned.What am I doing?Focus."Enough of blame though," Elizabeth tried to shift the discussion from useless arguing over fault. "You wanted to speak with me and here I am. You tell me that the foe Gondor is facing has powerful magic which we already know. So far you have said nothing of consequence. Tell me why you wanted me here."

Elizabeth saw the way the twins, undoubtably Elladan and Elrohir, shifted slightly. They seemed to be having a silent communication with their eyes, a conversation that Elizabeth was not privy to.

"You are very perceptive, Lady Elizabeth," Galadriel tilted her head slightly to the right and Elizabeth was reminded of the way a hawk might appraise a sparrow on a nearby branch. "Let me be frank then,"

Do not trust her

"Middle Earth will soon be faced with a foe the likes of which has never before been seen. The elves will be slaughtered and men bent into subjugation. Your race has numbers and might, mine has wisdom and a few recesses of magic still. Neither of us may face this threat alone. We must either unite and fight this enemy together, or we shall die together."

She'sthreatening you

"Is that a threat?" Elizabeth's hand strayed to the dagger tucked into the hem of her skirt. It wouldn't do much, the elves could slaughter her before she could blink, but the warm steel felt comforting under her grip.

"No, and neither is it a warning. It is a fact," Galadriel spoke with utter conviction. She didn't look like the leader of a lost, diminishing race of fugitives. Her peoples were scattered, starving, enslaved, and hunted. Her husband was captured and for all the Lady knew, lost to despair and torture. And yet, Galadriel sat there atop her stallion, radiant and powerful. She looked like a queen whose kingdom ruled alone.

"So aside from this fact," Elizabeth was becoming increasingly frustrated with Galadriel's vague suggestions. "Have you anything else to say? Any other reason for this meeting?"

"I had hoped that you might see the value in this war between our races ending. We can be valuable allies to Men as we once were. Remember, in the War of Wrath our kin fought and died together; and they were victorious against Morgoth himself."

You cannot trust one who once lied

"So you ask me to commit treason?" Elizabeth knew that this meeting was technically treason in itself, but what Galadriel was asking for was so much more.

"For now, I would only ask that you keep an open mind to this thought..." Galadriel tilted her head slightly, focusing her gaze on Elizabeth. "And that you take care in meddling in magic that is beyond you."

She'sjealous of what youhave... she wants it for herself

"If that is all, then I believe our meeting is over," it wasn't going quite as poorly as the worse case scenario that Elizabeth had envisioned, but it could have been far better. Galadriel had offered no real information that she wasn't aware of before, but only a rather dangerous and unreliable offer. "Here is your token, for Elladan or Elrohir, whichever you are."

She pulled out the small cloth pouch and tossed it to one of the twins, her lips twitching to hide the smirk at the obvious shock in their faces. Whilst Galadriel was a master at hiding her heart, it appeared that the twins were not so skilled.

The one who she tossed the pouch to opened it slowly, probably dreading that she had ignored their desire for him to remain unharmed and had removed an ear or something equally as grisly. Instead, they pulled out a lock of hair, bound at the top with a thin strip of leather and tied in that strange, Celtic-like knot that was a particular style of Elrond's. Elizabeth remembered the way his eyes clouded with confusion and doubt when she used a dagger to slice a small clump of his hair, ordering him to tie something that would be recognized as his. He no doubt figured out the purpose soon enough, he was like Galadriel... too clever for his own good.

Galadriel showed no disappointment at seeing Elrond's token instead of Celeborn's, but Elizabeth knew that it had to feel like a knife to the gut. She should've felt pity, but instead, she felt something strangely satisfying. She didn't dwell on the though for too long.

"If I find you communicating with Elrond again, I will send the bird back with one of his ears," she ignored the brief look of terror in one of the twins' eyes as she kicked her horse's flank, tugging on the reigns to turn her around.

The conversation was over in Elizabeth's mind. It was time to return to Minas Tirith and to think long and hard about Galadriel's offer... if it could be called that. Of all the stupid and risky moves that she had made in court, allying herself, attempting to ally Gondor with not only elves but the Elf-Witch herself, certainly took the cake. It was beyond suicidal, and not just in the political sphere.

She spurned her horse onward, breaking out into a gallop as she left the deadly elves behind her, desperately hoping that they wouldn't follow.

Elizabeth's mind was so caught up in the events of her discussion and her fear of Galadriel deciding to follow and slay her anyway... that she forgot one very important minutia.

The afternoon sun glinted dangerously off a band of gold, still on her finger.

Notes:

So I took some liberties with the blanks that I found in lore. For the effects of the rings, according to the lore, the Dwarves were resistant to the magic of the rings and instead of enslaving them, they increased their wealth and their greed. My little headcanon explanation for this is that Sauron tailored the magic of the rings to the species they were meant to control. So, for the Nine Rings for Men, he used them to amplify Man's desire for power. With Men being weaker willed than Dwarves, this allowed Sauron to gain control of them. But, when he made the Seven Rings for Dwarves, he planned on capitalizing on the natural greed of Dwarves. Unfortunately for him, Aule had crafted the Dwarves specifically to be resistant to the chaotic nature of Middle Earth at the time and so are sturdy folk, more resistant to magic meant to bend their will and thus they did not fall to darkness but to their own greed, amplified by the Rings.
Therefore, Elizabeth as a member of the race of Men, is not affected the same way by the Dwarvish Ring. She doesn't have as much of a natural tendency for greed (her race's vice is power) and thus is not as strongly swayed. But... she's also not as sturdy as the dwarves and thus the Ring taints her still. As for the magical properties of the Ring, to me it makes sense that it would prevent someone else from being able to read the mind of the wearer as it's very powerful and if the Ring wants to exert its own influence, it would prevent others from prying in.
I know some people will disagree with this and I'll probably get a lot of flak, but this is just my interpretation/headcanon and technically I couldn't find anything in the lore that strictly dictated how these rings would affect members of races they weren't created for... aside from the One of course. But remember, the One is more foul than the other Rings as the One was crafted solely by Sauron whilst the others were a collaboration of Celebrimbor and Sauron.
Also, I promise that we'll be learning more about how she got the ring in the future. It didn't just mysteriously appear in her keeping... but that's its own story.

Chapter 33: SORRY Not An Update

Chapter Text

Hi everyone, I'm really sorry and I hate doing this (because I know how it feels to get your hopes up about a new chapter), but this seemed the best way to inform everyone.

I know that I've been rather absent on updating and responding to comments lately and I really want to apologize for that. Unfortunately, I've been going through some health problems (not Covid, my doc is thinking autoimmune) lately and they've resulted in me experiencing a lot of systemic pain and being very low on energy. Due to that, I'm finding it rather difficult to focus enough to write and to respond to all the amazing comments and questions that I've been getting.

I would like to assert that I am NOT abandoning any of these works. Just sadly, my active presence on this site will likely be greatly decreased until I figure out how to better manage my symptoms.

I would also like to make it clear that I do absolutely read each and every single comment that you guys leave on my stories. I love reading them and I truly appreciate the feedback and amazing support. Really, it's thanks to you guys that I keep updating these stories. I promise that once I'm feeling better I'll get back to responding to all the comments as I can't even express how much I love and appreciate this community.

Overall, I wanted to apologize for going silent and for future slow updates and responses. Thank you so much to all my loyal readers, and I promise that I won't be disappearing forever.

Thank you, and hopefully, you'll all be hearing from me again soon.

Chapter 34 Notes:

I want to start with saying thank you so much to all the love and support in the comments of the last chapter! When I started writing I never thought that anyone would even read my works, much less follow them closely and care about me. I never imagined the community of support that I would find on this site and I truly truly appreciate it. As for me, I've been up and down but I'm working through it.
This chapter took a while to get out, but I hope it sounds cohesive enough. My updates might still be a little slow, but I'm determined to get back into the swing of writing.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Elizabeth rode hard and fast until she reached Minas Tirith. It was only when she hit the cobblestone streets that she remembered to slow her pace so that the citizens wouldn't fear that orcs were on her tail. As soon as she reached the royal stables she dismounted, passing off her reigns to the nearest stable boy and walking away without a word.

Usually she would take the time to carefully untack Portia, to wipe away the mare's sweat and meticulously groom the mare until her coat shone. But this time, Elizabeth couldn't; she could feel her heart pounding in her skull and everything around her seemed to be a slight haze. She moved automatically, walking as if asleep.

Galadriel is up to something... she was looking for something. Is it just concern over her husband? No... it has to be something more.

It was like a team of taiko drummers had taken up residence inside Elizabeth's skull. There was so much or her to think of: the construction plans for the new Healer's School still needed to be finalized, four patients had life saving surgeries that only Elizabeth- who was an ER doctor and not a surgeon- still had to schedule, some Duke who had slept with another's wife still needed to be dealt with which was apparently Elizabeth's job, King Tirgon wanted to make her his heir, half the court thought of her as an outsider and wanted her dead, a war that she wasn't sure Gondor could win was brewing on the horizon, Galadriel was apparently sending messages into the heart of Minas Tirith, and Elizabeth had two elven heroes chained up in her quarters.

Elizabeth almost laughed at the absurdity of how she once felt exhaustion over sixteen hour ER shifts. At the time she had thought that those were the most trying and draining things possible. Now, it was laughable. At least with those shifts she was able to sleep at their conclusion. Now, she was always on the job, there was always something to worry about, someone watching her, something on the edge of destruction. She probably hadn't had a full nights rest in weeks. Elizabeth felt awfully like a cotton rag that had been scrubbed too hard and washed too many times... one of those old cloths that was so worn and frayed that you could see through as if it were transparent.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty corridor, steel heeled boots on stone.

Gondor is threatened... and I haven't the faintest idea what to do.

Runhild had the day off and Gledswith was busy organizing the Healing Halls' inventory with the Matron. Elizabeth had no meetings or appointments and had been intending on finalizing some paperwork. It meant Elizabeth would have the rest of the day mostly to herself.

I know Galadriel's up to something... but how many choices do I have?

She opened her door and immediately was met with Elrond's gaze. There was no way he didn't know who she was going to meet, but he didn't dare say anything. Instead, he just sat and stared, something cautious in his eyes.

Ignore him

Elizabeth didn't want to deal with him and thus entered her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her. She took a moment to inhale deeply, relishing the peace- when she was the interrupted.

"My Lady, how was your ride?" Glorfindel's voice had a bit too much forced cheer in it and Elizabeth was instantly reminded that no, her rooms weren't private anymore.

"Fine," the word came out harsh enough so that any other elf would immediately know to quiet, but Glorfindel had been getting increasingly bold in private. Elizabeth's tone did little to dissuade him.

"I'm glad to hear, my Lady. I was thinking about-"

Elizabeth found herself contemplating why the elf continued to chatter. The sound of his voice, though deep and musical, grated on her ears. She already had too many thoughts, too many voices floating around in her head and she needed just a moment of peace. She tried to tune out his words as she turned her back, unpacking her satchel and unpinning her hair.

Please,she silently pleaded in her mind.Just a moment of quiet.

He chatters so much,doesn't he

I never wanted-

But he's yours

Elizabethdidn'twant him, she didn't want anyone and yet she was stuck with him. Half the court of Gondor would give a third of their personal treasury to own an elf as rare and radiant as Glorfindel and yet it was Elizabeth who was stuck with him; Elizabeth who merely wanted a moment of peace and privacy.

Is that really too much to ask?

She finished unpacking her bags and turned around sharply, the suddenness of her movement enough to startle Glorfindel into a moment of quiet.

So pretty...

Elizabeth tilted her head a bit in contemplation. The elf before her was indeed fair. Tolkien's words hardly did him justice. His skin was pale and clear, not a mark or scar on his body. His eyes were the color of the bluest sky, and his hair was-

Gold... pretty pretty gold

Elizabeth took a step closer, eyes scanning the elf. She had been giving him a lot of freedom as of late, asking him to listen in on council meetings and give his opinions after.

The others watch him... they want him

Oh how the elf drew eyes every time she brought him out in public. He was probably the most desirable elf in Minas Tirith. Elizabeth was growing weary of having to fend off hisadmirers.She was constantly reminding others that she didn't like people touchingherthings.

They want him but he's yours... all yours

She took a step closer.

Pretty Gold

His hair really did shine like burnished gold.

Your Gold

Glorfindel must have noticed something in the air for he tensed, scooting his body until his back was pressed flush against the wall.

"My Lady..." he began slowly.

All yours

"Quiet," Elizabeth snapped, not quite certain which voice she was speaking to. Her breath was coming in pants and she wasn't sure how as she hadn't been exerting herself.

YOUR Gold

She took another step, her heart thundering in her chest.

They want him, but he's YOURS

She was crouched in front of him, her hands on his shoulders.

"My Lady please-" the elf's voice was high and near frantic, but it was like Elizabeth was in a haze. She couldn't hear anything beside her raging heart and the voice whispering in her head like a silk caress.

Her hands seemingly moved on their own accord, her own mind completely unaware as she listened to the whispering voice, so helpful, so reassuring, so tempting.

Pretty pretty Gold

Her hands became rough, ripping, tearing at his tunic. Strength that she had never had before seemed to fill her limbs as she reduced the purple tunic, the garment that marked the elf ashers,to shreds.

YOURS

"Please my Lady-" Glorfindel was squirming, pushing himself into the wall behind him as if it could offer some escape. He had his hands up defensively, but made no move to dislodge Elizabeth as her hands began to explore the expanse of the elf's skin. The elf was smart, he knew well that attacking Lady Elizabeth would be a torturous death sentence to him and Elrond both.

YOUR GOLD

She wove one hand through his hair, pulling it tight and yanking his head backwards with enough strength to snap the neck of a mortal man.

"Please, don't- I beg of you," his voice was desperate, his own breath coming out in pants.

precious

Her other hand had divested him of the rest of his clothing and now was straying down the line of his chest, dropping lower and lower. Her eyes were on the elf before her, but her gaze was empty, her mind elsewhere.

YOUR PRECIOUS

"Elizabeth please!!!"

Perhaps it was the desperation in Glorfindel's voice, perhaps it was the familiar word screaming in her head that finally snapped her back into reality, but Elizabeth gasped in shock, waking up from whatever stupor that she had been in.

NO NO NO

Your PRECIOUS

He's yours

TAKE HIM

She looked down at Gorfindel, chained, naked, and terrified; frozen in place as he watcher her in the way a deer caught in a snare would look at an approaching hunter.

Her head ached, the voice in it no longer seductive, instead it seemed loud, invasive. She could feel the darkness in that voice now, the pounding of her headache entirely unnatural. Her skull felt as though it was about to explode.

PRECIOUS!!!

She launched herself backwards, away from Glorfindel with such speed that one would think that touching him burned. Desperately she scrambled backwards, yanking the ring from her finger and throwing it into the furthest corner of the room possible. Instantly she felt the strange cloud fade away as real, raw awareness returned.

For a little while she sat there in the corner, panting as she tried to comprehend what had just happened. Eventually, she saw Glorfindel. The elf was still frozen in place, not daring to move. His tunic and breeches were completely torn and the full expanse of his pale skin was exposed. He looked beautiful and tragic.

Elizabeth looked away, her entire face burning with shame as the elf began to very slowly pull at the tattered remains of his clothes in an effort to preserve what was left of his modesty. Shecouldn't look at him, she couldn't bare to look into the wide, terrified eyes of the elf who was completely at her mercy, and who she almost-

No...

She couldn't even say the word in her own mind, the thought made her sick and one hand flew to cover her mouth for she feared that the apple that she had for breakfast would make a reappearance. Although everything that had happened felt like a dream- she remembered it clearly... more clearly than she felt as she had been engaged in the act. She could still hear the sounds of cloth ripping, Glorfindel's desperate pleas for mercy, and she could still feel the elf's sweat soaked skin under her fingers as she traced them down the line of his torso.

Elizabeth could taste bile at the back of her throat.

Out of everything she had done since arriving in Middle Earth in the name of survival, after she had made the decision to turn a blind eye to slavery in hopes of helping elsewhere, and after becoming the owner of slaves herself... she had kept one promise in her heart. One, singular promise that was perhaps the only way in which she thought that she might save her soul.

And she had broken it.

She had broken her oath as a doctor and violated every single tenant of being a decent human being. She was weak and the ring had exposed the darkest corner of her soul.

I never thought that I wanted...

She looked up, finally meeting Glorfindel's eyes. She hated what she saw there, the raw terror, the fear that she knew was directed completely on her. She hated how she deserved it, how honest and truthful that hate and fear was.

There is nothing that one can do to undo such an act. The weigh of it was pressing down on Elizabeth from all sides, it stole her breath more thoroughly than any corset and she felt like she was drowning. She couldn't look up, she didn't dare to look at Glorfindel again. Elizabeth slowly stood, her knees trembling beneath her dress.

And, because she was a coward, she fled.

Notes:

So... bad, bad, very bad! The Ring rears its ugly head and Elizabeth has a lot to contend with now.
And of course, poor Glorfindel. He was just starting to get somewhat settled, just starting to semi trust Elizabeth and now...

Chapter 35 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Glorfindel laid unmoving on the floor as he watched Lady Elizabeth run from the room. The door slamming shut echoes ominously for a moment, leaving only silence behind.

How could everything go wrong so quickly?

He was just barely beginning to adjust to life in Gondor, to acting "properly" around the men who despised his race above all else. He was starting to believe that he and Elrond were as safe as a pair of lame deer could be when trapped in a den of wolves. He was even starting to trust that Lady Elizabeth held no intentions of violating his flesh.

But then she returned to her rooms, an unnatural aura of strength settled around her. When she approached, he could feel the push ofpower,ofothernesscompressing his chest. There was something familiar in that weight... it was like being in the presence of the slain High King when he still possessed his Ring of Power. Vilya had that presence, that aura of power and command. But, what it didn't have, was that deeper song of longing, a twinge of darkness.

It was subtle, discreet. The one who slipped that darkness into the ring had done so beneath the nose of a Feanorian- no matter his choice in names, no one knew jewels of power like a Feanorian. But, Glorfindel was familiar with the cursed rings. He had watched the slow spiral of several dwarven kings, masters of jewels themselves, who didn't notice that the allure of the rings was from something more than their beauty. It had taken him many years, but he could recognize that power anywhere.

He always knew that Lady Elizabeth was powerful, that she held the ear of the King and more far influence over Gondor's rulings than most of the court. He knew that she held his and Elrond's life in her hands and that she was a more steadfast protector than he could have ever imagined.

But if she has the power of a Ring... what else does she hold in her hands?

Glorfindel blanched when he realized what he had done. He had promised her obedience in exchange for the continual safety of his Lord. So far she had delivered upon her end of the bargain, protecting Elrond from those who would seek to destroy him. But Glorfindel's own safety was never part of that deal. Lady Elizabeth had never promised that she would not take from him what others would be willing to take from Elrond.

He had been lucky, he had been blessed by Lady Varda herself that he had remained so safe for so long. Had any other courtier of Minas Tirith taken possession of him, he would've been pulled apart, ripped open his first day wearing a collar and then would've been forced to endure watching the same done to Elrond. He had been relying upon the mercy of Lady Elizabeth.

But Glorfindel had broken his deal. He fought, he resisted what he should have long ago accepted. If she had tried the same on his first day in Minas Tirith, he would've complied silently for Elrond's sake. But, he had grown too comfortable. He had become too adjusted to a false sense of security.

And now... he might just have lost everything.

Lady Elizabeth had left in such a hurry that Glorfindel could only imagine her rage. He had resisted her, he had fought back and even though he hadn't dared to strike her... what he had done could warrant his execution. It could warrant Elrond's.

He knew what he had to do.

Ignoring every instinct in chest that screamed at him, Glorfindel began to slowly remove the tattered clothing draped around his body. He did what he could to fold the remains of the tunic and leggings, placing them to the side. He felt a tremor in his hand as he reached for his brush, slowly undoing his braids and pulling the soft bristles through his hair. His movements were slow and methodical, his eyes gazing vacantly off somewhere across the room. Once all the snags were out and he knew that his hair shone like burnished gold, he set the brush aside, picking up a scrap of cloth instead. Using the cloth and his pitcher of drinking water, Glorfindel washed every inch of his exposed flesh, forcing his attention on the action itself, not what he was preparing to do.

And then, with no other tools at his disposal, he deemed himself ready. He closed his eyes, offering one last prayer to Nienna, Lady of Mercy, before he pressed himself to his knees and sunk forward till his forehead rested on the ground, his palms upward and outstretched before him.

However long it took, he would hold that pose. He would wait, his hair glowing and skin washed, completely bare and vulnerable. He would wait in offering, several pleas and desperate cries for forgiveness sitting on the tip of his tongue.

He only hoped that Lady Elizabeth would return to her chambers before taking out her wrath on Elrond. Perhaps he could bargain for his safety once more.

***

Elizabeth had no plan, no direction in mind. Her feet simply carried her to one of the few places in Minas Tirith where she felt safe. She threw the door open without knocking and allowed it to slam behind her. With steps far more sure than her conscience, she stormed up to the desk and slammed two hands down on it.

"You need to become Tirgon's heir," she demanded.

"What?"

Aragorn was staring at her half in confusion and half in shock.

"King Tirgon, he wants to appoint an heir," she spoke slowly, as if explaining the absolute obvious. "That heir needs to be you."

"Pardon?" Aragorn's confusion seemed to only be growing.

Elizabeth collapsed into the chair as Aragorn slowly pulled forth a flask of brandy and two glasses. He filled both and handed one to Elizabeth who downed it in one swallow. Aragorn only raised an eyebrow as he took it back and refilled it before slowly sipping on his. Elizabeth remained silent for a while, swirling her glass and watching the amber liquid. Aragorn was clearly waiting for her to speak.

"Tirgon needs to appoint an heir and I can think of no better than you. You have the wisdom, the strength, the integrity, the command, and even the bloodline to be King of Gondor. I can speak to Tirgon about it."

"And who did the King desire to be his heir?"

Elizabeth kept her eyes on her cup, voice soft and almost undetectable.

"Me."

"And why don't you agree?"

"I..." she sighed heavily. How could she describe to him the evil that she had seen within herself? How could she tell him of the darkness that tainted her very soul? How could she admit that she who claimed to be a doctor, a healer sworn to caring, was capable of committing the most vile act? "I have not the makings of a Queen. I'm not of the right bloodline and I'm- I... I lack the conviction, I lack the strength."

"Since when have you cared for bloodlines?" He asked with a scoff.

"Since I learned that nearly every Lord of Gondor refers to me as the 'Easterling half-breed' over their nightly ales."

"That matters little to Tirgon," Aragorn waved off the statement lightly and shook his head. "And besides, Elizabeth... you may have never lead armies into battle, but I have never once seen you to lack strength or conviction."

"Perhaps there is more to me than what you have seen," she muttered quietly as she drained her second glass of brandy.

"Perhaps," Aragorn rose and walked around the desk, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "But what I have yet to see of you is certainly not a lacking of such traits." With those words, he plucked the cup from Elizabeth's hands and ushered her to stand. "Now of course, I would be happy to sit and drink with you, but something tells me that you have something that you must do."

Elizabeth felt something in her heart curl at the thought, but she knew that he was right about one thing... there was certainly something that she had to do.

"But will you think about-"

"I gave up my right to the throne many years ago. I will stand with King Tirgon on this one. There is not a doubt in my mind, dear Elizabeth, that you have the makings of a great Queen. I believe in you, and I trust that you have more strength than you know."

With those words, he guided her out the door.

Elizabeth's walk back to her chambers was long and meandering. She knew what she had to do... something that she should have done long ago and something that she had long been too cowardly to attempt. The consequences could be high... they could very well cost her her life and undo all the good that she had done. But, at the same time, the consequences of inaction were clear- it would cost her her soul.

Bit by bit, she had allowed the evils festering in Middle Earth to slip past her defenses and carve out little chunks of her moralities, her kindness. She had become adjusted to cruelty and in acting as though it were acceptable, a small, weak part of her, had learned to believe it.

But no more.

She entered her chambers through the servant's door, slipping directly into her bedroom. There, she found herself frozen at the sight.

Glorfindel

Glorfindel completely bare, but not exactly as she had left him. No, this time he was groomed, his skin was washed and his hair shone in the candle-lit room. He was folded over himself, kneeling in complete supplication. He was like a piece of renaissance art, a marble statue of a fallen angel or a mourning lover.

Elizabeth suppressed the rising sickness that she felt in the back of her throat.

"My Lady," his voice slow and careful, as dulcet as always, but with a uniquely seductive timber. In other circ*mstances, it would've been impossible to find such a tone unattractive. "I offer myself to you freely and beg-"

"That's enough," She cut off his words with a sharp order. Walking over to a chest, she threw a tunic and set of leggings at him, ordering him to dress himself immediately. The elf looked confused for a moment, panic flashing across his eyes. "I have no intentions to use you as such, and neither you nor Elrond will be punished. Please, just put on the clothes, and we must talk."

She left the room and returned with Elrond trailing behind her. She noticed immediately how both elves tensed upon seeing each other in her room. They knew that something was happening, but knew not what to make of it. Elizabeth ordered for them both to sit in chairs, an act which they did with great reluctance, both quite clearly fearing some sort of trap. Their eyes were scanning each other desperately, a silent conversation passing between them.

Elizabeth turned her back and set about preparing tea for three. She was stalling. Though she was well aware that her delay was doing little to ease their nerves, she didn't even know where to start. For years, her secrets had kept her safe. What would the peoples of Middle Earth do if they knew her to be of a different world? How could they possibly react to hearing that their history had been irrevocably changed? How would two beings, both far wiser and more powerful than she could even begin to imagine, use such information to destroy their enemies?

Perhaps it had never been her right to withhold it.

Elizabeth finally took a seat, pouring and passing out tea to the elves who took it silently, neither daring to sip from the fine porcelain cups. Part of Elizabeth longed for Aragorn's brandy again... but she needed a clear head. It was time for her to come clean.

"I shall start with expressing that this is not a trick, this is not a test, and this is most certainly not a punishment..." the fear in the elves' eyes didn't abate, but she could hardly blame them for note believing her. "What I am about to say may seem mad, but it is true and only one other in all of Middle Earth knows this secret, and she knows not the entirety."

"My Lady, I am sorry-" Glorfindel started, but Elizabeth cut him off.

"Glorfindel, there's absolutely nothing for you to be sorry about, though there is much for me to be." She sighed and ran a hand across her face. "What I'm about to tell you, the information that I'm sharing, in the wrong- or right depending on how you think about it, hands... it could cripple Gondor from within."

Both elves had been silent before, but they grew even more still. Unspoken words passed between them in their eyes of a language that Elizabeth could never hope to decipher.

"And all I will command, is that you listen until the end of my story. I can ask you to believe, though I know it'll be hard."

"Of course, we shall listen," Elrond nodded his head gravely.

"I am..." Elizabeth chose her words with care. "I am not of Middle Earth. I am from a world... different to this one. A world that is thousands of years ahead of where this one is now. Where I am from, elves, dwarves, hobbits, orcs, dragons... they don't exist. It is a world of men alone, a world of technology where carriages move without horses and people can communicate across vast distances with a device that fits into the palm of your hand. There is no magic, just technology and science."

She paused and watched how Elrond and Glorfindel's eyes grew in wonder.

"And this is where you learned to heal?" Elrond asked, the question seemingly slipping out without him intending.

"Yes," Elizabeth smiled slightly. "In my world we call healers doctors, and I spent years in school studying to be one. The healing that I do here... it's primitive compared to my world. Where I'm from, I can use a device to see inside a woman's belly and watch a child develop in the womb, I can prevent infection with a single medication, and I stitch together a ruptured organ from a slit barely larger than the width of my nail. And also... in my world, slavery is considered a thing of history and only practiced by the most backwards, vile, and terrible people. We see it as brutal and wrong, and the first time I saw the slave trade here I lost the contents of my stomach. The actions of this trade, the easy acceptance here... it goes against everything that I-" her head fell into her hands as she shook her head. "I never should have gone along with it... but I did."

"To walk amongst the Lords of Minas Tirith, you had to become like them," Glorfindel said softly.

Elizabeth nodded. She felt tears prickling at the back of her eyelids, but she held them back. She had no right to cry when admitting to her own sins. She looked at Glorfindel.

"What I did... what I almost- I never," she shook her head to clear the emotions threatening to choke her. "There is nothing I can do to take it back, and that Ring- I didn't- I couldn't-"

Elrond placed his cup on the end table and crossed his hands delicately in his lap. He kept his head down as he spoke in a carefully crafted tone of utter respect and submission.

"I understand that this is a great secret that you have entrusted us with," there was a precarious evenness to his tone. "But I must beg to ask you why you feel that there is danger in this knowledge for though your world seems strange... there is nothing that a lowly slave could-"

"That's not the dangerous part," she pushed herself upwards, sitting straight and taking a few deep, calming breaths. "The dangerous part is that in my world, there are books... story books of fiction that tell of a place called Middle Earth, of a Ring that was crafted in darkness and evil... and heroes who fought against it. It's a Middle Earth where the elves are not enslaved, but instead fought alongside men in what was known as The Last Great Alliance of Elves and Men..."

"That-"

"Didn't happen here, I know... but the history... it's how I know so much about both of you, about your kin. I know what you were supposed to become and- I know what should have happened."

"It's how you knew-"

"You areLaurefindlof Gondolin, Lord of the House of the Golden Flower, a firstborn elf who crossed the Helcaraxë, was slain in a battle with a Balrog, and reborn- sent back to Middle Earth to aid Gil Galad and Elrond in the war against Sauron." She closed her eyes and sighed, repeating a line from what was once one of her favorite books of all time. "Glorfindel was tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and clean, and his voice like music; on his brow set wisdom, and in his hand was strength."

"And I-"

"You are Elrond, Peredhel. You were born in the Havens of Sirion with you twin brother, a descendent of all three tribes of Elves, all three houses of Edain. You and your brother were taken captive during the Third Kinslaying and raised by Maglor Feanorian who grew to love both of you. Your brother chose the path of mortality, and you chose the path of the elves. He was as noble and fair as an elf-lord, as strong as a warrior, as wise as a wizard, as venerable as a king of dwarves, and as kind as summer."

Something had changed in the air, a shift in the atmosphere of the room. There was a tension lingering, like the hum from the cord of a harp, a vibration cutting through the silence.

"Why... why are telling us this?" Elrond asked, the first hint of confidence in his tone.

"Because I can no longer play this game, because things need to change... and I cannot do that alone." Both elves were staring at her, she feel them peering into her soul. She had told them everything, she had bared the truth to them and she was about to hand them what could very well be the key to their freedom and her destruction if they chose to betray her as they probably should with how she had treated them.

"I am telling you this, because I need your help."

Notes:

I'm still alive!
I'm so sorry that it's been taking me so long to update, and I'm so grateful for all the amazing people who keep reading and commenting. You guys really help to cheer me up and absolutely brighten my day.
Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I promise that there is more to come. Elizabeth has just stepped into a new phase of her life in Middle Earth and who knows what will happen next.

Chapter 36 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

There was a tense beat of silence.

"...Our help?" Elrond inquired, one eyebrow slowly rising. Of the many directions a tense meeting with Lady Elizabeth had the potential of going in, this was certainly unexpected. Elrond's mind was still reeling from the thought that there is a world where, due to one decision, the suffering of his people never came to pass.

"Gondor is under attack... someone with more power than should be possible is testing our strength, prodding our defenses and, despite what I've said in court..." Elizabeth paused and looked away for a moment. "I fear they're preparing for an attack that may spell the end of not just Gondor... but Mankind's presence in Middle Earth. It may be the end for us all..."

"And you seek ourassistance?" Elrond prodded further. Glorfindel was strangely silent beside him.

"I know that asking you to aid myself and Gondor is arrogant and mad at best, but look me and say that this impending doom won't affect every creature in Middle Earth. Tell me that whoever uses magic to conceal orcs before their attack would be kinder to elves than Gondor's nobility... tell me that you would desire for that child whose arm you bandaged yesterday to be slaughtered by dark forces that you once battled against."

"And what would you have us do?"

Lady Elizabeth paused for a moment, breathing deeply.

"Help me." She stood and walked over to the window, leaning heavily upon the sill. "I've spent the last five years learning how to navigate in the shark's tank of this citadel. Treaties with foreign nations, taxes, spending plans, squabbles betwixt subjects and lords alike... I've made many mistakes along the way. Luckily, thus far I've been capable of managing such errors." She turned around, her eyes locking with Elrond's. "But this is war. With one error, I could condemn hundreds, thousands to death. I've told you, I'm a healer by trade. I don't know war... but I do know very well what the consequences of it are."

"You want us to be your advisors?" Glorfindel asked.

No. As much as Elrond liked to consider himself a healer rather than a leader, he had spent enough years by King Gil-galad's side to know a fair bit about court. There was absolutely no way that Lady Elizabeth would willingly give so much information, so much potential leverage, to simply ask them to aid her in decisions. She wants something more.

Elrond's mind wandered back to that day, the day what seemed like ages ago, when Glorfindel passed his less than subtle message. Glorfindel had somehow been informed that Lady Galadriel wanted them to cooperate, that the wisest and most powerful elf in all of Middle Earth believed that Lady Elizabeth could be of use to them.

"All I'm asking, right now, is for both of you to keep your heads down and your ears open. Observe everything and everyone. Things are changing in the court of Gondor... King Tirgon asked me to take up the mantle of heir and," she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and bent down to retrieve a ring sitting innocently on the floor in the far corner of the room.

As soon as he saw the flash of light reflecting off the gold surface, Elrond heard the hum of magic. He knew that ring, he knew exactly what it was.

"You bear a dwarven ring," Elrond stood in shock. "One of the Seven-"

"I failed to bear a dwarven ring," Lady Elizabeth corrected with smirk that seemed closer to a grimace. Careful to not touch the ring itself, she wrapped the powerful artifact in her handkerchief before tucking it into a small leather pouch which she then locked into a miniature metal chest. "I have no intention of wearing it again."

Elrond couldn't help but notice the way Glorfindel stiffened slightly. He made a mental note to check on his friend later, but at the present moment he had greater concerns.

"Since I assume that nothing may change on the surface of our lives, may I make a request?" This was his chance. Cooperation, helping future heir of Gondor was not something that he had expected to do in the past age, but there was at least something he could gain from it.

"I will-"

They were interrupted by a frantic knocking.

"Elizabeth! Oh gods, Elizabeth!"

Glorfindel immediately began to slide to his knees, Elrond following suit when Lady Elizabeth halted them both with a raised hand. They both froze. If someone were to enter at that moment, they would see Lady Elizabeth with her two elves, sitting together at a table like equals.

"Come in Runhild," Lady Elizabeth called.

"Elizabeth! They need you right away! King Tirgon is calling for you but the Healing Halls are absolutely-" she paused for a bit, stumbling over her words when she noticed Elrond and Glorfindel sitting at the table. But, much to Elrond's surprise, the young maid quickly recovered and continued her message without a word about the elves. "The Healing Halls are in chaos and half of them are refusing treatment and I'm pretty sure Tristam is about to tear his hair out-"

She paused, inhaling deeply and closing her eyes for a moment in a move that seemed well practiced.

"I'm sorry... let me start from the beginning," she said, now much calmer and slower.

"It's alright, you're doing just fine." Lady Elizabeth reassured.

"A patrol of Rohirrim Riders were set upon by what they described as an unusually skilled pack of orcs and Uruk-hai. They were patrolling the South-East boarders of Rohan and thus they were closer to Minas Tirith than their own homes. Because of that, they've just arrived here in hopes of recovering in the citadel. But, they're anxious to return home to warn their people of this threat. Of the twenty three injured, seven of them are severe and approximately half of the injured men refuse to trust our healers, Meanwhile, King Tirgon is trying to call an emergency council meeting with the Captain of the Riders so they can asses the threat."

Lady Elizabeth took approximately three seconds to think before nodding her head sharply and standing.

"Do you know any of the riders?" She asked the maid.

"Aye," she nodded quickly. "My cousin is among the uninjured and a few of them I played with as a child."

"Good," the earlier hesitation was gone and now Lady Elizabeth appeared just as she did all those months ago when he first laid eyes upon her in King Tirgon's court. "Runhild, thank you for your report. You're to take Elrond with you to the Healing Halls, twenty three is well within their capacity to handle without me. Speak to the Matron and tell her that you're there to help. I need you to talk to the riders and convince them to accept treatment. You have my blanket permission to utilize whatever resources you require."

Runhild nodded once, bowing quickly and turning towards the door, pausing and raising her eyebrow when Elrond was a bit slow to react.

Taking Lady Elizabeth's nod as permission, Elrond stood and followed after the strange maiden who walked with more energy and pride in her stride than many co*cksure soldiers he had known. She was quite clearly young and rather diminutive in size, but seemed to have no problem shouting orders at the cluster of Gondorian soldiers crowding the entrance to the Healing Halls.

"Oy!" She yelled, several of the men pausing and doing a double take when they noticed who was speaking to them. "If you want to hear the gossip about the attack then you'll have to wait until your captains have been briefed. Until then I want to see you gone. The last thing the Healing Halls need is your lot loitering about and getting in the way."

"We're guarding the doors... in case of further attacks," the sad excuse was made with a wave of a hand.

"Move along Maid, this ain't yer business," another called.

Runhild bristled like an angry cat and appeared half a second away from lashing out at the soldier with her bare nails before paused.

"You're currently speaking with Lady Elizabeth'spersonal maid who she happened to give blanket authority to see to the safety of the Healing Halls. And thus, taking your oh-so-wise concerns over security very seriously, the twelve of you can go guard the outer ramparts and watch for and Uruk-hai that approach the citadel. Since you're obviously so dedicated to your work and are clearly concerned for the welfare of ours guests, you'll remain there till dawn. Am I clear?"

The soldiers, and Elrond, all silently gaped.

"You- you can't-"

"Blanketauthority," she smiled brightly. "Of course, if you don't believe me then you can always interrupt the Council meeting to check with Lady Elizabeth, but at this moment, disobeying my orders is quite the same as disobeying Lady Elizabeth. I think you'll find it best to comply."

The soldiers all gave each other a series of hesitant looks before silently slinking off to their punishment post. Runhild waited till they were out of sight before brushing off her hands as if she had just finished handling something particularly unpleasant. She turned to Elrond with a perfectly pleased smile.

"Now, shall we go knock some sense into some stubborn men?"

At a rather loss for words, Elrond only nodded and followed her inside.

***

Elizabeth's heart was still racing from her talk with the elves, but she didn't have any time to stop and think on it too long. Glorfindel remained in line, two steps behind her, as she approached the Council Chambers. She didn't bother looking back at him. If he decided to out her now, well there wasn't much that she could do.

Half the Council had already assembled and their expressions ranged from panicked to nearly bored. Elizabeth withdrew her parchment and charcoal just as Aragorn arrived. He gave her one quick nod before taking his seat.

The Council began with some of its usually pointless bickering- reports of the battle, figures of the wounded, reviews of the previous attacks, and so on. The real question was what to do with all the information and for that, no one really had a good answer.

"I say we strike first," Lord Penderon spoke suddenly. "We know that Haradrim have participated in a number of these attacks, that's as good as any reason to strike back. "

"You wish to launch an unprovoked attack?" Cried Lady Elthbelion. Lord Penderon scoffed.

"Hardly unprovoked if you ask me. Where is their nearest settlement?"

"They have a small village near the Palargir," Commander Faldrin mentioned off handedly. "Although it's more of a trading outpost than anything. Hardly a place to launch armies from."

"Then we start there," Lord Valhain replied.

"We cannot know for certain that their entire race is to blame," Elizabeth interjected. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. "We have only just established relations with them, but we must speak with them before we suddenly accuse them of such evil."

"And if it's too late by then?" Lord Flaverion injected.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to speak again, but Aragorn beat her to it.

"These attacks have occurred as far North as Erebor and as far West as Edoras. If Haradrim soldiers had been marching up from the South... don't you think we would've noticed."

"Lord Aragorn makes a fine point," Kind Tirgon spoke gravely. "And what you are suggesting is genocide."

"Not genocide, war," Lord Valhain lifted his chin self righteously. Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Honorable and righteous war."

It was at that moment that Elizabeth recalled quite vividly that Lord Valhain held considerable influence and support from the Blacksmiths' Guild, not to mention owning a fair number of smithies. Elizabeth felt an all too familiar rage bubbling insider her over the idea that such a pompous and arrogant ass would push for unnecessary war, for violence of such extreme, just to like his already fat pockets. Meanwhile, the man continued with his arrogant speech.

"You all know the old saying as well as I," Lord Valhain stood proudly in his declaration. "There is no greater honor for Man or Kingdom than war."

"There is no honor in death and destruction," Elizabeth remained seated, but her voice seethed. "War is merciless, cruel, and uncertain. It is wisest to avoid it until the absolute last resort. There is no honorin killing and death."

"And what would you know of war?" Lord Valhain turned a sharp eye on her. There was an audible inhale in the room.

"With all due respect," Lord Flaverion said in a tone that would have been considered treasonous if Elizabeth had been a man. But no, she was a mere woman and such a tone was the properway to speak to a lady who may hold moredelicatesensibilities."From what experience do you draw from? You have not, my Lady, ever served."

"When orcs last came down from the mountains of the west," Lord Valhain spoke grandly to the room. "I fought alongside my men, shoulder to shoulder we battled them back. I watched my brothers dies with honor for the safety of Gondor. They are mourned and loved for their sacrifice."

"My father was a soldier of Gondor, and his father before him," Lord Flaverion now lifted his chin haughtily. "Now, my son serves in the guard of Minas Tirith. I do not take sacrifice lightly, but I know the risks as well as any."

"Do you? Do you really know these risks Lord Flaverion?" Elizabeth remained visually calm, using every ounce of self control to reign in her temper. "Because while I may not have ever charged in the van, I have witnessed the devastation of war. You commanders send your brothers into battle to die, but not all die honorablyon the field. Sauron's dark magic and twisted science salted and burned our fields, planted diseases that render men mad, released bombs with that kill soldiers before they have a chance to lift their sword."

"My Lady, there are always consequences to war, but it is a great honor to die in war, to die in service to Gondor."

"Honor? What honor?!" Elizabeth had her hands clenched in her lap under the table, her words she practically spat. Back home, she thought the results of gang fights or prison riots being wheeled into her ER were bad... but they were minor compared to the horrors that she witnessed in Minas Tirith. She treated the after effects of war, the lingering poisons, skirmishes... and that was more than enough. Some of the wounds were like ones she had studied in textbooks from the First World War. "Let me ask you, is there honor in being held down by five Healers so that another may used a saw better suited to trees than the bones of an arm, all in an effort to prevent blood poisoning? Because that is that I see after these battles."

"If you had ever fought my Lady, you would understand-"

"Understand? Let me tell you what I understand." She remained seated, the picture of composed as she spoke. "Last week, a group of miners were excavating an old shaft that they believed to hold mithril. It turns out, the shaft had been sealed during the Great War for it contained a gas once used by Sauron's army. The gas escaped and rushed into the lungs of the men. A few hours later, a cart filled with fifteen men, ten already dead with their living companions buried amidst the corpses arrived at my Healing Halls. We bathed their skin in buckets of water, used every substance we could think of to neutralize the poison, but there was little we could do as their eyes turned red and watered, their lungs spasming as they coughed up blood and sputum that we desperately tried to keep them from drowning in. Their bladders and bowels released, leaving them covered in their own stinking filth all the while their muscles clenched uncontrollably leaving them in agony."

"My Lady, that is hardly proper-" Lord Valhain began, but was cut off by another who stood up and slammed his hand down on the table.

"War is not a pretty thing my Lady, but the youth of Gondor are ready and willing to die in honor for-"

Elizabeth cut him off, still sitting in place and with an eerie calm in her voice as she recited the lines of a poem that she had once loved.

"If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace

Behind the wagon that we flung him in,

And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil’s sick of sin;

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie: There is no greater honor

For Man or Kingdom than war."

Elizabeth finished her recitation and looked up, her chin held high and the buzz of challenge in the air. Slowly, she stood, bracing two hands on the table as she spoke in the same dangerously level voice.

"I may not have ever charged into battle, watching brethren die around me. But do not say that I don't understand war," the other men all slowly sank into their chairs as Elizabeth's voice washed over the room like a high tide. "You commanders and soldiers fight, then return to your tents or manors to rest at the conclusion of the battle, but as a Healer my tasks never end. I am the one who scavenges amongst corpses, searching for any who still breath. I am the one in the Healer's Tents, trying to find those who can still be saved and being forced to determine those who can't. I am the one who holds the saw the cuts through bone, the one who smells the wretched malodor of burning flesh when we are forced to cauterize a wound. I cut out rotten skin and stitch together organs, only to watch the boy of sixteen summers die a slow death of blood poisoning."

Elizabeth found her voice rising slightly, her calm veneer fading as she recalled every emergency skirmish which she had cleaned up after, every soldier, far too young to die, slipping away beneath her hands. So many of them she could've saved if only for something as simple as penicillin.

There was a harsh silence in the council chambers.

For a moment, everyones eyes seem to fall to their own laps, Elizabeth's words and furious tone settling thick in the air around them. It was at that moment, when no one was looking, that Elizabeth felt the slightest ghost of a touch in her lap. She looked down to Glorfindel who remained kneeling with his head down as if nothing had happened, but sitting in the folds of her dress was a small scrap of parchment.

Elizabeth carefully retrieved it and, as subtly as she could, arranged it as one of the many papers she had scattered before her. Once settled amid her other notes, she finally read the neat but hurried script.

The Haradrim don't have that sort of power, and they're not valuable enough for anyone of that magnitude to ally with them. If they're involved, they're being used... probably to throw your attention. Find the sorcerer and you have your foe.

She could barely believe it. She flicked her eyes back to Glorfindel, but he resolutely avoided her gaze.

Can I trust him?

She didn't know what to think. After everything she had done to him, with all the threats that Gondor posed to his kind... she seriously doubted that he would willingly aide her. And yet, his reasoning was so clear and made perfect sense.

"If you do not wish for outright war against the Haradrim," Kind Tirgon turned his eyes to Elizabeth. "Then what actions do you suppose we should take?"

"So far my scouts have found little," Commander Faldrin brought up. He cast a quick glance towards Aragorn who nodded gravely. Elizabeth knew already that Aragorn had a similar report.

"I believe," Elizabeth glanced at the note once more, taking a deep inhale.Well here goes nothing."I don't believe that the Haradrim have access to this sort of power. Very dangerous and powerful magic is being wielded... if we wish to eliminate the threat... we must find the sorcerer. Attacking the Haradrim will only weaken and distract us."

"But how are we to find a sorcerer who can control orcs and conceal an entire arm?" Sir Baldred questioned.

"What about the Wizard?" Aragorn asked. Elizabeth felt her heart drop. "The one who calls himself Gandalf... if any know magic... it's him."

"One of my men saw him in the outer city earlier today," Commander Faldrin said.

"So it's settled," King Tirgon placed a palm flat on the table.

"Your Majesty, please-" Lord Flaverion stood. "If we don't act now then Gondor-"

"Will not fall in a day." King Tirgon withered the man with his gaze. "Commander Faldrin, have one of your men retrieve the Wizard, tell him that I request an audience at once." The head of the Ithilian Rangers stood and nodded once before walking quickly towards the doors to execute the orders. "Lord Aragorn, I want you to see that our allies are well rested and well equipped. Send one of your fastest messengers to alert the king in Edoras that his men are safe here. I will speak to their captain and Lady Elizabeth, I would like a word with you before we meet with the Wizard. The rest of you are dismissed."

With the Council adjourned, Lord Valhain and Lord Flaverion left a huff, tossing one last glare at Elizabeth when the King wasn't looking. Lady Elthbelion was escorted out by Sir Baldred who was no doubt preparing Minas Tirith for the potential worse case scenario. Meanwhile, Aragorn gave Elizabeth one reassuring squeeze on her shoulder before he too vacated the room.

The short meeting between King Tirgon, the Captain of the Rohirrim, and herself passed in a blur. Elizabeth's mind could only focus on the elf at her feet, the one who had helped her despite everything, the one whoknewwho Gandalf really was.

Should I send him away now?

Glorfindel had, so far, done nothing to undermine her, nothing to threaten her despite the knowledge that he now possessed. Instead, he helped her. He helped her prevent meaningless bloodshed. But could she trust him? If there was one thing that Elizabeth knew about Gandalf, it was that he wasalwaysscheming.

A page arrived and informed the King that the Wizard was being brought up. Well, it was too late. It would look strange if she sent Glorfindel away in such a hurry and plus, he would likely walk right past him in the hallway. It looked like he was going to be learning a lot more than she had initially planned to reveal.

"Now Elizabeth," King Tirgon turned to her. "About my earlier query..."

sh*t.

Well... in for apenny-

Notes:

I'm back!!! Sorry about the long gap once more.
Things are starting to get moving and we're gonna be jumping into the real thick of the plot as a few new characters are about to get tossed in. But, I also wanted to give you guys a little more of a look into some of the characters that have been hovering about for quite a while.
Also, the poem is "Ducle et Decorum Est" by Wilfred Owens which is an absolutely amazing poem. I switched out the last line because obviously latin would mean nothing to the population of Middle Earth, but the message remains the same.
Last note, I recently made a discord (link posted in the description) so if anyone wants to pop in and chat then feel free. I hope ya'll are staying safe and at least someone sane in these crazy times :)

Chapter 37 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"I have thought about it..." Elizabeth paused, breathing deeply. "And yes, I will accept the honor of becoming your heir."

Tirgon grinned widely.

"Wonderful!" He clapped his hands together. "I shall have the papers drafted and we will make the official inquiry and acceptance tonight."

"Tonight?" Elizabeth was shocked. She had just barely accepted the idea of becoming Gondor's heir, of tying herself permanently to the Citadel and all it meant to rule a kingdom trapped in time.

"Why of course, there's no time to lose. The delegation from Erebor should be arriving tonight and I shall make the announcement at supper." Tirgon called a page over and gave a few short orders before rising and offering his arm to Elizabeth, escorting her to the throne room. "For now though, we must meet with this wizard and see what he knows of the foe who seems determined to test Gondor's strength."

When they arrived at the throne room, each took their seat, Glorfindel silently kneeling at his cushion by her throne. Elizabeth risked a glance down at the elf who had his eyes resolutely glued to the floor, but she knew that he must be burning with questions. There was no time however as soon, a guard stepped forth and proclaimed that the wizard had been retrieved and was to be brought forth.

Tirgon ordered them to open the doors.

Elizabeth held her breath.

A tall figure, slightly hunched over and clad in grey shuffled into the room. He leaned heavily upon the arm of the soldier escorting them as it was clear that his staff had been confiscated. Elizabeth resisted the urge to roll her eyes at the efforts that Gandalf made to mask his true strength.

"The wizard Gandalf," Kind Tirgon opened the conversation, granting the visitor leave to speak.

"Your Majesty," he began. "I was honored to receive your request."

Elizabeth heard the sharp intake of breath by her side. She instantly placed a hand on the elf's head, making a motions as if she were petting a dog as she tried to gauge his response. She glanced down briefly and saw Glorifndel openly staring at the wizard. Again, masking her motions as merely petting, Elizabeth pushed down on Glorfindel's head, forcing his eyes back to the floor. The elf seemed to finally take the hint and moved his gaze back to the marble beneath him. But, Elizabeth could still clearly see the way his spine had tightened.

The wizard, far more composed, spared a brief glanced at the chained elf, his eyes flickering to Elizabeth before a slight frown twinged at the corner of his lips. The expression as gone in an instant and he returned his attention to King Tirgon as he smiled genially.

"I am at your service," Gandalf maintained an easy expression. Elizabeth could practically feel the questions burning in Glorfindel's mind at the name Gandalf.

"Tell me, Gandalf, what do you know of cloaking magic, of sorcerers with the ability to hide an army from view across an open plain?"

Gandalf frowned slightly.

"Such would require a powerful spell, sire," he shook his head slowly. "Never have I attempted such a feat and few I know who might be capable of it... though I cannot be certain that it's possible."

Tirgon released a derisive huff.

"Well wizard, I can tell you with certainty that it is possible."

"The attacks on the Rohirrim and Osgiliath?" A look of genuine surprise crossed Gandalf's face as Elizabeth realized that he might not have even been aware that such magic had been used against Gondor. When she thought more upon it, Elizabeth realized that there was likely a lot that Gandalf didn't know. In the books he had arrived in Middle Earth in a time when he was greeted by friends and worked closely with the elves. She had no idea how much of Middle Earth Maiar were aware of. Gandalf certainly had less help in this world than he did in the novels.

"And how do you know of these attacks?" Tirgon's voice was sharp with suspicion.

"As I have told you before, your majesty," his tone was genuine, but the twinkle in his eye suggested otherwise. "I am a traveler, I walk many paths and speak with many folks. News of attacking orcs and Haradrim spreads quickly."

"Hmmm," Tirgon glanced over at Elizabeth who retained a neutral expression.

"But," Gandalf spoke slowly. "If the one attacking Gondor does indeed have magic of the type that you've described, this could be a grave threat. I must examine the scenes myself before I can come to any conclusion... with your permission of course, your majesty." He added the last note as more of an afterthought, his concentration seemingly elsewhere.

Elizabeth saw an opportunity.

She leaned in close to Tirgon who turned his head to listen to her words.

"You should send him with a guide whom you trust, someone who will watch him and be capable of being watched," she paused a moment as if in thought. "Might I suggest Aragorn?"

Tirgon nodded once in response as Elizabeth waved a page over before sending him off to fetch Aragorn.

"Well then, Gandalf," Tirgon said. "If you can bring us information on the enemy behind these attacks, you shall be well rewarded... though I sense you are not one to be swayed by gold." Before Gandalf could reply, Aragorn made his entrance, eyes sweeping over the scene quickly before quirking one eyebrow in question to Elizabeth at the frankly bizarre figure of Gandalf. Aragorn bowed to Tirgon who continued to speak. "This Lord Aragorn, chief of the Dunedain Rangers. He can track a silvan elf over bare rock on a foggy day and knows these lands like no other. If there is any sign of dark magic, then he will surely aide you in finding it."

Gandalf and Aragorn stood, each appraising each other, for several moments. Aragorn nodded his head once towards the wizard in acknowledgement before bowing to Tirgon, one clenched fist over his heart.

"As his majesty commands."

"How long till you are prepared?" Tirgon asked Aragorn.

"I can leave at tomorrow's sunrise."

"Is this agreeable?" Tirgon asked Gandalf who nodded once. "Very well. A servant will show you to rooms where you may rest the night. Tomorrow, you will meet Lord Aragorn at the stables and he will take you to the sites of the attacks."

Aragorn bowed once more upon being dismissed, shooting a quick glance towards Elizabeth to let her know that he would certainly be stopping by to speak with her before he left. Elizabeth, for her part, was already wrestling with what to do next. Of course Glorfindel knew who Gandalf really was, but could he know the wizard's purpose in Middle Earth? From every piece of evidence presented in the books, Gandalf always had more up his sleeve than he was willing to say and loved nothing more than meddling in the affairs of Middle Earth. Elizabeth was also certain that he would, understandably, be squarely on the side of the elves in this conflict. The problem would come of course, if his loyalty to the elves would be to the doom of men. At the present moment, nothing short of removing the entire noble lines and governing bodies of men and dwarves would set the elves free. Elizabeth could hardly blame him for wanting to and, in another life, may have been eager to jump forth and lead the charge. But, she had learned many things through age her time in court. Among them was the fact that power vacuums are a dangerous thing, and that the guilty are rarely the ones who suffer greatest in war.

On another note...how forthcoming will Glorfindel be about Gandalf? Will he willingly reveal Olorin?

Elizabeth had a feeling that she knew the answer.

***

Glorfindel followed silently behind Lady-Princess Elizabeth. He could still hardly believe it. This young maiden who knew too much, whose origin only became more mysterious with each explanation, was somehow set to become the next ruler of Gondor.

But, aside from that, he had bigger problems.

Olorin is in Middle Earth...

The Maia of Valinor, beloved of Nienna, and old friend of his from the days before the Sundering. He was here, in the treacherous talons of Gondor, going by the name ofGandalf.The crackled skin of an old man and bent shape could not disguise him from one who once walked beside him in the days before the sun and moon. Glorfindel would never forget the light that shine from within Olorin.

What is he doing here?

Glorfindel knew that Olorin recognized him, he knew that the "wizard" had seen him kneeling beside the throne of Lady Elizabeth. He also knew that the only reason for the Maia to be in Minas Tirith, to be in Middle Earth... well it had to be a mission from the Valar. A bright burst of hope flared through Glorfindel's chest as he realized that perhaps the Valar didn't abandon them, perhaps Eru was still fond of his first born. It was no secret that most elves had long assumed that they had been abandoned by their creators. Olorin's presence had to be a sign that not all hope was lost.

"So what do you think?" Lady Elizabeth's words shocked Glorfindel out of his musings. He had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had hardly realized that they had arrived back in Lady Elizabeth's rooms. Elrond was missing from his corner spot, likely in the Healing Halls as he tended to be these days.

"Pardon?" He asked, trying to adjust himself to the frank way she spoke to him now that she had told him so much of her past.

"That man... Gandalf. What do you think of him? Do you think him dangerous?" She tilted her head, something strange in her expression. It was a look that Glorfindel was tempted to mark as genuine curiosity. But, she always was difficult to read.

"I think..." Glorfindel hesitated. Olorin was perhaps the last hope for elves... there was no other reason for his presence in Middle Earth. "I sense no evil or darkness from him. I doubt that he could be dangerous."

"But what of his claims?" She persisted. "Do you think him capable of the magic he has spoken of? Do you think he is able and willing to help?"

"I- I am unsure. He is a rather strange... man." Glorfindel was eminently glad that Lady Elizabeth's mortal ears couldn't hear his heartbeat. "I doubt that he means harm though. Perhaps... perhaps you should trust him. He certainly seems as though he can help and as you yourself has stated... this growing darkness is a danger."

"And what could be such a stranger's motivation for helping Gondor? He is obviously not one of our subjects and he seems to be offering a great deal." She leaned backwards in her chair, seemingly searching the ceiling above for answers.

"I... I wouldn't know, my Lady. I wouldn't worry too much about him though. What harm could an old man possibly do?"

"Hmmmm," Elizabeth chuckled a little ruefully and shook her head, eyes still glued to the ceiling. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. "Come in," she called, straightening herself and tugging on her dress to make herself more presentable.

"Elizabeth," Aragorn, pushed open the door. He had a strange glint in his eyes. "Care to tell me why I'm being sent on a wild goose chase with an old man who claims that he knows of magic?"

Lady Elizabeth's eyes were focused on her desk as she shuffled papers about, an act which Glorfindel knew to be a nervous habit of hers.

"Perhaps it is not a wild goose chase?" She replied.

"You think this old man is telling the truth with his claims of knowledge in magic? You think that he could tell us how to stop this army that can turn itself invisible by daylight?" Aragorn took a seat, leaning forward with one eyebrow co*cked.

"I think that there is more to this 'man' than we may suppose," she finally turned to face Aragorn directly, her eyes darting briefly to Glorfindel's before focusing once more on the man. For that brief fraction of a second when their eyes met, Glorfindel could swear that there was something piercing in her gaze. But, her eyes were now focused on Aragorn as her tone turned deadly serious. "Aragorn... do you trust me?"

There was a pregnant pause.

"Yes," he replied simply and honestly.

Lady Elizabeth exhaled and nodded.

"Okay, then please... go with Gandalf and show him the sites of the attacks. But, be careful. Do not allow yourself to be disillusioned by his words or actions, watch him as carefully as I suspect he will be watching you. I cannot honestly say that I understand his motives... but know that he is far more than he appears to be."

"You think that he is our foe?"

"No."

"You think him dangerous?"

"Absolutely. I am certain."

Aragorn nodded slowly, one hand idly tracing the handle of his dagger. Glorfindel resisted the urge to panic as he watched the way Lady Elizabeth responded with such assurance to the man's questions, not a note of hesitation in her tone as there was before.

"Then I will trust your words and watch him carefully."

"Good," Lady Elizabeth stood abruptly. "With that settled, we both must prepare ourselves for tonight. We have a welcome feast to attend and I said yes to the King." She said it so casually, but Aragorn's eyes lit up all the same. Yet, she held up a hand to stop him from speaking. "Not... not now please. Just... go make yourself presentable and I will do the same." She then glanced down at Glorfindel. "Runhild will be here soon to prepare you. I expect you to be on your best behavior."

Then, before he had a chance to utter a response, Aragorn was walking out the door and Lady Elizabeth was striding into her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

Glorfindel was left sitting there on the floor, his mind spinning as he went over the conversation that he had just listened to. He had made a gamble that he had assumed to be safe enough when he answered the maiden's questions about Olorin... but now he was no so certain about his choices.

***

"As we well know, these are troubling times," King Tirgon's somber tone quieted any last traces of murmuring in the filled dining hall. "In my many long years as King, I have and continue to be, honored to serve such loyal and faithful subjects. But, it is well known that man is not immortal and I, having never taken wife, have never produced an heir of blood. I love Gondor, her land, and most of all, her people. And it is because of this love that on this night, among friends as witness I shall appoint the one who will carry the burden of this crown when my time to rule has come to its end."

There was a quiet rush of whispers that swept the room as all wondered who the King could possibly appoint. Tirgon raised one hand, hushing the room instantly.

"And thus I ask one who I trust above all other, who I love as a child of my own blood, whose honor and strength is beyond measure. I ask this individual to give up all claims of their past life, to bind their life forever to the service of Gondor and become this Kingdom's heir. Lady Elizabeth-" a deep, collective inhale of shock was heard throughout the room. "Would you do me the honor, and bear the burden, of becoming heir to the throne of Gondor?"

All eyes zeroed in on Elizabeth who slowly stood and made her way over to the King with careful steps. The silence of the room was deafening and each click of her heeled shoes could be heard ringing like the sounds of a church bell. With three short steps, she reached Tirgon's right.

Summoning every ounce of grace and courage in her breast, Elizabeth dipped down into a low bow, her right palm flat against her chest as one of her knees touched the ground.

"I, Lady Elizabeth, accept your offer and do hereby swear to bear the burden of this position with as much strength and conviction that I may posses."

With those words, Tirgon pulled a slim crown, adorned with a single arch and a beautiful stone of alexandrite, from his cloak and placed it gently over Elizabeth's head. It was such a light, fragile thing, that she hardly felt the weight. Yet, she could feel something heavy descending on her heart.

"Rise, Princess Elizabeth, heir to Gondor." King Tirgon's voice was one of joy as he took Elizabeth's hand, pulling her to her feet amidst the cheers of the room.

As her eyes scanned the crowd however, there were a fair number whose smiles were far too forced, whose claps were entirely too polite to be considered sincere. Not everyone was happy with her appointment. She tried to ignore those stares and instead locked eyes with Aragorn who was beaming like a proud elder brother. His claps were some of the loudest in the room as Elizabeth slowly moved to retake her seat which had been moved slightly closer to Tirgon's as a sign of her being the heir.

Glorfindel had apparently picked up his cushion and moved it along as well so that he was still kneeling beside her when she sat down.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur. Aside from a quick, informal greeting and congratulations, she barely spoke with the dwarven guests and caught but a few glimpses of them. Their entourage had arrived later than expected and thus there was no time for the usual, ceremonial greetings. Tirgon had offered to postpone their welcome feast until after they had had a chance to rest from the road, but the dwarves insisted that they were eager for the feast and thus it continued as planned.

At one point, King Tirgon leaned over and informed Elizabeth that, in light of recent events, one of the dwarven party would be staying in Minas Tirith as a semi-long-term diplomat. One of Elizabeth's first duties as heir was to deal with him personally: get him settled in, make him feel welcome, and ensure that the White Tower made a suitable home for him. It was a slight change from Elizabeth's usual level of involvement with important guests. Generally it would be the King and his steward who saw to the care of visiting dignitaries whilst Elizabeth mostly saw them at official dinners and in meetings. But, as the one set to inherit Gondor it did make sense that she was to know her allies better.

"Of course my King-"

"Please," he chuckled a bit. "It's time for you to call me Tirgon, you are, after all, now my heir."

"Of course Tirgon," Elizabeth smiled softly, trying to get the sound of the King's first name wrapped around her tongue. She did her best to not internally cringe at the idea of having to waltz around the Citadel entertaining a likely irritable dwarf.

"You'll meet with him tomorrow afternoon, that should give you time to select his gift from the stock in the morning," King Tirgon added casually.

"My Ki- Tirgon," Elizabeth, realized exactly what his words implied and lowered her voice. "The dwarves are not well known to... partake in such preferences. They have little patience or use for living things that are not ponies to ride or slaves to work their mines. A personal elf would be more of an annoyance than a gift to a dwarf residing in the Citadel."

"Yes yes, I know," Tirgon frowned slightly. "And in any other circ*mstance I would gift him with gold or jewels as his people value. But, if he is to spend a significant amount of time in Minas Tirith, then he must find commonalities with our court. He will understand."

Hearing the finality in his tone and having learned through the years of the importance of picking one's battles, Elizabeth nodded, conceding the argument. She continued to eat her supper, trying her best to ignore the way at least two dozen pairs of eyes were, at all times, fixed on her.

In the morning, she would awaken as the Princess of Gondor, something that she could have only ever imagined as a dream of her five-year-old self. But then, she wouldwalk to the east atrium... the place where new elves were brought in, so that she could pick out an elven slave to give away as a gift.

She doubted that she could have ever conceived such a thing, even in a nightmare.

Notes:

Again, sorry for the long wait. This chapter ended up being longer than I originally planned and thus took quite a bit longer to get through. But, I hope you're having fun as the web gets more and more twisted.

Chapter 38 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

When Runhild threw Elizabeth's curtains open in the morning, it took every ounce of self restraint to not simply groan and pull her covers over her head.

"Rise and shine Princess," she called out cheerfully. "Tis your first day of royal duties!"

"Don't," she groaned in response.

"Of course, your Majesty-" Runhild replied cheekily, swiftly dodging the pillow that Elizabeth launched towards her. "My my my, such behavior is hardly proper of a princess."

Elizabeth finally managed to sit up, running her fingers through her hair and studiously avoiding looking at Glorfindel who was in his usual spot on the floor. Runhild had already placed a tray of breakfast on the small table and was pulling out a gown for Elizabeth to change into. She slipped behind her dressing screen with Runhild aiding her in lacing up the the corset. Runhild was taking over Gledswith's usual duties of going over Elizabeth's schedule for the day as the senior maid was seeing to the majority of the aspects regarding her transition from Counselor to Heir. Apparently aside from the official announcement and papers, obtaining the position of Gondor's heir included the need for everything from the commission of an official signet to new formal gowns.

Elizabeth sat at her dresser, picking at her breakfast as she washed her face and brushed her hair. She was halfway through pulling her hair back into a simple braid when Runhild pushed her hands away and began redoing it into a much fancier updo. Then, she pulled out a velvet sack and drew forth an elegant silver circlet. Elizabeth paused, a small frown crossing her face. The circlet was less adorned than the crown that she was now meant to wear for formal occasions, but, the idea of wearing a crown was still odd.

"I know it's strange... but this is your title now. You are indeed the Princess of Gondor," Runhild spoke softly as she set the circlet on Elizabeth's head, carefully weaving a few strands of hair through the silver to secure it in place.

Elizabeth watched this in the mirror, sighing lightly. A childhood fantasy if not for the burden she now carried.

"Careful," she warned the maid who had finished helping Elizabeth dress and was gathering up clothes to take for washing. "You're starting to sound like Gledswith."

Runhild gasped in mock horror before her usual smile fell into place.

"Master Gloin of Erebor is in the Yellow Room of the east wing. The Chief Steward should have the selection for the official gift ready by now."

"Of course," Elizabeth's temporary cheer instantly vanished as she remembered her first task of the day. "I'll see to that."

She stood from her vanity and exited her room, steadily avoiding looking at Glorfindel. In her parlor she gave Elrond a few brief instructions on his duties in the Healing Halls for the day before she set off to the east atrium. As she walked she tried to think through everything she knew about the dwarf Gloin.The Hobbit was far from the most detailed work in Tolkien's collection and thus Elizabeth wasn't entirely certain what she was about to get into. But, the dwarf had always seemed sensible and Elizabeth could only hope that she would find his company relatively agreeable.

It was still relatively early and thus the walk to the east atrium was a quiet one. Elizabeth took her time, greeting the servants who walked the halls, bustling about in the crisp morning air. But, all too soon she arrived at her destination, hesitating a short moment before walking through the guarded doors.

The east atrium was an area of the castle that she generally avoided. It was where the "special" slaves were brought in and kept. Most of such slaves were either loaned out to members of court, or given away as gifts. Elizabeth previously had very little interaction with such slaves, but with her new position, such was likely to change.

"Princess Elizabeth," a broad man wearing a Gondorian blue doublet bowed low.

"Master Eolith, no need for standing on ceremony," Elizabeth managed a tight lipped smile. "The King informed me that you would have a selection ready."

"Of course of course," he hurried to a little bell which he rang as two elves fetched a chair and tea for Elizabeth. "These six would be my most recommended... however if none of them satisfy your needs than we can always go browse the others."

At the ringing of the bell a line of three male and three female elves entered the room, all wearing the identical uniform of the White Tower's slaves, eyes averted and heads lowered in perfect form. As the last elf entered the room, Elizabeth resisted the urge to curse.

Because of course... of course it is.

For there, at the end of the line of elves, was Legolas. Considering the manner in which he was carelessly placed with the others, Eolith had no idea that a prince of elves graced his halls and Tirgon had no clue that the son of one of his own personal elves had been captured.

Making a snap decision that she knew she would live to regret, Elizabeth performed an impassionate and cursory examination of each elf before selecting Legolas with a wave of her hand. The elf appeared startled and somewhat hesitant, stepping forward slowly. Eolith, pleased that one of his initially selected elves was chosen, bowed graciously before shooing the remaining elves out the door and offering his farewells upon being dismissed.

The blond elf folded gracefully into a bow at his knees before Elizabeth, head down as he silently awaited orders. Elizabeth nodded her head once, more to herself than the elf whose eyes were averted, and tried to ignore how easily such an action was to the once prince of Mirkwood.

"You are to be presented as a gift to Lord Gloin of the Erebor dwarves." Legolas stiffened noticeably, breath pausing upon hearing of his new master. "You are not fated for the mines. Youwill attend to Lord Gloin through his time here in Minas Tirith and I expect that you will prove Gondor's hospitality to our allies. Am I understood."

"Yes, Mistress," his voice came out in a shaky shudder as if his breath was being forced from his lungs. Elizabeth's mind wandered to the question on how long had Legolas suffered under the attentions of Gondor's court... how harshly he had been broken.

"I am not your mistress," she replied tersely before turning and walking away, listening closely to hear his footsteps following.

Deliver Legolas, talk to Gloin, hope he's reasonable...Elizabeth recited in her head as she moved through the halls with a silent elven prince trailing behind her.He has to be close to the age that he was when he attended the Council of Elrond... and he wasconsidered a rather sage individual then. The dwarves have always beenbrusqueand uncaring in their dealings with elves in their mines... but tend to lack the cruel creativity of men. Perhaps if he seesthis new threat as dangerous enough... he could prove to be an ally. He has his King's ear and should be old andexperiences enough tounderstand the graveness of this threat...

They reached Gloin's guest accommodations and Elizabeth spared a single glance to check that Legolas was presentable before knocking firmly on the sold wood.

"The Princess Elizabeth of Gondor to see the Master Gloin of Erebor," she announced.

"Er... come in," came a slightly hesitant reply.

Elizabeth opened to door and stepped inside, Legolas following behind her and shutting it softly. Her eyes scanned the room quickly, a strange sense of dejavu coming over her as the Yellow Room had been her original guest quarters upon first being appointed to Master of the Healing Halls. When her eyes fell upon the dwarf hastily rising from his seat behind the overly large desk however, she stuttered, blinking several times as her mind tried to catch up with what she saw.

Instead of the long, gray hair of a grizzled dwarven veteran, she saw a shock of bright, fiery-red locks and a youthful face. The dwarf who approached her with eager steps was not the sage advisor to the King of Erebor who had in one version of life accompanied Thorin Oakenshield on his quest for the mountain.

"Apologies Princess," not-Gloin bowed politely. "My father was called away on rather urgent and unexpected business in Erebor and I was appointed as ambassador in his stead. Master Gimli, son of Gloin, at your service."

Elizabeth's careful plans of allying herself with the sensible dwarven lord came crashing down around her as she resisted the urge to gape at the young, hot-headed warrior who stood before her. The Gimli of Tolkien's books was decentlynotfond of elves and that was when there was no Dark Truce. She really didn't want to know what his opinion of the race was in light of such events. Nevertheless, she pushed aside her anxiety to deal with at a later time, plastering a charming court smile as she curtsied.

"No apologies necessary, Master Gimli. I hereby welcome you to Minas Tirith and, on behalf of King Tirgon, appoint to you this gift of an elven slave to attend to you here in court. May he serve you well."

Sensing his cue, Legolas, who had still not spoken since being chosen, stepped forward and slipped to his knees before folding himself into a deep bow before the young dwarf. Elizabeth watched Gimli closely, gauging his reactions as the dwarf appeared to very much wear his heart on his sleeve. She watched as his expressions morphed from shock to disgust to annoyed before being schooled into what, for a dwarf, would generally be considered polite.

"I-" he began, a frown tugging down the corners of his mustache.

"I know that this is neither what you expect or desire," Elizabeth cut in quickly before he said something that would likely be takenveryincorrectly by the wrong member of court. "But here in Minas Tirith we are bound by the rules of Gondorain court etiquette and we must all learn to adapt."

"You say we," he replied, one bushy eyebrow raised.

Elizabeth was startled by how quickly he picked up on her phrasing but was careful not to show it. Indeed she hadn't expected Gimli to catch onto her subtle use of words. But perhaps it did make sense that growing up in a more twisted version of this world had beaten at proud Gimli's temper and sharpened his whit into a more courtly direction.

"I did," Elizabeth's plans were once more re-formed into something perhaps workable.

Gimli hummed a sound somewhere between curious and thoughtful.

"Well then... what's his name?" He asked brusquely.

Elizabeth gestured towards Legolas, somewhat curious as to what name he would choose to go by.

"This one is Rhawion," he spoke carefully. "How may I serve you?"

Elizabeth resisted the urge to snort at his name choice. Perhaps he was not so thoroughly broken she he first appeared to be.

"You can fetch some ale and..." he hesitated, looking towards Elizabeth.

"Tea, please."

"And tea for us. Then you can make yourself busy staying out of my way until you're needed for court." Gimli was already turning around, not looking at Legolas as he offered a seat to Elizabeth, shoving aside the mess he had already made on his desk. "And don't ever let me catch you touching my axe, hear me elfie?"

Legolas nodded once, uttering a quiet "yes master" before slipping out the door. Gimli waited for it to fully shut before he turned to Elizabeth.

"Master Gimli-"

"Just Gimli," he cut in.

"Gimli then," she allowed a small smile to show. "And, when not in sessions of course, I ask that you call me Elizabeth." The dwarf made another slight humming sound.

"Alright Elizabeth," he leaned forward onto his desk, fixing the princess with a gaze that could almost be considered challenging. It seemed that what was initially meant to be a simple greeting between representatives of two houses was quickly turning into something far more interesting. "Tell me what I should know about the wolves' den."

***

"Elrond," the sharp voice of the Matron of the Healing Halls pulled the elf from his work grinding a cooling paste. "I need you in ward three. Several need their bandages changed and two need another dose of sleeping draught."

Elrond murmured a reply and stood, carefully setting aside his work for one of the Junior Healers to eventually pick up and continue with. His tasks in the Healing Halls were varied and he seemed to shift between the work that he would usually assign to a junior apprentice to procedures only ever performed by the most advanced in the craft. Nevertheless, he performed them all with the same care and precision that he had always used in his own walls.

It was a strange thing, to heal the sons and daughters of his foes. He never quite imagined himself in such a position. One might think that he would be tempted to do harm even in little ways, to press mayhems a bit firmer than necessary when bandaging stitches or to scrub a tad harsher when cleaning wounds. And perhaps they would be right, perhaps there was a small, vicious part of him that would like to do such things. But, every time he approached a patient, every time he found his hands dripping with the the blood of those who enslaved his own race, he found himself unable to do any more or less than he did with his own kin.

The instincts of a healer, perhaps?

Warrior was never a title that he wished to uptake and Herald of the High King was far from what he imagined himself as an elfling leaving the tower of Maglor Feanorian, hand in hand with his brother. He had seen so much violence, so much bloodshed, at such a young age and all for things that he could hardly comprehend. What value did heirlooms, did pride, did justice have when it meant burning homes and broken families? He had no heart for politics, but his lineage and his skills drew him to them nonetheless.

Despite the axe constantly swinging over his neck, despite the slight gnawing of betrayal for his kin that he felt each time a Gondorian soldier recovered under his care to march back to an army that hunted his kin for sport... there was something strangely pure about healing.

Perhaps he was simply going mad.

Either way, he collected a small hand-cart of supplies made his way to room with a large 3 painted above it. There were ten beds in each ward, separated by curtains affixed to wood frames in an effort to afford the healing patients a bit of privacy. After a quick walk by to ensure that no one was in any sort of immediate danger, Elrond began his work on the first patient, a kitchen maid who slipped on some spilled soup and broke her leg.

Things were going well until he came to his fourth patient, a young soldier in his prime with an infected sore on his foot. Before Elrond could get near enough to inspect the man's wound, he balked harshly.

"What do you want, elf?" he practically spat the title like it was an insult.

"I am here to change your dressing, young Master," Elrond kept his head bowed and his eyes averted, gesturing slowly towards the man's foot.

"Hah," he barked out a laugh. "There's no way I'm letting one of you pointy-ears anywhere near my wound."

"If that is your preference young Master, I can fetch a Junior Healer to attend to you once I finish in this ward," he kept his tone placid and subservient, this was not the first time he had had similar words spat at him.

"Actually," a sharp grin spread across the man's face. "If you're here you might as well make yourself useful."

"May I fetch you some water?" Elrond had already placed his healing supplied down and hoped to make a quick escape. He knew exactly what that smile meant.

"Stop," the man's firm voice commended as Elrond felt a fistful of his hair being sharply tugged. With another yank he was forced to his knees by the man's bed. "You're quite high and mighty for a slave, aren't you elf?"

Elrond had been nothing but deferential and polite, but reminding the man of such would surly do nothing to appease him.

"I apologize for any offense young Master," he kept his voice steady as he spoke. "I can fetch the Matron if you wish to file a complaint."

"I think I'd rather have you make it up to me," he tightened his grip and pulled Elrond closer.

There was not much the elf could do but allow himself to be yanked. For all the the staff of the Healing Halls seemed to accept his presence as merely another healer, albeit one a bit more detached from the group than most, it would be foolish for him to forget his position. Even in light of Elizabeth's confession of her hatred for slavery... an elf attacking a patient- a wounded soldier at that- would easily warrant his and Glorfindel's execution.

"Young Master, please-" he inhaled sharply as the man's other hand went to the collar of his tunic. "I am not a slave of the Healing Halls but am owned by Princess Elizabeth. She does not share her possessions-"

"Princess?" The man spat in disbelief.

"His Majesty King Tirgon announced her as his heir in last night's feast," he hastily replied, forcing his voice to stay steady. "Please allow me to return to my work, young Master-"

"And who says you're not making this all up?" he snarled, fully sitting up and yanking Elrond onto the bed. In a quick movement he had flipped Elrond onto his back and was sitting astride the elf's hips, pinning him to the thin mattress. "Is the pretty slave trying to shirk his duties by lying to a soldier of Gondor? You know what we soldiers do with liars, don't you?"

At some point during the struggle, he had seized a scalpel from Elrond's cart and was now holding it to the point of his ear. Elrond felt his breath catch in his throat as he realized that even the slightest movement would send the razor sharp blade through one of the most sensitive parts of his body.

"Young Master, please-" his earlier calm was gone and his voice came out as a whisper.

"Nah uh uh," he taunted, one hand wrapping around the elf's throat and the other tracing the line of his ear with the blade. "I'm sure you've seen some of them... running about the castle. They used to simply cut out the tongues of liars as we do to the same sort of criminals... but then of course that deprives the owners of such services that a tongue is useful in." Elrond held his breath as the man forced his mouth open and tapped the blade to his tongue. "But you know... it was Adravaine's idea to cut off the tip of an elf's ear. I saw him do it once, punish a little liar who was caught speaking to a free elf and not telling anyone." A wicked smile crossed the man's face as he seemed to relive the event. "Adravaine always said that it's painful, but I don't think I've ever heard a creature scream like that one did. I guess this time you'll have to tell me after what it feels like."

As the blade inched closer and closer to the tip of his ear, Elrond closed his eyes and sent a silent prayer to Lord Manwe for the strength to endure.

Notes:

Yo, guess who's back with a fully functional wrist!!!
I had a lot of fun playing with Gimli's character in this as it's an interesting thing to wonder what he would've been like growing up in this world. I imagine that he was raised in Erebor under Gloin who is a favored advisor of Thorin (an aging king at this point). And perhaps because Gloin spent many more years in court in this version of the timeline, Gimli was also raised with a bit more sense (though a same irreverence) of decorum. I also think that whilst the dwarven mines are considered an extremely cruel life for the elves... it's more out of a lack of care than any attention to cruelty. Most dwarves simply don't care about the elves or their comfort and they lack the creativity of men like Adravaine who enjoy harming the elves. In a way, the dwarves tend to treat elves like a particularly distasteful piece of equipment, useful for their purpose and not much else.
As for Legolas' chosen name, Rhawion is sindarin for "son of untamed one," so perhaps he isn't quite so broken as he seems... only time will tell.
Also, we've got Gimli and Legolas in the game now! Am I writing in too many characters to handle? Probably. But hey... like some of my other fics this one is spiraling out of control and now I'm just here for the ride.

Chapter 39 Notes:

*slight edit because I low key forgot that Aragorn is off with Gandalf and not in Minas Tirith.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"What is the meaning of this!?"

The soldier holding Elrond froze and turned his head. Peering over the man's shoulder, Elrond could see a young healer with red hair standing as still as stone at the foot of the bed. Elrond's heart still pounded in his chest.

"None of your concern," the soldier, thankfully moving the blade slightly further from Elrond's ear, dismissed the healer.

"You will unhand Healer Elrond this instant or I will call the guards," the healer's voice raised slightly in pitch as he folded both hands behind his back.

The soldier snorted.

"You're talking about this elf," emphasizing his words with a shake to Elrond's collar. "I'll do what I like with the elf."

"That elf is a member of the staff of the Healing Halls. Assaulting a staff member of the Healing Halls is a crime by decree of the King. Guards!"

With those words the man released Elrond, shoving him off the bed with a look of pure disgust in his eyes.

"He ain't worth it," the soldier spat in Elrond's direction, hitting the elf on the cheek. "Calm down, I let go of your toy."

A group of four guards now stood in the suddenly very cramped space, looking towards the young healer for direction. He took a few deep breaths before pointing to the soldier.

"This patient is to be relocated to a secure ward and kept under guard until he is cleared to leave by a Senior Healer. He is then under arrest by the authority of Healer Tristam."

Before the soldier could answer, the guards were stepping forward, already transferring the still injured man onto a stretcher. When the soldier struggled, they retrieved wide leather bands, working quickly and efficiently to secure him to the boards. The young healer turned and marched swiftly out of the room. Unsure of himself, Elrond rose to his feet, wiped off his cheek with a spare cloth, and followed.

The young healer-Tristam, walked swiftly down several hallways making multiple sharp turns. He didn't bother looking back as he flew through a doorway. Elrond followed quietly behind and closed the door. It seemed that they had arrived at a sort of storage room mostly occupied by spare bandages and cleaning cloths.

Elrond hovered hesitantly near the door, wondering if he should speak as he watched Tristam pace back and forth, a clear tremor in his spine. He shook out his trembling hands and seemed to be muttering something to himself. Then, before Elrond could react, he promptly spun and lunged for a bucket which he emptied the contents of his stomach into.

Elrond's healer instincts kicked in as he kneeled beside the young man rubbing soothing circles between his shoulder-blades. They remained in that position for several minutes until it appeared that he had caught his breath.

"A-are you alright?" Tristam asked, slowly rising from the bucket and wiping his mouth on a towel.

"I am unharmed," Elrond replied after an incredulous moment. "Are... you alright?" He had never before seen a man behave so strangely.

"Yes yes..." he tossed the soiled cloth away and began straightening his tunic. "Just a bit... overwhelmed." A wave of tremors suddenly shook the man as he leaned against the nearby shelves for support. "I can't believe I did that," he whispered to himself, awe clear in his voice. "I... yes. I just did that."

"Thank you for your aide," Elrond took a step back, not know what else to do, he bowed formally in thanks.

"Of course- yes..." the young man paced back and forth a few more times, still speaking mostly to himself and seemingly forgetting Elrond's presence. "Now I just- the forms yes... I need to go... the report." He ran his fingers through his hair, building up rows like a haphazardly ploughed field. "I- I should go."

And with that, he was out the door leaving Elrond alone in the closet, uniquely bewildered.

***

Gimli was on his 12th ale whilst Elizabeth sipped her fourth cup of tea. It was a positively delightful brew and she made a mental note to track down whoever made it at a later time. Their discussion had been long and banal, but it was necessary. Gondor and her courts were far from the nature of dwarfish politics. Whilst dwarves favored blunt speech, unwavering loyalty, and utter secrecy, the courts of men were far more inclined towards duplicity, catechism, and gossip. Whilst a dwarven council meeting could easily come to blows with hammers and axes, a council of men could spit vitriol and weave stories convoluted enough to cause a man to hand himself with mere words.

Even the syncopates were not to be taken lightly.

"And then-" Gimli leaned forward, a broad- if slightly lopsided- grin on his face as he recounted the time he and his cousin as dwarflings snuck one of the war goats into Erebor's throne room. "He shat right in front of the throne! 'His back to the King and everything!"

Elizabeth threw her head back and laughed. Perhaps they had gotten alittleoff topic, but sitting with Gimli was a unique sort of refreshing. He was frank and minced his words for nothing. It also greatly helped that amount dwarves, women were considered equal to men with hardly a distinction between the two. Thus, Gimli made no effort to "gentle" his demeanor around a "lady."

"So tell me," Elizabeth asked, leaning in with a conspiratory tone. "Is Rhawion your first slave?"

Gimli huffed, throwing back another ale.

"There's enough of 'em in the mines but we don't keep them in our homes like you folk," a frown crossed his expression. "Don't see much of a use in 'em at the mines either."

"Poor workers?" Elizabeth lightened her tone to a question.

"It ain't where they belong," Gimli grunted. "A lad or lass ought to know their place. Those tree huggers ain't meant for the mines. Our mines should be worked by good dwarven stock, not point-ears weeping caus they can't see the damn stars." Elizabeth hummed in agreement, allowing Gimli to continue his rant. "You don't carve a mountain with a copper spoon, my Pa used to always say."

"Wise words indeed."

"But of course, it's all just to teach 'em a lesson," he scoffed at the word.

"And do you think the lesson's been taught?" Elizabeth asked, one eyebrow raised.

Gimli straightened in his chair, the spark of sudden sobriety gleamed in his eyes. He placed his mug down heavily on the desk and glanced over either shoulder, observing how "Rhawion" was still absent.

"Doesn't sound like a question I've been heard asked all too much." His tone was casual.

"Perhaps," Elizabeth shrugged, a slight spike occurring in her heart rate. Gimli was a risk, but a calculated one. Dwarves weren't prone to gossip and from what she had gathered, it would be unlikely for Gimli to spend enough leisure time amongst members of the court to spread many rumors. If anything did get out however, she could always brush it off as altering her words for the sake of 'diplomacy.'

"Perhaps indeed," he took another long drought and Elizabeth bade her leave.

She returned to her empty parlor and went immediately to her desk. She had half a dozen new forms stacked neatly in the corner and it took every ounce of willpower in her to not rip out her hair. Becoming heir had seemingly added a third job to her plate and yet it seemed that the number of hours in the day remained tragically the same. She had read through half of the first page before realizing that it was a rather prosaic waste of time to have to arrange a meeting with the palace tailor to approve of the correct fabric shade for the latest batch of banners when Gledswith swept into her room with yet another stack of papers.

"Princess-"

"Please," Elizabeth held out a hand to stop her. "If you must then Lady will still be just fine."

The elderly woman frowned briefly before continuing.

"Lady Elizabeth," she quickly organized the new papers into four separate stacks. "The first two could easily be handled by Runhild and myself. The third must be reviewed by you."

"And the fourth?"

"Should be handled by your ladies in waiting who you should have had by your side for several years now." She arched one prim eyebrow and used that irritating 'I'm scolding you but since it's not proper for me to be scolding you I'm advising you.'

"As I've said before-"

"Though it is wise to trust few among these throngs, a proper princess must have at least one, if not several ladies in waiting. You are still His Majesty's Advisor and Master of the Healing Halls. Most of the daily tasks of heir are easily disbursed to others with the proper staffing."

"I'll think about it," she said in an effort to appease Gledswith, one hand already reaching for the stack the maid had mentioned as being for the 'ladies in waiting.'

"Perhaps you should think of it on your way to the Council meeting."

"Sh-" Elizabeth pulled her language at the last moment. "Of course, thank you."

Quickly standing, she made to gather her supplies of paper and charcoal. As she turned around to grab the last set of notes off her desk, she wound herself face to face with Gledswith who now held a certain elf's leash in her hands. The maid once again merely raised an eyebrow and that was enough for Elizabeth to take the leash before walking out.

The walk to the Council meeting was... awkward to say the least.

Elizabeth had tried to extend a shaky thread of trust between herself and Glorfindel... and she was reminded why she had not in the past. She couldn't blame him, not in the slightest. He was a slave in a place where he had no power. It would be foolish to not grasp at any hint of power. And from where he's sitting, knowledge would be the strongest and most dangerous option. Gandalf- or Olorin and he knew him- was a friend. He was a shining beacon of hope to an elf in a world where his existence had been rendered a crime.

But where did this leave them?

Elizabeth had shown at least one of her cards. She gave them her identity, admitted that she had no intention of actually harming them. Perhaps if it were just her neck on the block, she would be able to give him the benefit of the doubt again. But now, now too many lives rested on her shoulders. It didn't matter what she thought, what she believed, it mattered what she did. The courts of Gondor gave no second chances, how could she?

And Glorfindel knew that she saw through his deception. She saw it in his eyes when she warned Aragorn of Gandalf's power all the same. She saw it in the stiffness of his step, the uncertain glances, and the deferential gestures. He was waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for consequences that she was unprepared to dole out.

I'll tell him later, she thought to herself. After the meeting, when they were alone, she would tell him that he was right in his realization that she saw through his lie. She'll tell him that he will not be punished, but that she'll no longer be requiring his advice.

She couldn't fault him for what he did, but neither could she trust him.

The meeting itself was long and dull. She was expected to contribute even more to the discussion with her new title, yet her thoughts on the matters remained largely the same. She still thought that Gondor needed to invest more in healing the sick and educating the population. Of course teaching every child to read would be wonderful, but she would settle with offering more training through apprenticeships. The same warmongers wanted to draft an army, but Gondor's standing forces were more than sufficient. Although, in light of recent events, Elizabeth was not all too opposed to bolstering training and increasing scouting missions. Yet at the same time there was as always that delicate balancing act between cautiously preparing for the worst and sending the people into panic by making them believe that the hounds of war are barking at the gates.

The though of hounds reminded Elizabeth that the King did keep a pack of hunting dogs in the kennels by the stables. Perhaps it was about time that she retrieve herself a puppy... something soft and innocent in the face of the constant lies she lived among. It would be nice to have a loyal companion who could tell no secrets.

Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh as she reached for her wine, lifting the crystal goblet and swirling the dark liquid. But, just as the cup was about to reach her lips- there was a flurry of motion and, before she could blink, her back was smacking into the hard stone floor.

Glorfindel had lept from his place by her side and tackled her like a football player, knocking her out of her chair and landing squarely on her chest. In an instant the entire table was on their feet with blades drawn. Sir Baldred, being the closest to her, grabbed a suddenly limp Glorfindel by the back of his tunic, yanking him off of Elizabeth and throwing him to the ground. The noble knight had his eyes fixed on the downcast elf, the tip of his sword pressed firmly against the swell of his throat.

Elizabeth was in shock. It had all occurred so quickly and the fall coupled with Glorfindel's large form landing on her chest had knocked the wind out of her. She gasped for breath as Lady Elthbelion, quick to rise, knelt by her side, helping her to sit up and rubbing between her shoulder-blades

"How dare you attack the Princess of Gondor!" Sir Baldred roared, his blade pressing with enough force to cause of a trickle of blood to fall from Glorfindel's neck.

Several guards had stepped forward and pinned him in with blades as well. A ring of swords surrounded Glorfindel, preventing even the slightest movement.

"I-" Elizabeth managed to gasp out.

"Easy," Lady Elthbelion muttered, her eyes flickering between Elizabeth and Glorfindel. The elf opened his mouth slightly in an attempt to speak, but was cut off by the words of the King.

"Seize him!" Tirgon ordered, hard lines drawn across his brow.

"Wait!" Elizabeth managed, slowly making her way to her feet with Lady Elthbelion’s help. She could already feel the beginnings of a rather large bruise on her hip and her lungs had still yet to catch up to their normal capacity. She fought through the slow gasps. "Let him speak..."

There was a tittering of voices in the room as multiple members of the court balked at the idea of letting an attempted assassin speak his piece. Sir Baldred however, slowly and with great distrust in his eyes, lowered his sword just enough for Glorfindel to move his throat without risk of slicing it open.

"Poison," he gasped, previously downcast eyes now gazing at Elizabeth with open pleading. "In the wine... I could smell nightshade poison."

"Commander Faldrin," Tirgon called out as the man was already stepping forward to kneel beside the spilled wine. The head of the Ithilian Rangers was Gondor's foremost expert on poisons and toxins. He carefully pulled a piece of cloth from a small pouch at his waist, dipping it into the liquid. Once a corner of it was soaked, he pulled several small glass vials and slowly dripped on drop of each mysterious liquid onto a different section of the cloth. The council chambers seemed to hold their breath.

"He speaks the truth," Faldrin eventually announced, standing up and holding the cloth aloft to reveal one corner stained a brilliant blue. "This wine has been laced with nightshade."

Notes:

Poor Tristam having an anxiety attack. But, he finally stood up and held his ground! Also, Elrond has no idea what just happened because I honestly don't think elves get anxiety attacks or mental illness in general. Maybe just depression and even then, they're either healthy or their fea leaves their body. I think that because of that mechanism, there isn't much of an "in between" where their mind can be ill or overwhelm their senses while they still live. Maybe book-Elrond would have understood, but this Elrond has very limited experience with humans and thus is super confused.

Chapter 40 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Are you certain?" Tirgon, having stood from his seat, asked. Faldrin nodded his head.

"Seal the doors!" Baldred turned and ordered his guards who immediately jumped to their task. "I want every door between the kitchens and this chamber locked. No one enters and no one leaves without being searched."

"I'll call upon a few of my trusted to begin testing for more poison," Faldrin carefully tucked away the poison-stained cloth as evidence.

"I want this assassin found," the King's voice was grave.

"Of course Sire..." Baldred hesitated. "Until then-"

"That filth dared to lay his hands upon the Princess," Valhain practically spat the words.

It took all of Elizabeth's self control to resist the urge to roll her eyes. The man despised her, referring to her as an "Easterling half-breed" and an "asinine girl" whenever her back was slightly turned. Of anyone in the room, he was likely the happiest to see her thrown to the ground.

Her annoyance was soon replaced by concern however as she looked down to see the sheer terror in Glorfindel's eyes. Whilst Baldred had lowered his blade, none of the other guards pinning the elf to the floor had made any motion to let him up. Now, the focus of the council chambers fell upon him as Tirgon frowned in confliction.

Flaverion, another lord who despised Elizabeth, also stood and pointed an accusing finger at Glorfindel. He lifted his nose as if the elf exuded some fetid scent as his nasally voice rose in indignation.

"That thingis clearly still feral. It should be taken for re-training immediately," his tone then became saccharine sweet as he attempted to make a face that Elizabeth supposed was meant to be sympathetic, but on him just made him appear constipated. "Clearly, it was remiss of us to allow an untamed warrior elf to attend to a Lady. This beast is in need of a firm hand that is unafraid of meting out proper punishment."

"Let him up," she ordered the soldiers still pointing their weapons at Glorfindel, ignoring the other lords for the moment.

There was a beat of hesitation, the men looking at each other with skepticism in their eyes, but they couldn't disobey a direct order from their princess. Reluctantly, they stepped back but kept their blades out, ready to jump at the slightest sign of movement. Glorfindel remained still as stone.

"Elizabeth..." Tirgon looked hesitant.

"Glorfindel, return to your position." Elizabeth subtle brushed the nervous sweat off her hands as she fought the tremble in her tone. Yes her ribs still ached, yes she was still shaken from an attempt on her life that had come so very close, but she couldn't let it show. With carefully controlled grace, she resumed her seat neatly folding her hands, placing them on the table. "Shall we continue?"

"My Lady-" Baldred began, but Elizabeth cut him off.

"Commander Faldrin's men will begin testing for poisons and seeking out the assassin. Until then this meeting was called for the sake of urgent matters which we have yet to discuss."

"Are you certain Elizabeth?" Tirgon's eyes shone in concern as she slowly sat down. "You should take some time to rest. We can delay this meeting for a day."

"Unfortunately, your Majesty, I don't believe such would be wise. To do so would be to potentially forfeit more towns and lives. This is a discussion that must happen now."

Tirgon frowned, but nodded his head, gesturing for the others to sit and for the guards to retreat back to their station at the doors. Glorfindel slowly, and still on his knees, crawled over to his cushion where he kept his head bent low.

"I still believe that that feral-" Valhain began, but was cut off by Elizabeth.

"How I discipline my elf is none of your concern," she fixed him with an icy glare. "Furthermore, my elf just saved my life which is far more than I can say for you."

The lord's face turned beet red, but he clamped his jaw shut.

"If we are to continue this meeting then may I suggest that we table the discussion on imported spice taxes and instead focus on the recent raid of the town of Thulean?" Baldred, sensing the tension in the air, quickly redirected.

"Yes, you have a the report?" Tirgon asked. Baldred nodded and pulled out a rolled up piece of parchment. He flattened it on the table and, with a quick glance to check that all were paying attention, he began to read.

"On the 14th day of the 6th month of the year 3001, a guard stationed at the main gait to the town of Thulean was shot dead with a white-fletched arrow. His partner sounded the alarm and within 3 minutes, an army of 4 score were at the wooden gate which they quickly tore down. The town, containing fewer than a score of guards, was quickly overrun as the army pillaged the streets. By the time reinforcements from nearby Mirrinath arrived, the entire army, including their dead and wounded, had vanished. Of the 18 town guards, 4 survived. The total casualty count was 43 with 24 dead and 19 wounded. Survivors are currently seeking refuge in Mirrinath. End of report."

Tirgon released a slow sigh.

"First they launch a useless charge on Ithilien, then they beat at the gates of Erebor, and now they overrun a small town? Who is this foe and what do they want?"

"Thulean is a so small a town it is better called a village. Really, it only serves as a stopover point for trading caravans on their way to Minas Tirith." Valhain frowned as he rubbed his chin.

"Perhaps having found Ithilien's defenses too strong, they seek to weaken us by cutting off supply routes?" Penderon interjected.

"But why Thulean then? Why such a small force on such a small town. They have demonstrated that they have at least several score more at their disposal, enough to possibly take on Mirrinath which would have struck a far harsher blow to the trade routes." Elthbelion this time, interjected.

"What was taken during the pillaging?" Elizabeth asked, moving her folded hands to her lap as she tried to focus on the discussion and not her aching ribs pressed against her corset.

"A full catalog has yet to be drafted," Baldred pulled a second piece of parchment from his belt. "But so far it seems random. Some houses were turned upside down and obviously searched with everything of value taken, others were left with jewelry boxes untouched."

"Any trading caravans residing in Thulean at the time of the attack?" Tirgon, catching on to where Elizabeth was going, asked.

"Two, a silk merchant and an antiques and oddities collector."

"I want a full registry of their inventory and what was taken," Tirgon ordered.

"Of course Sire."

"Elizabeth-"

"I'll examine it and note anything of interest."

"Good, hopefully we'll find a reason for the attacks somewhere in there." Tirgon nodded in approval.

"As for now, what of the refugees in Mirrinath?" Elthbelion asked.

"I don't see how that is possibly our-" Flaverion began, but was cut off my Elizabeth.

"Extra supplies along with a bolstered guard should be sent to Mirrinath. Whilst it appears that this was a very targeted attack, it can't hurt to be extra cautious."

"I can arrange for two score guards to be sent alongside the team investigating the attack," Baldred was already pulling a parchment to draft new orders.

"And I can see that the supplies are properly allocated," Elthbelion offered. Usually, such a role would be delegated to Elizabeth, but she was exceedingly grateful to have that taken off her plate by someone she knew she could trust.

"And with that, this meeting is adjured," Tirgon stood and was immediately by Elizabeth's side. "Spice taxes can wait for another day or be discussed by the council of finance. We are done for the day."

Servants immediately stepped forth and gathered up papers, carrying them away for the lords and lady at the table as Tirgon offered an arm to help Elizabeth stand. He offered to walk her back to her chambers and Elizabeth obliged, hiding her wince as she stood. Glorfindel, head still down and eyes averted as they had been since theincident,followed silently behind.

Once they were out of earshot of the council chambers, Tirgon began to speak.

"I want to assign you extra guards," he began.

"Sire- Tirgon please," Elizabeth made to sigh but stopped when she felt a sharp jab of pain. "That's completely unnecessary."

"Elizabeth, this is far from the first assassination attempt, and now with you as my heir there is an even larger target on your back."

"Would guards have stopped the poison? Just like all other attempts, this one was foiled- by my elf no less."

"Yes, your elf," Tirgon glanced back at Glorfindel whose step faltered slightly. "I know not if I should praise it for preventing you from drinking the poison, or punish it for harming you."

"Tirgon I am-"

"Don't lie to me," he paused and turned to face Elizabeth. "My dear, I've been in my fair share of battles. I know what a blow like that one can do to ones chest."

"I'll take lightened duties in the healing halls and focus more on my work as heir and on medical training." She assured him.

"And this one?" He once more gestured to Glorfindel who immediately dropped to his knees my Elizabeth's side, silent as he leaned his head slightly against the edge of her skirt.

"He had no reason save loyalty to save my life, and he did."

"But so violently?"

"It was necessary."

Tirgon heaved a long and tired sigh, rubbing one broad hand across his face. In times like these, it was evident to Elizabeth how much being King had aged him. He was a man no longer in his prime, with graying hair and deep lines in his face. Though he was still broad of shoulder, his entire frame seemed to sag at times like these, the weight fo Gondor, and really- Middle Earth, resting on his back.

"I want you to visit Adravaine- please," he held up a hand to interrupt her protests. "Visit Adravaine and at least listen to what he has to say. Whilst I may not personally agree with all that he does, I cannot argue that he is effective. Take it with you so that it may see what consequences of causing harm to you could very well be."

He wants me to scare him, Elizabeth thought, one hand unconsciously resting on the crown of Glorfindel's head. If the elf's body language and earlier look was anything to go by, that deed was already accomplished. He had saved her life and risked condemning his own in the process. And yet, Tirgon still didn't trust him. Granted... Elizabeth still barely trusted him.

"If it will bring you peace of mind, then I shall do as my king commands."

"Thank you," Tirgon, for a moment, rested a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it gently before offering to guide her to Adravaine's workshop. The sooner the better in his mind, and Elizabeth privately figured that it was best to not delay the inevitable.

I'll walk in,listen to the bastard rant about moral superiority, tell him I'll think on it, and then leave and tell Glorfindel that whilst we may never see eye to eye, I'm grateful for what he did and I'll never use any of Adravaine's advice. Should be simple enough...

Notes:

Yup, even right after an assassination attempt, there's always someone making grabby hands at Glorfindel.
Also, bruised ribs+corset= not fun.
Btw, the year really doesn't have anything significant to it because everything is so different in this timeline anyway. Honestly the only thing it does is age Aragorn to just a few years younger than cannon Aragorn at the start of the quest. I think this puts him late 60s-ish.

Chapter 41 Chapter Text

Descending several sets of stairs, they finally reached Adravaine's "workshop." The man had greeted them cordially, an unmistakably gleeful smile on his face as soon as he noticed Glorfindel trailing behind Elizabeth. Elizabeth remained silent as Tirgon explained theincidentwith Glorfindel whilst Adravaine pretended to act shocked- no doubt the rumor mill had already delivered a full account of events to him.

"Your Highness," Adravaine dropped into a formal bow. "I offer my deepest sympathies. You must be terribly distressed to still bear the presence of one who harmed you so. For a mewling elf to so much as touch a royal without permission is deserving of having the offending hand removed."

Glorfindel had dropped to his knees slightly behind Elizabeth and had his head bowed. She could sense his stillness as he surely fought to not react to the man's words.

"Your concern is touching," she fought the urge to throw a bite of sarcasm into her voice. "But my conviction is hardly so delicate."

"I will allow Princess Elizabeth to determine discipline for her own slave, however I do not believe that she is familiar with the finer details of your craft." Tirgon cut in.

"Ah," a knife-like smile crossed Adravaine's face. "It would be my honor to show the Princess my work. My services are always at Gondor's disposal."

Tirgon thanked the man and bowed, taking his leave.

"Your Highness," he held out his arm and Elizabeth forced herself to smile politely as she allowed him to guide her through the heavy iron door.

The antechamber itself was, for the most part, harmless in itself. Austere ceilings and rich-toned furniture came into view with the light of a crackling fireplace. It would have seemed almost cozy in a posh sort of way if not for the nearly naked elf rushing to pour two identical goblets of wine.

Elizabeth could hear Glorfindel's bitten off gasp as the Noldor elf turned to present the glasses on a silver tray. His hand holding the tray was the only part of his body that remained still as his entire form shook with what could only have been weakness. In truth, the elf looked more skeletal than living and Elizabeth could count every single bone in his body.

"Ah yes," Adravaine nodded as he waved a casual hand at the emaciated elf. "Withholding food is of course an effective, if somewhat time consuming method of discipline and control. As a bonus, it's less... messy than some of my more preferred methods and all of the aesthetic tarnishes are easily reversible. Of course, it would be a shame to disfigure a thing so beautiful as yours."

Elizabeth made a non-committal sound, pretending to take a sip of her wine. She wasn't certain if her hesitancy to drink came from a lingering fear post-assignation attempt, or for the fact that she didn't trust anything that would cause her to lose control of her senses in even the slightest way.

Adravaine then opened another door, this one leading to a dark and decrepit dungeon, the putrid scent of infection and iron tang of blood hung heavy in the air. Elizabeth watched carefully through the corner of her eye as Glorfindel hesitated a moment before following with his head down. The man cautioned Elizabeth to watch her step as she dodged a small pool of what appeared to be blood on their way to a rack filled with more devices of torment than one would imagine to exist.

"Whips are of course, the most common form of discipline," he lifted one particularly cruel example of a flogger bearing multiple barbed hooks along its length. "As for canes, you may find that something thin and springy is best for the wounds it creates can be almost as sharp as a dull blade. The thicker canes can break bone, but they require a far more forceful hand to use."

Direct blow to the forearm can cause a Monteggia fracture resultingin an ulnar shaft fracture combined with a concomitant dislocation of the radial head.

Elizabeth began reciting possible injuries concurrent with their mechanism of injury as Adravaine explained the type of damage that each device could inflict. To keep the images of elven slaves writhing in pain out of her mind, she pushed herself into the headspace of a study on trauma injuries, imagining that these were hypothetical situations and that she wasn't having a casual conversation with someone who actuallyenjoyedcommitting such acts.

"But I see that this one," Adravaine's eyes hungrily scanned Glorfindel's hunched over form. "As like your other, bears no marks of discipline."

"I spend quite enough of my time surrounded by blood and vomit and pain," Elizabeth kept her voice level as she spoke, one hand idly carding its way through Glorfindel's hair. "I find myself lacking in any desire to produce such things in my leisure time."

"With all due respect your Highness," Adraviane placed a hand over his heart in some attempt at sincerity. "A slave who lacks discipline can become dangerous. Obviously his Majesty is concerned for your welfare and the behavior of your slave."

"Glorfindel stand," Elizabeth orded primly. To her relief, the elf obeyed, no hint of hesitation in his fluid motions. "Turn to your right, your left. Kneel. Prostrate. Return to me."Every order was obeyed with perfect form. Glorfindel maintained a completely blank expression on his face as he obeyed each order before moving back into position behind and to Elizabeth's left. "See," Elizabeth gestured to the kneeling elf. "My slave is obedient and loyal. Yes he did touch me without permission and he will be punished for that. But, he did to save my life to no gain of his own. I have no desire to break him and remove such loyalty."

"Ah, so it is loyalty you desire. But how can you be certain of his?" Adravaine's smile returned. "Come, let me show you how to break the most stoic of elven warriors and gain their everlasting loyalty... without leaving a single mark."

Elizabeth nodded, hoping that following him to view this last thing would be enough to politely excuse herself and take her leave. She was exhausted, in pain, and still had to explain to Glorfindel that she had no intention to punish him for saving her life. Nonetheless, she kept her breath and steps even as she followed the vile man through another set of doors.

These doors led to a long corridor and Elizabeth found herself clenching her fists hard enough to leave marks with her nails as they passed cell after cell, each containing an elf in some state of agony. Some bore backs nearly lacking in skin for the flail marks on them, some were missing tips of ears or fingers, some laid prone with limbs twisted askance in unnatural angles, and some, perhaps the most frightening, appeared in all manners fine except for the way they laid curled into tight balls, rocking bath and forth with crazed eyes, mumbling unintelligible words to themselves.

Open lacerations, pyrexia, clear conjunctivitis- immediate wound care,antibiotics, and fluids. Fourth degree burns covering approximately 7% of body surface, third degree burns coveringapproximately 15% of thebody surface, and additional second degree burns covering approximately 20%- major surgical intervention is needed.

Elizabeth's mental tirade of medical assessments came to a halt as Glorfindel froze beside one cell which contained a slim, broken elf cradling the side of his head. The elf was clearly emaciated, missing at least two fingers and an ear.

"Lin-" Glorfindel whispered shakily before a sharp glare from Elizabeth had him falling back in place.

From the corner of her eye, Elizabeth watched as the miserable elf's gaze lingered on Glorfindel, eyes filled with grief and longing. His eyes then flickered to Elizabeth, his entire body flinching upon their gazes meeting before he returned to staring at the floor. Elizabeth resisted the urge to flinch in turn as they entered to the room that Adravaine seemed so eager to show them.

"And this, your Highness," he lifted a torch and gestured grandly to the hallow chamber, "is my masterpiece."

In the center of the room, hanging from a long chain, was a steel box. The box was of solid construction, less than three feet in height and no more than two feet wide. It was unassuming, and yet something sent a shiver down Elizabeth's spine.

"Your masterpiece?"

"Yes- allow me to explain." As Adravaine spoke, he slowly walked circles around the suspended box, gesturing to each feature as he went. "An elf who refuses to yield in bound and locked in this box. Once it is shut, no sound may enter of escape, no light penetrates its walls... the creature is completely trapped without access to the senses they so love."

Elizabeth felt that shiver of horror return, ice creeping up her spine as she imagined an elf, a being of fresh air and freedom and sunshine, being locked in such a contraption.

"And then," he continued. "The box is hoisted up and they are left alone to stew in their thoughts, the walls of their cramped cage seeming to shrink every day. But sometimes, a fire is lit and without warning their box will become unbearably hot, sometimes this vent in the wall is opened and they find themselves freezing. Maybe if I am in a particularly mood then I will strike the box and cause it to sway, to move in ways that they cannot predict or anticipate." The man's voice was filled with a type of sick glee, brimming with all the excitement of a child in a candy shop.

"And through all that... their only contact with the outside world is through this." He gestured to a small, capped tube that Elizabeth had not noticed earlier. "When I open this lid I can speak to the elf in the box, promise him respite from his agony if only he obeys. It's amazing what loyalty you can inspire in a creature when you become their only hope of salvation."

"I see," Elizabeth fought to keep her tone even, not daring to look at Glorfindel's reaction for fear that meeting his eyes would set her over the edge. "And this is your... most successful method?"

"Indeed," Adravaine guided them out the door, down the hall and back to the sitting room, never mentioning if the box happened to be occupied. "They would betray their own kin without hesitation by the time they are brought out. The average for a warrior is two weeks to a month, the longest was the neared one as he took a year and a half."

Cirdan- Elizabeth's mind supplied. The great Shipwright of the elves who was captured and tortured for two years before he broke and revealed every secret of the elven journey to Valinor. Six months of pain followed by a year and a half- 18 months locked in a box and robbed of all senses but pain.

"I thank you for your hospitably," Elizabeth forced herself to smile politely as she offered a small curtsy to the man, holding her breath against the pain in the action. "This has been an- enlightening journey. I feel no need for such measures at this time, however I will keep them in mind should the need arise."

"Of course, I am always at your disposal." The man flashed another of his knife edge smiles as he parroted the same level of courtesy back, guiding Elizabeth towards the door. The man took in one last, hungry sweep of Glorfindel's form before returning to his workshop.

"Come," Elizabeth ordered, every cell in her body straining to get away from filthy excuse of a human and return to her chambers. She walked with even steps, sweat beading across her brow as she fought through the pain in her ribs with each inhale and exhale. Glorfindel followed silently behind her.

Upon reaching the doors to her chambers without running into anyone else who require her attention, Elizabeth nearly sobbed in relief. She opened the doors to her parlor with only slight difficulty, instantly turningher gaze to the small desk in the corner. The sight made her nearly growl in frustration.

Elrond was nowhere to be seen.

Must be hung up withsomething in the Healing Halls,she thought to herself, a failed attempted at internal soothing.

But, without Elrond she was out of luck. Gledswith was in the midst of running several errands which required her to head into the city of Minas Tirith and Runhild was hand delivering a series of messages which couldn't be handled by just any servant. In truth, it was job more suited for a lady in waiting than a maid, but with only two private staff members, Elizabeth had to make do.

For a half second, she considered sending Glorfindel to go fetch Runhild anyway, but decided that sending him out on his own so soon after the incident was... unwise.

Thus she sighed, wincing at the movement, before making her way stiffly into her private chambers, heading straight for the privacy screen. Once there, she steeled herself, reaching back for her laces before nearly doubling over in pain. A strangled cry escape her lips as she released a series of short gasps for breath.

"My lady... Elizabeth?" Glorfindel's hesitant voice called to her. "Are you..."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, one hand over her mouth as a wave of nausea hit her.

There was no way she'd be able to undress by herself.

"Glorfindel... I-" she hesitated a moment. "I require your assistance, please."

"My... assistance?" His voice was filled with hesitation.

"Yes your assistance," her tone was strained as she fought the anger that pain was pushing into her words.

"Of course-" she heard a series of fumbling as the elf rushed to his feet and rather clumsily made his way around the dressing screen, eyes averted and steps hesitant.

"Just... help me undress. I need you to undo the laces and remove the bodice and skirt."

Glorfindel nodded in understanding, too-large hands fumbling with the delicate lace structure as he removed the heavy outer garments. The entire time he kept his eyes averted with Elizabeth would have almost considered cute if she had not spent too many days coaching nervous first-years or new maids in the healing halls that such modesty has no place in medicine.

"Now the corset," she instructed, flinching slightly when his hand bumped into a particularly tender spot.

Elizabeth bit her lip to prevent herself from making any noise when Glorfindel tugged on the laces, inadvertently tightening the corset, in order to undo them. Finally, he succeeded in loosening the garment and Elizabeth gasped in relief as the pressure was lifted, carefully extending her arms so that Glorfindel could pull it off her.

"Anything else, my Lady," he asked, eyes still averted and back perfectly straight.

"No- that is all."

With careful steps Elizabeth made her way over to her bed, slowly lowering herself down. She heard Glorfindel hesitate before he took his usual place near his tether, but Elizabeth found that she couldn't be bothered to get up and re-chain him. The elf had just saved her life from poison so she doubted that he would get up to strangle her in her sleep.

Logically, she knew that she should get up and brew herself a tincture of the pain-reliving draught and probably apply some bruise salve. But at the same time, she found that she couldn't quite muster up the energy to do so. She still had so much work to do- plans to draft for multiple promotions in the Healing Halls, a new curriculum to build for 2nd year students in the Healing Academy, four different drafts on a trade deal with Erebor, and a plethora of correspondences and complaints from citizens of Gondor that she still needed to sort through.

"My Lady-" Glorfindel's voice was filled with hesitancy.

And that...she remembered.

"Glorfindel," she kept her breaths shallow and even. "You're not going to be punished. I appreciate your actions today and I promise that I would never hand you over to Adravaine."

"... thank you."

Elizabeth hated the amount of gratitude in his voice.

She tried to sit up but was thwarted once again by the pain in her ribs. Now that she was lying down, it was as if sleep had latched its claws into her and refused to let go.

Just a few minutes,she thought to herself. I'll close my eyes and rest for just a fewminutes... and then I'll get back to work.

Chapter 42 Chapter Text

Knock knock knock

"Elizabeth!"

Elizabeth was jolted into wakefulness as her bedroom door opened to a frantic looking Runhild. The maid's basket was dropped by the door as she practically jogged to Elizabeth's bedside, worry clear in her eyes.

"I heard what happened- I came as quickly as I could!"

The maid's eyes roved over Elizabeth's form as if she could see through her slip and detect the damage beneath. Elizabeth smiled tightly in response, waving away Runhild's hands as she struggled to sit up.

"I'm fine, Runhild. You needn't worry."

"You're injured."

The words were said in a matter of fact tone that brooked no argument. For a moment, Elizabeth silently wished that she had had the foresight to surround herself with mindless syncopates who wouldn't dare to question her orders. Instead, she was stuck with a Rohirrim girl who was nearly as obstinate as herself.

"A bit of bruising from the fall, that is all." As she spoke, Elizabeth made an aborted attempt to grasp a glass of water sitting on her bedside table. This only served to deepen Runhild's frown, but the maid handed her the glass nonetheless.

"Yes, the fall," Runhild sent a sharp glare towards Glorfindel who immediately ducked his head.

"I am alive." Elizabeth waived a hand lightly. "The poison never touched my lips and that is what matters."

"I'll call for Elrond," Runhild plucked the empty glass from Elizabeth's hand and turned sharply.

"No."

"You're injured."

"Not fatally." Elizabeth's gaze hardened. "Elrond has a limited amount of healing power. He needs to conserve his energy for those whose wounds or illnesses are fatal. Mine will heal in time."

Whilst most of Gondor- of Middle Earth really, abided by a different set of rules than her modern world, she tried to enforce what she could when she could. One of the few places where she had total control, where she could re-write what was custom and accepted, was the Healing Halls. The tools and technology available to her fellow healers and herself may have be different from what she was familiar with, but Elizabeth refused to change the ethos of medicine.

She refused to break policy on equal treatment.

No matter who entered through the doors of her Healing Halls, all received the same care be they lords or peasants. Equal rights may impossible under a monarchy, but in her Healing Halls they would be enforced.

"Elizabeth," Runhild sounded exasperated. "When have you ever had time?"

"I'll manage."

"A healer can decide that."

And, before Elizabeth could protest, Runhild slipped out the door.Technically, Elizabeth never forbade her from fetching Elrond and one of her own policies was that no one, no matter the status, was permitted to prevent another from fetching a healer for themself or others. Thus being so,technically, Runhild was not being insubordinate.

Elizabeth once again wondered why she chose to surround herself with such stubborn subjects.

By the time Runhild returned, knocking once before letting herself and Elrond in, Elizabeth had managed to swing her legs to the floor and little else.

"You are unwell... your Highness?" Elrond spared on quick glance at Glorfindel before focusing on Elizabeth, his eyes wandering to her midsection that she guarded with both arms.

"I'm fine," she gritted her teeth and fixed the elf with a glare that dared him to challenge her.

"She's not," Runhild replied instantly, giving Elrond a light push forward.

It was an interesting standoff: the Princess of Gondor sitting in bed, glaring at an imposingly tall enslaved elvish lord, being shoved forward by a brusk maid who was glaring at the Princess with an equally imposing scowl.

"I think I am quite qualified to determine that I am fine."

"Remember when Tristam twisted his ankle and tried to clear himself for duty?" Runhild raised an eyebrow. "You told 'im that only another healer could clear him."

The glaring match lasted for another few seconds before Elizabeth admitted defeat and leaned back into bad, gesturing for Elrond to approach. The elf did so and, after asking for permission, used a pair of scissor to gently snip away the top of Elizabeth's underdress.

Peeling away the fabric revealed several layers of deep purple bruising that must have developed as Elizabeth napped. There was a sharp intake of breath from Runhild and a grimace from Elizabeth.

"It looks far worse than it is," Elizabeth muttered before biting her lip when Elrond lightly traced a hand across her ribs.

"You have four- five fractured ribs," Elrond had turned around to shuffle through his supplies, already pulling forth a jar of bruise balm. "How came you about such an injury?"

It was an amazing thing, to watch him slip into the role of a healer. For a brief moment, the true and noble elvish lord was visible; a being who had lived through ages, watching kingdoms rise and fall, and studied the art of healing for centuries.

"There was an assassination attempt. Glorfindel saved me by tackling me to the ground."

The moment was lost with Elizabeth's frank tone as Elrond grew stiff, his back still to her but his entire countenance rigid with anticipation. Elizabeth resisted the urge to sigh again as she dismissed a rather reluctant Runhild from the room.

"Your High-"

"Stop," Elizabeth held up a hand. "The next person to call me your highness gets defenestrated."Upon seeing the stricken look on both Elrond and Glorfindel's faces, Elizabeth groaned aloud, bringing one hand to massage her temples. The pain was riling her already frayed nerves and making her rather short of temper. She was becoming careless with her words. "Just, please," she forced herself to take as deep of breaths as she could. "I have no true desire for slave and I certainly have no desire for a crown. No one but the assassin is to blame for my injuries and I appreciate Glorfindel's actions in saving my life."

"Then if you wish not for me to speak to you as a slave to his mistress, I shall speak to you as a healer to his patient," Elrond immediately returned to the task at hand. "Fractured ribs can be dangerous and moving about with them in this state puts you at risk of furthering the break, possibly penetrating organs. Your choices are either bedrest for several weeks or allowing me to heal the fractures."

Elizabeth frowned at the prospects. Healing five ribs would require quite a decent amount of Elrond's energy and would put him out of commission for the rest of the day and evening at least. But, four weeks of bedrest would put Elizabeth months behind schedule and missing out on Council meetings whilst Gondor deals with attacks from an unknown source would be nearly unthinkable.

Hating her choice but knowing that the decision was made the moment that Runhild fetched Elrond, Elizabeth instructed the elf to heal the fractures but to not bother with the bruising. He complied, knitting her ribs back together before slathering the bruises with salve and loosely bandaging her torso.

"Now you and I both need rest," Elizabeth said as she adjusted herself in bed, resigned to losing at least an afternoon of work. "But I assume that you wish to speak with Glorfindel."

Elrond nodded but paused, not moving towards his friend.

"Yes?" Elizabeth motioned for him to speak as there was quite obviously something on his mind.

"The Healer Tristam," he began, words slow. "He had a... confrontation with a patient. After which he was... unwell."

"Are you trying to ask me what caused this?"

"Yes."

Elizabeth made a mental note to check up on Tristam later. She knew that he was prone to anxiety and panic attacks, but he had gotten much better lately. It must have been something bad to set him off in the middle of the Healing Halls. He had gained so much confidence since his promotion to a Senior Healer.

"I will respect the privacy of my patients, for their problems are not disclosed to me that the world may know." She folded her hands across her lap with a certain note of finality in her tone.

"That is from the text posted above the front desk of the Healing Halls." Elrond noted.

"Yes, the Healer's Oath." One of the first tasks that Elizabeth had accomplished upon taking over the Healing Halls was to paste a copy of the Hippocratic Oath on a part of the wall where for every single healer it would be the first thing that they saw upon arriving at work, and the last thing upon leaving. "I cannot tell you what Tristam's situation is... but if you wish to learn more as all healers should, there is a volume on the third self of my parlor titled Maladies of the Mind that I suggest you read."

Elrond nodded once in acknowledgment before turning to Glorfindel, sitting on the floor beside his friend. It was... awkward to say the least, as the two chatted away certainly abundantly aware that Elizabeth laid in bed right beside them. There was a precarious détente between the two parties. Both pushing at boundaries, both waiting for the other to step over.

Who would betray the other first?

***

Elizabeth read the paper before her thrice, desperately hoping thatmaybe the words would rearrange themselves into something simple like a death threat or another cholera outbreak. But no, she was stuck with what was written on the page and thus she was sadly subjected to an agonizingly long list of fabric types and their respective tariffs, along with several multi-page treatises on petty differences, such as how cashmere of goats raised in low pastures should be banned from being sold as cashmere which was meant to be from goats raised in high pastures, all of which argued for new tax classifications that the Trade Council refused to acknowledge. And somehow... that was her problem.

Bam

There was only one being in all of Gondor who could slam a door open with such ferocious noise and still tread silently. Elizabeth found that she was too exhausted to bother looking up, but too irritated to simply ignore the exceedingly rude gesture.

"Why have you no guards at the door?!" Aragorn all but demanded as he placed two hands on Elizabeth's desk, leaning too far into her personal space.

"When one's door is closed, there is a generally accepted implication that they do not wish to be disturbed. Thus, there has come to be the wonderful convention of an act known as knocking. One first taps their fist against a closed door and waits for an answer from the individual on the other side of the door before entering. Terribly complex, I know. But, are you familiar with this?" She spoke without looking up from the paper. Maybe, if she stared at it hard enough, it would burst into flames and no longer be her problem.

"I leave for a few weeks and there is yet another attempt on your life." Aragorn pushed away from her desk and began to pace back and forth. "I received the report from Commander Faldrin... you were one sip away from death Elizabeth, one sip."

"It was over two weeks ago and there have been no attempts since. What news do you bring of your travels?"

"Elizabeth, look at me," the man demanded.

With a sigh, Elizabeth finally placed the paper down and looked up to gaze at Aragorn. The man looked worn and rough, dirt still clinging to his cloak and grease clumping his hair. Most noticeably however, his eyes were dark and drawn.

It seemed they both had experienced an exhausting few weeks.

"Aragorn, I know that you're worried, but I'm fine."

"This time."

"Yes, but the same cannot be said for Thulean and we should be far more concerned over the safety of Gondor. What news have you from your time with the Wizard?"

Aragorn searched her gaze for several more moments before fixing her with a glare that very much saidyou can't avoid this for forever,but took the bait and switched topics.

"I don't believe him to be the one behind this... but I think he knows who is."

Elizabeth hummed in thought. She had been unsure if Gandalf actually knew anything. At least in the novels, it had taken him some time before uncovering the truth in several matter of the foe. But, if Aragorn thought that he knew then she trusted his judgment. More than anything, they needed information if they had any hope of preventing was Elizabeth feared could be a very bloody war.

"And what else do you make of him?" Elizabeth asked, pulling out a pair of glasses and some wine.

Gandalf was yet another puzzle to solve. There was a high chance that the wizard could be Gondor's savior from this force... but he could also be their downfall.

"He knows far too much about the free elves but shares very little. He is also rather... fixated on me. His questions led like a man testing loyalties."

"He wants you on the throne," Elizabeth was technically conjecturing, but it was most likely true. "You are of the lineage of the Kings of Old... you have elvish blood."

"And how would that benefit him? My kin denounced the elves long ago."

"Yes but that doesn't change what blood runs through your veins. Perhaps he believes that you would be sympathetic."

"You think him an ally of the free elves?"

Elizabeth shrugged. In all likelihood he was. Perhaps the Valar had sent their emissaries in a bid to free Eru's firstborn from the confines of slavery. Perhaps they decided that they had stood silent and watched the suffering for long enough.

"I'm more concerned with learning what he knows of our foe. Perhaps he would be willing to trade information for the freedom of a few elves."

"You would set free those that have been bound?"

Elizabeth shrugged again, a noncommittal hum.

"Can we be frank, the two of us?" Her posture was at ease but her eyes were sharp. Aragorn seemed to think for a moment before nodding. "When you go out to hunt, when you see free elves running with their bows and arrows... do you feel wrathful?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You spend much of your time hunting elves like fugitives, delivering retribution for their sins which are several centuries old. But are those actions born of retribution or convention?"

Aragorn frowned, sipping slowly on his glass. Both took a moment to watch the way the mahogany liquid swirled as tension laid thick across the room. Elizabeth resisted the urge to hold her breath and continued to breath through her still-bruised ribs. This was a test, laid out for both sides. Elizabeth really wanted for Aragorn to say no, to see the kindness and justice that the hero of her books carried on his brow. She wanted another soul the bear the burden that she carried every single day that she walked the halls of the Citadel.

At long last, Aragorn opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a small falcon gliding in through the open window to perch on Elizabeth's desk. The bird fixed its sharp gaze on Elizabeth before pointedly holding out a leg which had upon it a small scroll sealed with wax. Unlike before, this wax was a pale blue.

Aragorn quirked an eyebrow as Elizabeth slowly reached for the message.

Chapter 43 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Elizabeth read the note carefully, not even bothering to translate it as it was written in simple Common. After several moments, she re-rolled the scroll, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath.

She wondered why she hadn't drunk that wine when she had the chance.

Nope, not the time for sarcasm,an unhelpful but honest voice piped into Elizabeth's head.

"News from afar?" Aragorn asked, a hint of amusem*nt in his tone.

"Mhm," Elizabeth hummed noncommittally. "And your answer?" She pulled out a small scrap of parchment, snipping it into an appropriate size before scribbling a quick note and tying it to the bird which immediately took off.

Realizing that she would be offering forth no explanation about the strange note, Aragorn reluctantly sighed, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands beneath his chin in thought.

"In signing the Dark Truce, the elves condemned a great many thousand to death."

"Yes," Elizabeth replied plainly. There was no denying the fact.

"They held to that bargain for over two hundred years."

"Yes," her tone remained devoid of opinion.

"A war that was raised against one who theybrought to power, who they invited in."

"I ask you not for history which can be found in Gondor's libraries, but for what sentiments lie in your heart."

"You know that I hold no delight for cruelty." Aragorn frowned. "And you know that I am loyal to Gondor."

"Hmm," Elizabeth hummed, taking a sip of her tea. "And what is Gondor?" Aragorn raised an eyebrow, so Elizabeth elaborated. "Is she her court, her King, her lands, her people?"

Aragorn's frown deepened.

Elizabeth understood his contrition. It's always an ugly thing when something so simple as a question causes that nauseating twist in your gut, that irrevocable feeling ofwrongnesswhen truth clashes with belief, morality with duty. Aragorn is unique in that he is both extremely loyal and extremely moral. He truly is a fairytale hero, a valiant knight who slays the dragon and marries the princess. The problem of course, is that fairytales are so simple with quests that are always just and allies that are always righteous.

Middle Earth was supposed to be a fairytale.

But it wasn't anymore.

Elizabeth sighed and tapped her fingers against her desk, turning her head to stare out the window in thought. She had been making a lot of gambles recently, and this would be a big one. But too much was at stake to not take this bet.

"Second question then." She snapped, drawing another raised eyebrow from Aragorn. "Do you trust me?"

"My answer has not wavered, yes."

Elizabeth released a long exhale, fingers still incessantly tapping.

"Okay... three nights from today, meet me in the East stables an hour before sunrise. Bring your sword, tell no one."

Aragorn nodded once rising from his seat.

"I have to make my report to the King." Elizabeth nodded in understanding, but Aragorn continued. "However, we've not yet finished discussing the matter of your security."

Elizabeth gave him her bestof course we'll continue discussing this expression and he responded with his bestI know you'll try to get out of this but I'm not letting it go before leaving.

I need a vacation,Elizabeth thought as Aragorn closed the door behind him. Tapping fingers against her chin, Elizabeth recalled history books about medieval nobles who spent their days hunting, feasting, and hosting balls. She had absolutely no idea where they found the time because she could barely fit three meals a day into her schedule.

On the matter of schedules, Elizabeth lifted the small slate where Gledswith wrote out her daily schedule each night. The slate was always left at her desk and without it, Elizabeth would likely never get to a single meeting on time. As she scanned her day's tasks, she noticed that her next slot was labeled "Runhild" with no further explanation. Normally, when either Runhild or Gledswith needed to speak to her, they didn't bother with slotting themselves into her schedule and merely appeared in her parlor when she had no planned meetings.If Elizabeth were the betting sort, she'd place money on the meeting being another scheme that her staff had planned around her.

She sometimes wondered who was in charge of who.

Knock knock knock

Three precise but gentle raps sounded on the door and Elizabeth bid them enter.

As expected according to her schedule, Runhild stepped through the door. What was unexpected was the other maiden who stepped in behind her. This woman had brown hair pinned neatly into a spiraling bun with silver clips. Her dress was of fine make and her face had the slightest hint of rouge. She seemed vaguely familiar to Elizabeth as a face sometimes seen roaming the citadel, however she had never caught her name.

"Runhild," Elizabeth greeted, a pointed question in her tone. "And this is..."

"Idhres, your Highness," she curtseyed elegantly. "I have heard that you prefer bluntness and so apologies for being so terribly direct, but I come to offer my services as your lady-in-waiting. I was raised and educated in the courts as the daughter of a minor Noble who died soon after my birth. I know how to both organize a household and play the unspoken games of court. I am at your service."

"You are?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow, gaze flickering between Runhild and Idhres, not entirely sure which one to blame for the current situation, but with a rather strong suspicion. "Well I do appreciate the directness, however I'm sorry to say that I have no need-"

"I can vouch for her my Lady," Runhild cut in. "Idhres can be trusted."

Elizabeth frowned. She could quite easily see how this idea had been contrived. Gledswith had been bothering her for ages about needing a lady-in-waiting, both for the appearance of one as a status marker and for the expertise they would bring. Her personal staff was run perilously thin, too many tasks for too few people resulted in Elizabeth bearing the brunt of the workload. And there was no denying that she didn't always know what she was doing.

"I know you doubt my loyalty. You keep a small staff, a close group." Idhres spoke quickly, the first hint of nerves creeping into her tone. "It's kept you safe, but it also makes you suspect in the court. You're already an outsider, and you keep such a small number of followers who are all unkeen to gossip. You play the game differently and as a result, they know less about you than they ought to. It makes them suspicious."

"You're very observant and persistent, I'll give you that," Elizabeth chuckled lightly. "But-"

"Then how about this, if you'll pardon my interruption," she continued. "I would never betray you as I owe you for the lives of my brother and myself. My brother is a knight, Sir Giltread. You likely do not remember, but he was wounded in a bandit attack. Lord Telrian wanted him back in the saddle but you refused, citing that if his wound became infected he would lose at best his leg, at worse his life. Lord Telrian then revoked his knighthood for cowardiceand in return, you arranged for him to become a Knight of Gondor, far more prestigious a title than Knight of Telria." She paused, inhaling deeply. "With both my mother and father dead, his position was the only thing keeping the two of us in house. If he had been stripped of his position then we both would have been disgraced, likely dead in less than a year. I owe you a great debt."

Elizabeth did remember her brother, though she had no known the relation. Sir Giltread had been a young knight, but a good one. He sustained a gash to his leg that cut nearly to the bone because he had been shielding a child. What she had done was very well the least that she was capable of.

"I'm not in the business of collecting debts," she replied. She knew that politics ran on games of favors, of debts owed and paid out like unwritten contracts. But, she refused to play that game in the Healing Halls, she refused to make health come with strings attached.

"I know," Idhres smiled. "And that's precisely why I wish to follow you."

Elizabeth released a deep exhale. She met Idhres' eyes across her desk and began drumming her fingers in thought.

"Runhild, a word," she spoke sharply, standing with a flourish and opening the door to her sound-proofed study. Runhild silently followed, closing the door behind herself and standing before Elizabeth's desk with her back straight and chin high, not at all remorseful for the headache that she had caused Elizabeth. "You know this is no small matter," Elizabeth began before pausing, not quite sure where to go with her words.

"I know," Runhild spoke a well rehearsed, likely with the help of Gledswith, speech. "It's no small thing to bring another person into your inner circle. However, a lady of your status ought to have at the very least five ladies-in-waiting, yet you have none. There's only so much that Gledswith and I can do and Idhres has skills that neither of us have."

Runhild continued on to explain the reasons for her trust, citing Idhres' character, her morals, and her sharp wit. Apparently they had been childhood friends, Idhres having traveled to Rohan several times in her youth with both of them meeting again when Runhild moved to Minas Tirith.

Elizabeth hated to admit it, but Runhild was right. Sheneeded more help. The logistics of becoming heir to Gondor were immense and beyond what she had ever been trained in. Her duties continued to expand and she swore that they day carried fewer and fewer hours each week. Not to mention of course, the unspoken tasks laid on her shoulders, the silent games that were played out each day in court. Gledswith had tried to coach her in some of the rules, but Gledswith was still a servant. She had been trained to staunchly ignore these games, not engage in them. Elizabeth needed someone whoknewthe system like she knew her way around the human body.

But bringing another individual into her fold meant bringing them into many of her secrets. Someone so deeply entrenched into her inner staff would be fully exposed to her more controversial opinions. They would also become as vulnerable as she. They would be in the line of attack. It's not unheard of for staff to be attached in place of the courtier.

"And would you trust her with your life?" Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. The question was clear. Do you trust her to not spill secrets to the court or beyond?Do you trust this maiden to not slit my throat whilst she has the chance?

"Elizabeth," Runhild drew up Elizabeth's hands into her own. "I trust her with yours."

Elizabeth closed her eyes, breathing deeply as she nodded once before returning to her parlor in a few quick steps. Runhild followed behind her, silent for once, as Elizabeth fixed an appraising gaze on Idhres.

"Since arriving in Minas Tirith, there have been fifteen attempts on my life," Elizabeth explained, a challenge in her voice. "Joining my person staff may place you in the line of danger."

"I understand your Highness."

"In private and amongst my staff, I go by Elizabeth. Will that be a problem?"

"Not at all."

Elizabeth pushed back her surprise at Idhres' response. It was rare to find members of court who took such informality in stride.

"I have two elves. You may find my... ownership style to be rather different from what you're used to."

"I know that your treatment of elves is fairer than most, and that is one of the reasons I admire you," she smiled, something that seemed more genuine than the practiced grin that she had used upon first greeting Elizabeth.

"It's official then," Elizabeth stood as Idhres dipped into a curtsy once more. "Welcome to my staff."

***

The next few hours were a whirlwind of activity, Idhres moving like a tornado in reverse, organizing everything that she came into contact with.

By the time Elizabeth finished the meal that Gledswith had delivered with a barely there smirk, Idhres was sitting at a small writing desk that she had arranged for, flipping through a massive stack of papers that she had sorted from the pile previously sitting on Elizabeth's desk. From said stack she had arranged four separate piles, perfunctorily explaining her method as she worked.

"These are tasks that would fall under the duties of the Matron of the Healing Halls- you have no need to hear about the number or cost of bandages used in the last month and I'm certain that you trust your upper staff enough to handle the wages and schedules." She gestured to one stack which she pushed to the corner of her desk. Gesturing to the next she continued. "These papers fall under my purview- organization, logistics, minor disagreements and requests for aide that I can easily handle."

"You know how I would wish to respond to them?" Elizabeth questioned.

"I know that you would certainly grant this regent's request for an extremely minor tax break in light of the recent drought harming their district's agriculture and I am perfectly capable of writing a wonderfully polite letter telling this Lord that his grievances with another Lord over the copying of guard uniform designs must be handled betwixt themselves." She responded, barely lifting her eyes from her work as she held up each letter in turn.

"And the last two stacks?" Elizabeth asked, surprised and impressed by Idhres' work so far.

"These are invoices which should have been sent directly to the King's pages and were sent to you in an attempt to circumvent his own selection process- I'll have them sent through the proper channels," she then lifted the last stack and dropped it into the waste basket. "And these... are various forms of trash- letters written with disrespectful tones, improper forms of address, and demands for things which should be asked for in the most polite tone possible. In a few weeks when they receive no response they will understand their mistake and take more care in their next address."

"So you're just going to throw them away?"

"Yes. Yo- Elizabeth," she corrected herself quickly. "You have been too lenient with members of this court. You currently hold the highest position save the King, and yet some of these Lords address you in letters as they would to one of their Barons. If you respond to such addresses then you acknowledge them. If you acknowledge them then you accept yourself at a lower position than they. Ignoring these sends a message- you are not so petty as to respond with a demand for proper respect, but you simply don't find them worth your time."

Elizabeth nodded, really only semi-understanding Idhres' words. Such things reminded her once more why she had never, in all her youthful aspirations, wanted to engage in politics. But maybe, just maybe, she had made the right choice in trusting Runhild by bringing Idhres in.

With what she had coming up, she would need all the help that she could get.

Notes:

More clandestine meetings???
And yes, Elizabeth is (maybe reluctantly) recruiting a crew of badass women because maybe Middle Earth kingdoms kept falling because there weren't enough women in power... or just women in general. Seriously, I can count the named female characters of the trilogy on one hand.

Chapter 44 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"The Oath of Fealty," Glorfindel said without preamble.

Elizabeth choked on a sip of her morning tea.

"What?!" She turned to look the elf who was standing behind her dressing table, back straight and eyes solemn. Dawn had barely broken and Gledswith had just finished dressing Elizabeth, leaving the Heir with a few precious minutes to drink her tea and swallow a few bites of breakfast before starting the day.

Instead, it seemed that Glorfindel was insistent on beginning her day with a migraine.

"The Oath of Fealty," he repeated with the same level calm. "Are you familiar with it?"

"Yes, I'm familiar with it," she pounded on her chest as she coughed up the rest of that tea. "And I think that's as much as we'll be talking about that matter!"

Oh was Elizabeth familiar with that wretched oath. It was perhaps, a thing more sinister than the infamous Oath of Feanor. On record, there were only three elves who had ever sworn the Oath of Fealty, their fates were all similarly tragic.

"Good," he responded to her former statement, ignoring the latter. "Then I have little need to explain it to you. I wish to swear myself-"

"NO!" Elizabeth stood, he skirts sweeping below her as she took a step backwards, suddenly realizing how close Glorfindel had been standing. "You're not- are you crazy? Are you-"

"Of my own free mind and will-"

"NO!" Elizabeth took another half dozen steps backwards until she could feel the heat of the fireplace on the back of her neck.

This was crazy, Glorfindel was clearly not in his right mind.

The Oath of Fealty was an oath of complete and utter loyalty. In it, an elf swore themselves to a master for the entirety of their immortal life. Upon swearing the oath they become compelled to fulfill their master's every whim, bound to Middle Earth by claws that sunk far deeper into their souls than the collars that Man had bound them with. Rebellion, disobedience, or betrayal were no longer even options.

"If I were to swear myself to you, then I would be trusted as your guard. I would be permitted to follow you everywhere and protect you," he still spoke far too calmly for the situation. "It is the best way to ensure your safety."

"Glorfindel, I would own your fea," In her time in Middle Earth, Elizabeth had dipped into more darkness than she ever could have imagined in the past. She had crossed boundaries that she would never forgive herself for... but no one should ever have that kind of power. "If you swore yourself to me, I could send you out to hunt down the free elves. I could force you to betray anything and everything you have ever stood for.I could order you to cut off Elrond's head and you would have no choice but to obey!"

"You could."

"Then why would you-"

"Because you won't."

"Bold words for someone who I very nearly-"

"You were under the influence of a Ring of Power," Glorfindel paused, head tilted as a small frown crossed his face. "Please, step away from the hearth. You'll singe your gown."

"You're worried about my gown?" She said incredulously. Nevertheless, she stepped forward and took a seat at her small dining table breathing deeply to collect her thoughts. "Ring or not, that is still no excuse for my actions- and certainly cannot be blamed for the time I beat you with a cane."

"Those are behind us-"

"A week ago you thought that I was going to beat you as punishment for saving my life."

"But you did not."

"I-" Elizabeth held up her hands shaking her head. "No... no. I don't even know why we're having this discussion. That isn't going to happen. You can't-"

"That is not for you to determine!" Glorfindel boomed, raising his voice far louder than he ever had before.

Elizabeth froze in shock. Some deep, hindbrain instinct locking her muscles at the reverberations of that commanding bellow. On most days, Glorfindel play his part well- a meek, loyal servant whose only task was to follow his mistress and look pretty. He knew how to hunch his shoulders, bending down in a manner which belied his strength.

The elf before her was not the same as the one who followed her through court.

"Lady Elizabeth," his tone was severe, his cerulean eyes held a storm. "It is true that betwixt the two of us, you bear all the power to reign destruction upon me. And yet, you claim to believe that one's rights to their own body are inalienable. Thus, is this not my decision to make?"

Collapsing back into the plush upholstery of her chair, Elizabeth shook her head slowly.

"I- that's not..." The elf waited patiently. With thoughts swirling wildly through her mind, Elizabeth found herself in the rare position of being unable to form a complete sentence. Only one word managed to slip out. "Why?"

"Because," he took a step forward. "Lady Elizabeth, heir to Gondor's throne, daughter of lands beyond, and the sole mortal in all of Middle Earth who knows of an age when men and elves stood side by side together... if you die, so dies the hope of the Eldar."

He might as well have punched Elizabeth in the gut.

The hope of theEldar. What kind of hope could she possibly give? She was a doctor with only a few years of practical experience, trying to re-create medicine in a fantasy land where hand washing was a strange concept. Somehow, she had stumbled her way into the courts of Minas Tirith and avoided a multitude of assassination attempts largely by the competency of the guards and with no small degree of sheer luck. She was so far out of her depths it wasn't even funny.

An entire kingdom, sitting on the precipice of war with an unknown enemy, was looking to her. Half of the court did not trust her by virtue of her skin and the mysteries of her origin that were becoming harder and harder to dodge. And now, now a dying race wished to place their trust in her?

"I- I can't promise you anything. I'm the wrong person. I-" Elizabeth glanced out the window, taking note of the time. She was due in the Healing Halls for a surgery at daybreak and the sun was beginning is climb. "I have to go." She gathered her things quickly, not at all fleeing from the scene. "Just- think about this, please. I don't know where this idea came from but if history has shown anything it is that it always ends in tragedy. I am a doctor pretending to be a princess... I'm certainly not the person to put your faith into."

Stuffing the rest of her papers into a satchel and a final bite of bread into her mouth, Elizabeth sped towards the door. Just as her hand made contact with the handle, she was stopped by one last parting remark from the elf.

"Elizabeth," a slight smile with no mirth behind it pulled at Glorfindel's lips. "Please tell me, when have we ever held the right to choose where people put their faith?"

***

Elizabeth used a boar's hair brush to scrub the blood from under her fingernails. The surgery had gone... surprisingly well and so long as they managed to keep the suture from becoming infected- a rather daunting task, the boy should live. There was something soothing about the time that she spent in the healing halls. Despite the chaos of sickness and pain, there was something familiar and comforting in it. Even under less than ideal circ*mstances... it was what she was meant to be doing. Of course, the reason why she was lingering in the Healing Halls instead of returning to her parlor was absolutely just because she wanted to spend more time there... she was certainly not avoiding someone.

"Where are your guards?"

Elizabeth just barely managed to contain a yelp as Tirgon materialized behind her. A few of the newer assistants paused to gape at the King gracing the Healing Halls with his presence, but they were quickly pulled back to work by the more senior staff.

"I believe somewhere outside the city gates, searching for glovewort," she replied, drying off her hands and snatching a fallen towel off the floor.

"And how precisely are they meant to be protecting you from there?" He frowned.

"They're protecting my sanity. I can't have two armed men following me around menacing my staff. Furthermore, they were scaring my patients."

"Elizabeth, your safety is priority. You are my heir."

Elizabeth tried really hard to not compare the concern in his eyes to her grandfather when she first moved into an apartment by herself after college.

"I promise, I'm careful. We have guards stationed at every door and they're never out of earshot."

"My Lady-" a young maid curtsied low, startling and doing a double take as she realized who Elizabeth was speaking with.

"Yes?"

"I-" the maid flushed red upon realizing that she had interrupted their conversation, but a kind smile and gesture from Tirgon had her continuing. "I fetched the one you wished to speak with. He's in your office."

"Thank you, that'll be all." Elizabeth watched as the maid curtsied again before shuffling off. "It is regarding that matter which you asked me to look into," Elizabeth to Tirgon who nodded.

"I suppose you should see to that," he paused to scan his eyes across the Healing Halls. "You've done good work here, Elizabeth. I shall respect your wish, but I am doubling the guards at the door."

With that, Tirgon turned and left, allowing Elizabeth to make her way to her office located towards the back of the branching corridor. The office was really more of a meeting space than anything, a place to discuss particularly troubling cases or for meeting with patients when such events required a more private setting.

She allowed herself one steadying breath before sweeping into the room, locking the door behind her, and taking a seat at her desk. Shuffling some old papers that probably needed to be tossed out, she collected her thoughts before launching into her next task of the day. They were stocking up the Healing Halls on the pretext of "always being prepared." With every new report from the field, the unease in Elizabeth's chest grew. It was becoming harder and harder to deny the coming conflict.

Once the meeting passed, Elizabeth found herself gazing out the window, somewhat surprised to find the sun already touching the horizon. If she were being smart, she would pack up and head to her chambers to get a few hours of sleep as she was to wake before the dawn. But... going back to her chambers meant facing Glorfindel again and thus, she decided to do another set of rounds to check on patients. There was always work to do in the Healing Halls and before she knew it, dawn was but a few hours away.

Cursing silently to herself, Elizabeth gathered her things and rushed back to her chambers to change into appropriate riding clothes.

She had someone she needed to meet.

Notes:

I'm still alive!
Trust Glorfindel to go for the nuclear option in everything. His logic: someone is trying to kill you-> I'm your best bet at a guard-> I'm not trusted with a sword-> if I swear an eternal oath to you then I can be trusted to be your guard!
And yes, I promise we'll get our mystery meeting in the next chapter.

Chapter 45 Chapter Text

A single lantern illuminated the stables as Elizabeth's hands caressed the worn leather of her saddle. She had sent the flustered stable boy back to bed, insisting on preparing her horse herself for her early morning ride. She could sense the questions in his eyes, but a firm order from the princess of Gondor was enough to keep the young lad silent.

Portia huffed in annoyance at being woken at such an early hour and Elizabeth did her best to stroke the mare's mane, whispering promises of fresh oats and sugar lumps if she behaved.

"You know you'll spoil her," a smooth voice quipped.

"Don't be grumpy that she dislikes you," Elizabeth quipped back.

"She dislikes everyone," Aragorn replied as he emerged from the shadows.

The Dunedain was dressed in his hunting leathers, armor light and flexible for speed and ease of movement. Behind him was his horse, a stout bay stallion, already tacked and ready. Unlike Portia, Aragorn’s horse seemed perfectly used to early morning wake ups and stood patiently without any fussing. Elizabeth’s eyes briefly flicked to his sword which rested against his hip.

"Are you ready to leave?" She asked, turning her attention back to her tack, checking the girth and adjusting her stirrups out of habit.

"Hm," he nodded, swinging himself up into his saddle. "Are you ready to tell me what we are doing?"

Elizabeth took a few more moments to fiddle with various straps, contemplating her next words carefully. She climbed into her saddle and ran a gentle hand down Portia's neck to sooth herself.

"I'm sorry but... I just need you to trust me and not act hastily. If this uncertainty is too much... then I would not fault you for returning to your chambers and pretending that this all never occurred."

"My words from before still stand," Aragorn replied. He then gently nudged his horse to step forward, gesturing for Elizabeth to lead the way. "My sword is at you disposal, Princess." His final word was said with a smirk.

The use of her title combined with the lilt in his voice was enough to garner a chuckle from Elizabeth's somber mood. She huffed, picking a piece of straw out of Portia's mane and flinging it at the man. And with that, they set out- picking their way slowly through the cobblestone streets still sleeping with the sun before breaking out into an easy lope on the open plains beyond the city. Elizabeth led them North, towards the Druadan Forests, a region avoided by most Gondorians due to its treacherous paths. Only the Dunedain Rangers ever traveled through them, and even then only when they had to. Thus, there would certainly be no eavesdroppers.

The woods themselves were dark with towering pines casting eerie shadows in the mild gleam of the morning sun. It was strangely quiet. Despite there being no men to hunt and drain the forest of wildlife, there was very little alive save the trees and the occasional squirrel that would rustle through the branches above their heads. Elizabeth could feel the line of tension that ran from Aragorn's shoulder to his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. Her eyes scanned the trees before them, eventually landing on a small star freshly carved into the rough bark.

"We're here," Elizabeth spoke at last, having made the entire trip since the stables of Minas Tirith in silence.

Aragorn nodded once, head slowly swiveling as he scanned the trees around them. Tactically speaking, it was a terrible spot. Even Elizabeth with her limited knowledge of combat knew that the thick trees were capable of hiding all manner of enemies. And yet, for once, Elizabeth was confident in her decision. If the ones she was meeting wanted to kill her, they could've done so with far fewer dramatics. They needed her for something, and perhaps this was a time for her to find out what.

The snapping of twigs under horse hooves alerted them to someone approaching. Aragorn nudged his horse forward, positioning himself slightly ahead of Elizabeth, betwixt her and the strange horse emerging from the shadows.

On the back of a bay mare was a figure cloaked in worn brown fabric. Once in clear view, they came to a stop, the horse silently pawing at the ground.

"Once again I have come, this time with a single guard as agreed. Now the question is... are you alone this time, or will we have yet another betrayal?" Elizabeth spoke clearly, courtly authority woven into her tone.

"I am alone as promised," a sweet voice rang out as two pale hands emerged to grasp the edge of the stranger's cowl. "And I apologize for the previous meeting betwixt our parties. My brothers were wrong in following the Lady Galadriel."

And the hood lowered to reveal a head of ebony hair restrained in twin braids wrapping past a silver circlet, a snow-white complexion, and eyes the color of storm clouds that glowed with the light of the stars. The worn fabric did little to hide her radiance.

"Arwen Undomiel, daughter of Elrond," Elizabeth resisted the urge to fidget in the seat of her saddle. "Why have you requested to speak with me?"

"A gesture of goodwill," her voice remained as smooth and melodic as when she first spoke. "I came to inform you that soon, likely within the next five days, there will be an attack launched on Emyn Arnen. The attack will carry with it more than thrice the troops that marched on Osgiliath and they will have orders to raze the earth."

Elizabeth couldn't help the sharp inhale of breath at those words.

"And you came by this information how?"

"I cannot say." With those words, Arwen finally broke eye contact with Elizabeth, glancing over to Aragorn who had remained silent and frozen since the moment Arwen had lowered her hood. "But know that this information is accurate, and that we are doing our best to uncover who might be behind this."

"Why help Gondor, why aide your foe?"

"The men of Gondor are not the only ones threatened."

"I'm going to need more to go off of if you want me to believe you," Elizabeth hated the uncertainty that crept into her voice.Why wouldthey tell us this? How the hell did they find out? And... what's their angle?

Arwen, finally, seemed uncertain. The shift in her mood was subtle, but her expression was one that Elizabeth knew all too well. It was the look of one who is trapped, of one who is afraid but cannot show it. The Evenstar that Elizabeth knew from her books was gentle and serene, yet unyieldingly firm in her convictions.Would this one, raised in hiding, be the same?

"Four elves have gone missing," she spoke sharply, storm eyes suddenly steel. "We know that they were not taken by Gondor or her allies... by all appearances they vanished." Her gaze fixed heavily on Elizabeth. "Middle Earth is an ugly place when men and elves war, but it is something far darker when a foe targets us both."

"And you think Gondor would help you?"

"We think you will help yourselves. Any aide to us could be considered an investment, could it not?" Her tone turned to ice as her gaze lingered on the emblem of the Dunedain affixed to the left shoulder of Aragorn's cloak. The symbol one of dread to every elf left on these shores."I doubt Gondor wants... competition, for her favorite goods."

"I will consider this information then. Is there anything else?"

"A map," the pulled a worn piece of parchment from a pouch at her hip. "We make no promises on its accuracies, but it is our best approximation on how their cloaking works. It appears that they can only mask their presence for a short period of time, thus they require periodic coverings to hide from view."

Elizabeth nodded, waiting for Aragorn to move forward and accept the map. After a pause of a few heartbeats though, she found herself lightly clearing her throat, wishing there was a way for her to kick his ankle under the table as they were oft to do in longer court sessions. But, he seemed to not notice the sounds she made, still petrified like a troll in the sun.

"Aragorn," Elizabeth finally spoke his name sharply.

"Of course," he shook his head lightly as if waking from a stupor, nudging his horse forward to retrieve the paper.

When he reached Arwen's horse, he hesitated, stretching his hand out slowly with his palm facing upwards. With his back to her, Elizabeth had no way of telling his expression. However, he seemed uncharacteristically stiff.

"Aragorn?" Her tone became something unreadable as she deposited the map into Aragorn's waiting hand. "Chieftain of the Dunedain."

He responded with a silent nod as he backed up his horse, taking his place once more by Elizabeth's side.

And with a slight tilt of her head in acknowledgment, Arwen, daughter of Elrond, turned her back to her foes and disappeared back into the pines. There was a pregnant pause where the air remained tense as a drawn bow, both Elizabeth and Aragorn waiting for the other shoe to drop, for an ambush to swing out from the trees. But, nothing came.

In the end, Elizabeth turned her horse and began retracing their steps, Aragorn lingering for a moment before joining her. It was a slow and silent walk back through the woods, Elizabeth's mind churning at a thousand miles an hour. She hadn't even had a chance to look at the map still clutched in Aragorn's hand and she already knew that it would be hell to deal with wether or not it proved true. Dry pine needles crunched lightly under the horses' hooves and Elizabeth could practically hear the questions that she was certain Aragorn would have.

As they approached the edge of the woods, Elizabeth drew her mare to a stop and waited for Aragorn to notice and pause as well. He glanced over at her, as silent as he had been since the moment of Arwen's arrival. Elizabeth failed to suppress the heavy sigh that fled her chest.

"I suppose..." she hesitated a moment before shaking her head. "I suppose that I owe you an explanation."

Chapter 46 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"Not here," Aragorn replied after a moment, eyes darting back and forth. "The woods have ears... most specially when elves are involved."

"So do the walls of the Citadel."

"Your private office, we'll discuss there."His tone was perfectly blank and gave no indication whatsoever of his thoughts on the matter.

And thus, they set off at an easy lope, making good time on their way back to the city. Of course, said ride felt much longer than it actually was. Both parties remained silent and Elizabeth couldn't help but allow her mind to spiral. Perhaps her judgment of Aragon was clouded by the idealized version that she knew from books, perhaps it was too late to change the narrative that he was raised with in this world.

Either way, what's done is done.

The towering white marble of the Citadel soon loomed over the pair as they arrived and handed off their horses to a stablehand. Elizabeth could hear every footstep echo in the hallways as they travelled to her empty chambers. Elrond was off in the Healing Halls and she had left Glorfindel locked in her room, still reluctant to speak with him after the... incident.

Pulling the key from a chain around her neck, Elizabeth opened the door to her private office and allowed Aragorn to enter before locking it behind them. She busied herself with lighting a few candles as Aragorn took a seat, both basking in the thick silence.

Perhaps if I stall long enough, the Citadel will finally fulfill my wish and swallow me whole. Being entombed in marble for an eternity doesn't seem too bad.She pondered the useless thought for a few minutes before deciding that, despite common sense telling her otherwise, this was not a conversation that she wished to have sober. Thus, she reached into the bottom drawer of her desk and pulled forth a small wooden barrel of dwarfish brandy that Gimli had gifted to her. Twisting out the stopper, she poured two generous glasses and passed one to Aragorn who took it wordlessly.

For a long several moments they sipped the fiery liquor.

"The day you returned from your journey, I received a note delivered by bird requesting my presence. It was an offer from Arwen of the free elves to pass on information about the foe who has thus far cloaked himself so thoroughly from our view." Elizabeth spoke plainly and without preamble.

"So you've done this before?"

"Once."

"And it went..."

"Less well than this occurrence, but not poor enough to prevent my willingness to attempt a second."

"Obviously," Aragorn snorted and leaned back in his seat, taking another long sip of his brandy. "And..."

"And what?"

"And any explanation?" His chuckle was half-hearted, more incredulous than humorous. "Any reasoning or excuses, any anything to explain why you would journey out to meet, presumably alone, with free elves to discuss matters of state?"

Elizabeth shrugged, the brandy had done its job of loosening the claws of tension usually latched so thoroughly into her shoulders and neck. Her eyes fell to a flickering candle sitting on the corner of her desk, searching the flame as if perhaps it would give her the answers to such questions that she knew she should know.

"Because what choice do we have? Every day our foe grows in strength, every attack is worse than the last and we have yet to form any means of predicting or defending from these attacks. We both know that this is only the beginning. To me, the safety of the people of Gondor far outweighs any ancient grudge or vengeance."

"And you trust them?" Aragorn's eyebrow raised in a visceral demonstration of exactly how muchhetrusted the elves.

It was Elizabeth's turn to snort.

"No, to nearly every degree, no." She placed her empty glass on her desk and glanced at it longingly for a few moments before finally meeting Aragorn's gaze. "But a common foe is a common foe."

There was a long period of silence then.

Elizabeth searched Aragorn's gaze, desperately seeking out some hint of his thoughts on the matter, wondering just how much this world's shades of grey had seeped beneath the skin of this man who was once described as a being secretly of gold, hidden by this lack of glitter. Was there still shining light beneath the hardened shell that had been beaten at by a life of bitter malice and prejudice? If Elizabeth was wrong, if she had miscalculated, then the precious tower of cards that she had constructed in Minas Tirith would collapse, taking an entire healthcare, education, and social change system down with it.

It seemed that she had forgotten how to breath.

"Okay."

"Okay?" Elizabeth replied, bewildered by the way Aragorn seemed to sink back into his chair as if perfectly relaxed.

"I said okay." He repeated himself, a rueful smile creeping upon his face. "I will copy down this map in my own hand and call for a meeting with King Tirgon when he returns from his hunt tomorrow, presenting it as my best estimation of potential attack routes based on the information that I have gathered. Then it will just be a matter of-"

"Woah woah woah," Elizabeth held up both hands as his words sunk in. "This was my terrible plan, this is my gamble. If this turns into a trap then I'm not letting the fall out all come down on you."

"I told you that I trust you, I am with you in this, Elizabeth." Aragorn stood, one hand pressing the paper down to the desk to prevent Elizabeth from seizing it back.

"And if it all goes wrong?"

"Then we will deal with it together." A slight smile crept upon Aragorns face. "Besides," he added as he folded the paper and tucked it away into his belt. "It is far more believable for me to present a prediction of battle strategy based on my scouting."

With that, he exited her office and held the door, gesturing for Elizabeth to step forward. They were met with a young boy in a page's uniform and a silent elf kneeling beside him in her parlor. Aragorn raised an eyebrow at the pair and Elizabeth merely shook her head, gesturing him out the door with a shooing motion. Once he left and closed the door behind him, Elizabeth plastered a professional smile on and spun around to face her new guests.

"My afternoon appointment, I presume?" She asked the boy.

"Yes yer Highness," the boy replied with a stuttered bow. "I was sent by m'master to bring you the elf you asked for."

She dismissed the boy before turning to the elf that she had requested the day before. Her eyes roved over his still form, taking in his hunched shoulders and the way his eyes remained planted on the floor. Honestly, he was holding himself together remarkably well... considering the situation. Elizabeth could only imagine what was was going through the elf's mind.

"Whatever you think I've summoned you for Erestor," she ignored the way he flinched at his name falling from her lips. "I can assure you that this isn't it." Walking over to her desk drawer, she withdrew a small satchel, lantern, and a two-inch-wide band of black fabric. "You will however, need to be blindfolded for this."

Ignoring the slight flinch when she stepped behind the elf's back, Elizabeth tied the fabric across his eyes and bid him to stand. She then guided his hand to the crook of her elbow and ordered her to follow her. With one last glance around the room, the silent pair slipped through the servant's entrance and down a winding set of corridors. With the elf's keen whit in mind, Elizabeth was careful to double back down several paths and make multiple erratic turns to prevent any chance of memorizing their route.

Finally, they reached a wrought iron door which she opened with a large key that was secured to a waist tie under her dress. The door released a slow shriek that sent shivers down the spine as she used her weight to push it open. Instantly the air became chill and damp as she guided the blinded elf through the entrance before closing the door with equal difficulty.

"You may remove your blindfold."

Through the light of a single lantern, Elizabeth watched as Erestor brought a pair of trembling hands to his face. The flickering flame cast shadows along the wall, lengthening his moments and creating the image of some eldritch monster creeping across the back wall.

As his eyes adjusted to the dim light, Elizabeth busied herself with lighting a thin taper from her lamp. She slowly walked towards the stone wall of the cave and tapped the lit flame to an oil-soaked wick. In an instant the fire zipped along the length of the wall, lighting one torch after the other in a row. Each torch served to illuminate in flickering amber another section of what appeared to be a vast natural cave complete with an arching ceiling, high ledges, and a deep pool of still water. Along the various ledges and roughly carved stone steps were rows and rows of wooden barrels and earthenware casks.

“What-” Erestor began but was cut off by Elizabeth.

“Welcome to the hidden food stores of Minas Tirith,” she gestured vaguely towards the depths of the cave. “This stockpile was assembled three years ago with the most recently added towards the back. Stores include flour, dried meat and fish, beans, canned vegetables, and salt. Fresh water in the lake comes from an underground spring with no access points above ground.” Ignoring the shocked expression on Erestor’s face, Elizabeth proceeded to dig through her bag and pull out several sheets of paper, charcoal sticks, and a dull barrel-blade. “Here I have reports on the average number of people occupying the Citadel on any one day, the size of Gondor’s military stationed in the city, and the population of Minas Tirith. I want to know, based on our current stores, how long we could survive a siege and how we can improve our preparations. Any questions?”

There was a long moment of silence where Elizabeth’s outstretched hand carrying the documents and writing implements hung in the air between the pair. The only sound to be heard was the slow and steady drip of water that echoed all around. Elizabeth forced her breath to remain even as she watched Erestor.

The elf, finally snapping out of his stupor, blinked several times before demurely lowering his eyes to the hard packed dirt floor.

“This lowly one’s only question is the wonderment of why your Highness would appoint a common elven slave to such a task.” His voice was perfectly demure and even- devoid of any inflection or hint towards his mood.

Elizabeth brought a hand to her forehead and resisted the urge to growl in frustration.

She had developed the concept of an emergency store of food early on in her days at Tirgon’s court. It hadn’t taken much convincing at all to gain approval for the project; however it had taken significantly more work to find a suitable space and acquire the vast array of provisions. But, whilst Elizabeth had done the best that she could, Elizabeth was far from an expert in such things and honestly had no idea if her grand plan for emergency supplies would survive any sort of actual disaster.

That’s where her idea for using Erestor had come in. Erestor was once a high-ranking advisor to Lord Elrond in Imladris, back in the days when the elven city was a key supply line and preparation ground for the war against Sauron. Though the elves failed to fight in said war in this version of Middle Earth, they had prepared for it and survived through the incredibly drawn-out conflict until men set their sights on vengeance.

If there was anyone who knew the logistics of preparing a city for siege- it would be Erestor.

“Please don’t play games with me, Erestor,” Elizabeth hoped that the whine in her head hadn’t transferred to her voice. “I know that you are more than qualified to craft preparations for a city the size of Minas Tirith and I doubt that you are unobservant enough to think that a conflict where such things are necessary is far from likely.”

All at once, Erestor’s entire posture changed as he stood straight and squared his shoulders, finally revealing his full height. A sharpness emerged in his eyes as they skittered rapidly from the barrels and casks of supplies to the papers in Elizabeth’s hand. His gaze finally met hers as a hint of pride crept into his voice.

“Then I ask again, your Highness, why would a lowly elven slave be trusted with such a task?”

She could practically hear the raised brow in the question despite the relatively neutral tone it was delivered with. Despite the somewhat tentative truce that she had with Glorfindel… in truth she didn’t trust Erestor. Even when he was at his lowest, begging to give his friend a means of escaping life, there was always a glimmer in the elf’s eye that spelled trouble, always a slight hint of sharpness beneath the surface. Erestor was what Elizabeth could not, no matter the time or effort spent training, be- a politician.

But she also knew that he cared for his kin.

“Tell me Erestor,” she spoke as she walked slowly towards a barrel of grains. “What do you suppose would happen, if the city were to fall under siege, to your kindred held within its walls?” She allowed her words to sink in a moment as she brushed two fingers across the lid of the barrel, inspecting the thick coat of dust that remained.

They both knew the answer.

Neither party was under any delusion that resources would be spread equally. Those deemed disposable would be the first to lose their rights to food and water- would be the first to wither away. If there were to be even the slightest doubt that resources were scarce than the elves would be condemned.

“You need oil,” his first words spoken in her presence without hesitation in his tone. “Be it nut-pressed or animal fat, dried meat gives strength but oil is needed to make the cooking palatable and grant energy- especially if the weather turns cold.”

Elizabeth nodded her head in acknowledgment. It made sense… she just hadn’t thought about it.

She watched as Erestor walked over to the nearest earthen cask and used the barrel-blade to break away the seal. He opened it and ran his hand through the flour, testing it for some quality that Elizabeth knew not.

“You’ve done well in keeping this dry, but relying fully on loose flour is a poor choice. Have this flour sent up to the kitchen for regular use in batches and task them with baking hard-tack biscuits with new flour to replace these stores. The biscuits last longer and are less prone to spoilage.”

Erestor then turned and placed a sheet of paper against the side of a barrel, rapidly marking notes in neat script. Every now and then he would pause, eyes glancing upwards in thought, before returning to his notes.

“I trust that you can take it from here?” She asked as she set down a flask of water and a small meal wrapped in a piece of linen.

“Yes, your Highness,” he turned and bowed towards Elizabeth, a kind of light in his eyes that she had not seen before. “This will likely take me several days though.”

“Of course,” she nodded, already having planned for such. “When I leave I’ll lock the door behind me and return to fetch you come evening. Report to my quarters in the morrow. You are to be excused from your regular duties until this task is complete.”

“Understood, your Highness.” He remained in his bowed position until Elizabeth exited the cavern, locking the door securely behind her.

Perhaps she was a fool for leaving an untrusted individual alone with the full extent of the city’s emergency supplies. But, she had too much work to do to babysit the elf all day and no available staff that she trusted enough with the task. Thus, she was relying on his common sense in understanding that maintaining a stable vittles supply was in his best interest as much as hers.

Either way, sun had yet to reach its height and there was still much to do. Worry could wait for later.

Notes:

Once again I come to you in the chapter notes to mention that I'm not dead, just very very busy with life's chaos.
Also, look at me avoiding my update schedule like Elizabeth avoiding her problems.

Chapter 47 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Lady Elizabeth's new lady in waiting, Idhres, sat at her desk in the parlor. One foot tapping incessantly against the stone felt like a stream of small pebbles pricking the back of Elrond's neck. It wasn't the sound itself that had him on edge, it was the presence of the lady making said sound.

A week of lowering her workload in the Healing Halls due to her injury had seen Lady Elizabeth plowing through paperwork like a particularly voracious wildfire. The stack of official documents that needed to be transcribed had piled up so much that Elrond was pulled from his usual roster at the Healing Halls to catch up. In his place, Glorfindel had been sent to attend to patients in the plague ward leaving Elrond with the new lady in waiting.

The third desk in the room and maiden behind it felt somewhat like an invasion. She was an unknown, a new threat to be carefully analyzed and planned around. Elrond was well adjusted to the professional staff of the Healing Halls who cared only for what work he could do, the severe senior assistant who was rather indifferent towards the topic of elves, and the rather enthusiastic young maid who roamed the halls of the Citadel with an honest sort of brashness.

But what of this new maiden?

She was proper, with posture and speech that held the epitome of good breeding . Her work was frighteningly efficient and the confidence and ease with which she carried herself seemed baked into her bones. More than anything though, there was something sharp about her. Be it the cutting gaze that she sometimes bore or the secret joy she seemed to take when penning a retort to a particularly dull yet bombastic lord, Elrond would swear that beneath those layers of propriety lied something feral. In many ways, the young Edain maiden reminded Elrond a bit too much of his once-advisor, Erestor.

“Two-thousand eight hundred and fifty nine split three ways.” Idhres asked aloud without looking up from her paper.

“Nine-hundred and fifty three?” Elrond hesitantly replied after a moment of silence.

“Hmm, thank you,” she continued to write without missing a beat, still scratching away at the parchment with her quill.

It was the first time that Idhres had addressed him directly and was surprisingly anticlimactic. She accepted his answer without question, even thanking him for it. Was it perhaps a test? Did she already have the problem solved and merely asked to see if he would attempt to deceive her? Such petty deception would serve little value if his true intention was to undermine her. Unlike Lady Elizabeth, this Idhres was clearly court born and bred- no action came without an ulterior motive, no question was innocent.

“Please stop.” Idhres’ voice interrupted Elrond’s thoughts like the clear chime of a bell.

“...Pardon?” He glanced down at his paper that he had neglected for the past several minutes. Did she read something on my document from across the room that she disagrees with?

“I can hear you thinking and it’s distracting.” Idhres finally put down her quill and fixed her sharp gaze on Elrond’s. “I appreciate the assistance with my arithmetic. It was a numbers question, nothing more.”

“Of course my Lady,” he replied quickly and picked up his quill. Though her tone held a hint of amusem*nt in it, Elrond thought it best not to test this new Lady’s temper.

***

“Twice a day boil water, allow it to cool, and wash the wound with said water… simple, straightforward instructions- a child could do it and yet of course… apparently these directions are too difficult to follow,” Elizabeth muttered to herself as she scrubbed her hands above the sink stationed in a side corridor of the Healing Halls. Glorfindel, positioned one step to her left and two behind as usual, valiantly pretends to ignore her aside. “But no, because his neighbor informed him that his mother always cleans his wounds with tallow and salt so of course that’s what he decides to do instead.” She began to dry her hands with a rag, venting her frustrations on the innocent scrap of cotton fabric caught in her grasp. “And guess what said tallow caused!”

Glorfindel, the only being in earshot and thus the victim of her current rant, offered a hesitant answer.

“A less than ideal state of healing?”

“Hah,” she threw the towel into the laundry basket with vengeance. “If only it were that. No, because of course not. Instead it created an infection. So now instead of a nasty scar he will be without a thumb because we will have to amputate!”

Elizabeth gripped the edges of the sink in a white-knuckle hold as she took several deep breaths. It was rare for her to go on such rants these days with “composure” being so essential to maintaining reputation. But ever since assigning Erestor to his task of reorganizing the siege stores the prior night she had been on edge.

A new lady in waiting, the message from Arwen, bringing Aragorn into the mess with the free elves, Glorfindel’s “offer,” Erestor organizing citadel supplies, and whatever the hell Gandalf was doing running around Gondor- too many pieces were in play. It was getting increasingly harder to keep track of everything.

“Perhaps this lesson will serve to remind him to listen to instructions next time,” Glorfindel supplied, reminding Elizabeth that he had indeed been listening to her rant. Having a constant shadow was something that she was very much still adjusting to.

“Perhaps,” she released another mirthless chuckle. “At the very least-”

“Your Highness!” A set of four royal guards suddenly turned the corner and ran towards Elizabeth. “Your Highness we must escort you to safety!”

Two remained standing in front of her whilst two slipped behind to form a box surrounding her on all sides. They began a swift march out the door with Elizabeth amidst them.

“Where are we going? What’s the meaning of this?”

“We have orders to take you to a safe location.” One of the men replied.

Several of Elizabeth’s healers threw worried looks her way as they blazed past. She barely had the time to throw out several orders regarding her last patient before they were out the door and trailing towards the most secure area of the Citadel, the Throne Room.

The soldiers marching with her appeared grim and if it weren’t for the calm and confused glances of everyone they passed, Elizabeth would have assumed an invasion.

“On whose orders?”

“The Warden of the Keys, your Highness,” one man, crimson sash denoting his rank, replied.

“Sir Baldred is on a hunt with the King until tomorrow high noon at the earliest,” Elizabeth recalled.

“Sir Hildred is acting in his stead at the moment. We were told a threat was made on your Highness’ life and ordered to bring you to safety. Apologies, but that is all we know at the moment.”

“Stop!” She commanded, pausing her steps and thus forcing them to pause theirs. “Is the threat active, or contained?”

“Contained your Highness.” The men began to shift uneasily, clearly torn between the prior orders of their superior and the royal before them.

“Then I order you to take me to Sir Hildred. I will not be told to hide with no explanation.”

“...Of course your Highness,” their commanding officer bowed once before the party switched directions.

Their new path led them down several winding corridors, staff and courtiers growing fewer in number as they traveled deeper into the Citadel. Hallways gave way to stairways as they descended down further. Soon, the hustle and bustle of the heart of Gondor faded leaving only the echoes of the lonely party’s footsteps. There was only one location to be found so deep-set in the stone foundations of the Citadel- the dungeon.

The head of the unit walked solemnly towards a thick oak door, rapping the hilt of his sword curtly against it before swinging it open and announcing their presence.

Elizabeth expected many things behind that door- a would-be-assassin, foreign “diplomats,” thieves… but none of those greeted her. Instead, Elizabeth watched as the door swung open to reveal her three staff members along with Elrond, chained at the wrist and held by soldiers.

“Unhand my staff this instant!” Elizabeth ordered, channeling every ounce of false confidence and imagined royal authority. “What made you believe that you had the right to detain my assistant, my maid, my lady in waiting, and my slave?!”

The small chamber was filled to the brim with nearly a dozen soldiers arranged into a semi-circle. Four of the men each held a member of Eliabeth’s staff: Gledswith, Runhild, Idhres, and Elrond. Despite having their wrists shackled behind their backs, none of the maidens looked too worse for wear with the exception of a few bruises. Elrond, of course, had been pushed into a kneel and had a sword resting lightly against his neck.

In the middle of the arrangement stood Sir Hildred- a middle aged knight who had climbed the ranks partially through skill with a broadsword and partially through noble heritage. The title of Warden of the Keys granted an individual authority over Minas Tirith’s security. It was generally held by Sir Baldred, the Commander of the Royal Guard. However, at times when he left the city, command was handed off- this time apparently to a man bearing far more brawn than brains.

“Your Highness,” Sir Hildred, spoke slowly, like one might when explaining something to a child. “It is unsafe for you to be here amidst the suspected traitors. I will soon have-”

“What do you mean by suspected traitors? What is the meaning of this? You WILL explain.” Fury was rising in Elizabeth, red-hot rage barely being held back by every ounce of self control in her body.

“This was discovered in your bed, your Highness,” a younger soldier- obviously far more skilled at reading the room than Sir Hildred, stepped forward and offered up an object wrapped in cloth.

Elizabeth carefully lifted the bundle and unwrapped it to reveal a dagger- crudely blackened steel the length of her forearm and encrusted with rough, uncut gems. It was a weapon clearly not belonging to any member of Gondor’s forces- the blade itself jagged and bent like a lightning bolt. Most notable however, was the crimson stain dying the blade red.

“By whom?” Elizabeth questioned as she examined the blade. To think that such a thing was hidden in her bed, behind the locked doors of her chambers- it was clearly a threat.

“Your maid,” Sir Hildred stepped forward, speaking once more.

“Oh,” sarcasm dripped from Elizabeth’s lips. “You mean Runhild, the one you currently have chained on the accusation that she planted it herself… only to then report it?”

“I-”

“There is a breach in the Citadel’s security and a threat on my life- and you waste your time harassing my staff?!”

“Your Highness,” Sir Hildred bowed low, the weight of her displeasure finally seeming to sink in. “These four are the only individuals with full access to your chambers, the culprit must have been one of them.”

“What of the Steward, the head of guard of the Royal wing, or the King’s Seneschal? Do those men not have access to a key?” With each word that fell from her lips, Sir Hildred seemed to bow lower. “Or are you perhaps unaware of such concepts as lock picking or key theft? Were you so eager to clean up the mess that happened under your watch that you were willing to toss aside all rational and logic?”

“My deepest apologies, your Highness, I may have, in my concern for your safety, acted too swiftly.”

“Too swiftly indeed,” she retained her glare at the back of his head for several more seconds before turning to her staff- still manacled but now standing unaided as the guards all seemed to fear touching them. “Gledswith, you were not even near my chambers since early this morning, correct?”

“Indeed my Lady,” she curtsied lightly, unfazed by the situation as her usual imperturbable self. “I attended to you this morning and then left to organize supplies with the Matron. I was beside her all day.”

“As expected. Runhild,” she turned to her maid. “Where were you this afternoon?”

“After making up your bed I took the sheets and laundry down to the washroom. I spent the rest of the day up and down the citadel delivering your notes. I’m certain that several Lords and Ladys, as well as a number of staff, could vouch for my presence throughout the day. I then went to stoke the fire in your chambers and noticed a lump under the sheets. I found the dagger and immediately reported it to the nearest guard.”

“Of course,” she nodded once in reassurance before fixing her attention on Idhres. “You were in my parlor all day. Did you hear anything suspicious?”

“No my Lady,” she shook her head vehemently. “Nor did I enter your private chambers. I have spent the entirety of the day working at my desk responding to non-urgent correspondences and examining the past year’s budget report. I had hoped to have a summary of relevant sums prepared before your meeting on Gondor’s army.”

“And Elrond was with you this entire time?”

“Yes my Lady.”

“Elrond,” Elizabeth looked to the elf who was the only one to remain kneeling on the floor. “Were you indeed sitting at your desk the entire day?”

“Yes your highness,” he spoke quietly, eyes downcast. “It-”

“You would take the word of an elven slave?” Sir Hildred interrupted, outraged.

The thin thread of patience that had held Elizabeth back snapped as she turned her blazing eyes on the pompous man. Her tone turned sharp and low with simmering rage as she took two steps towards the man, finger pointing to his armored chest.

“You dare to interrupt me! Did I ask for your opinion on my judgment skills?”

“No your Highness,” he quickly muttered towards his chest.

“I thought so.” Turning her back to the man she faced her elf once more. “Continue, Elrond.”

The tension in the room was palpable as the kneeling elf straightened his back, manacles clinking a dull sound that echoed in the dungeon cell.

“It is as Lady Idhres described, I spent my day sitting at my desk transcribing papers. The only time I saw Lady Idhres stand was to pour herself more hot water from the kettle over the hearth. We both worked through lunch.”

“So there you have it,” Elizabeth gestured in an arc to the four accused. “My staff was uninvolved and you’ve wasted precious time in this investigation. Remove the shackles from my staff and get to your actual job.” There was a moment of hesitation before four soldiers suddenly moved as one to unlock the accused staff members.

With her eyes still locked on Sir Hildred she ordered her staff to return to her parlor where she would examine them for any injuries. As the door closed behind them, the temperature in the dungeon seemed to drop by several degrees. Elizabeth paced forward, slow, methodical steps ending less than a foot away from the acting captain.

“Your Highness-”

“Quiet!” She ordered sharply. Though her head barely reached the midpoint of the man’s chest she glared at him with a gaze that could cut steel. “From this moment forth you will conduct yourself in this investigation as one befitting of the title you currently borrow. You will think before you act and when you do act it will be with tact and thought. And the moment Sir Baldred returns from his hunt you are to pass over this investigation to him.” She lifted a single finger and pressed against the peak of his breastplate as she practically hissed her final words. “Furthermore, I expect to hear about handwritten apologies delivered to each of my four staff members who you assaulted without cause. Do I make myself clear?”

“Your Highness-”

“Yes or no.”

“Yes your Highness.”

“Good.” Elizabeth took two swift steps back, sweeping her eyes across the room and the soldiers pretending to stand to attention instead of gawking at their senior being chewed out. “And clean out these dungeons. I want them scrubbed top to bottom for it stinks in here.” She turned to walk out the door, ignoring the scrambling of the soldier who rushed to open it for her.

Glorfindel, who had been kneeling outside during this whole affair, quickly stood and fell into place behind her as she marched straight for her chambers. She could practically feel the questions and anxiety radiating off the elf.

For now, she had allowed the adrenalin of her argument with Sir Hildred to push her forward and keep her moving. She held that feeling of rage tight against her chest in an iron grip for she knew that if she let it slip, if she paused to think too long, she’d realized how terrifying the idea of an assassin so easily slipping into her chambers was.

Notes:

Still alive! Extra long chapter to make up for the lateness of posting :)

Chapter 48 Chapter Text

“Your wrists,” Elizabeth ordered, holding her hand out expectantly.

“I’m fine and we have larger issues to settle,” Runhild replied, grasping her bruised wrist to her chest defensively. “Someone snuck into your chambers and the guards are useless in-”

“Runhild-”

“Someone got into your chambers-”

“That’s an order.” Elizabeth’s tone brooked no arguments.

With a huff and clear reluctance, Runhild unfolded her arms and held them out for inspection. Elizabeth carefully turned the bruised wrists back and forth, frowning at the deepening purple color.

Ignoring the maiden’s continuing rant about the brutish guards, Elizabeth set her focus to locating the bruise balm in her cabinets. She applied the thick paste with a steady hand before inspecting the uninjured Gledswith and the minimally bruised Idhres- it was quite clear which members of her staff put up the most resistance. At the end of her rounds she finally arrived at Elrond who had already sat himself down at his desk and was doing his utmost to appear busy.

“You as well,” she beckoned him over with one hand, eyebrow raised expectantly.

The elf looked up to see all eyes in the room upon him as he slowly stood and made his way over to Elizabeth. He silently presented his forearms, palms upwards to reveal lacing patterns of bruises where hands and shackles alike had gripped him without mercy. She sighed quietly as she crushed fresh athelas to make a stronger balm for his wounds.

“Did they do anything else?” She asked first Elrond, then the now silent group.

“No my Lady,” Gledswith, ever composed, was the first to finally speak. “They arrested us, explained not the cause, and took us straight to the dungeons. You arrived before any other events could occur.”

Glorfindel, from where he stood across the room, seemed to practically radiate concern as Elizabeth moved on to cleaning the thin cuts where a soldier’s errant blade had nicked Elrond’s neck. Once she was satisfied with the way everyone’s wounds looked, Elizabeth gave a deep sigh before collapsing into the chair behind her desk, hand massaging her forehead as she contemplated the latest threat to her life.

“I want to start by saying that I am extremely sorry for-”

“That is hardly necessary,” Idhres stepped forward towards Elizabeth’s desk, eyes alight with a particular glow to them. “Let us not waste our time with platitudes and instead discuss the true matter at hand- someone with ill intentions has managed to gain access to your chambers and issued a threat.”

“I am certain that when Sir Baldred returns he will ensure that this never occurs again.” Gledswith stepped forward, offering her view.

“And what if it does? He thought these guards were sufficient but he was obviously wrong!” Runhild was pacing back and forth, fury evident in her tone. “Daft guards, thinking-”

“Enough,” Gledswith snapped sharply. “Your anger does nothing to aid this discussion.”

“You are both missing the point here,” Idhres’ fingers tapped a rhythm on Elizabeth’s desk- a small expulsion of nervous energy. “If the one who entered these chambers wanted to kill the Princess there were a dozen different options at their disposal. Instead, they left a dagger beneath the sheets- a threat.” Idhres turned her gaze to Elizabeth locking eyes with her as she explained. “Someone wished to send you a message, to tell you that they can get to you anytime they please. They are confident enough in their access that they felt free to warn you first. They’re saying ‘I got in once, I can get in again.’”

“So we prove their confidence wrong,” Runhild snapped.

“Perhaps a proper set of guards, even within the walls of the Citadel-” Gledswith began, but was immediately cut off by Elizabeth.

“No, absolutely not,” she shook her head. “I will NOT have my every step followed by soldiers yapping at my heels.”

“I must agree with Elizabeth,” Idhres frowned, gaze distant as she seemed deep in thought. “To do such a thing is the expected reaction… and it shows fear. Not even the King walks his own halls with a guard. We need a show of strength.”

“Perhaps it is time to consider-”

“NO!” Elizabeth turned sharply, finger pointed at the now frozen Glorfindel. “I said no and that’s the END of discussion.”

“But you can’t possibly still-”

“ENOUGH!”

The room fell silent.

In truth, Elizabeth startled herself with such an outburst. Despite only shouting one word, her chest heaved with exhaustion, heart pounding wildly. She took a moment to reign in her temper with her eyes closed and several deep breaths. She clenched and unclenched her hands.

“Gledswith, Runhild, Idhres,” she spoke with her eyes still locked on Glorfindel, warning him to keep silent. “You’re dismissed. You may spend the rest of the day at your leisure. I am fine to care for my own evening ablutions.”

“But-” Runhild was quickly cut off with a withering glare from Gledswith who ushered the others out in front of her. Right before her oldest maid left the parlor, she turned to Elizabeth and gave her a knowing look- concern and scolding in one, before she bowed her head and exited.

“Now it’s time for us to truly discuss-” Glorfindel began, but was quickly cut off by Elizabeth.

“I gave you my answer- NO.”

In three rapid strides, Glorfindel had crossed the room and was towering over Elizabeth. Once more, she was reminded that this was an ancient warrior who had killed more in his lifetime than she could imagine. His size dwarfed hers as he glared down at her with more determination than she had seen since his arrival at the Citadel.

“This is no longer an option,” he spoke lowly, voice rumbling like a growl.

“Glorfindel,” Elrond’s voice was tight, strung with both shock and anxiety. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“What I must.”

“It’s not on the table, so drop it.” Elizabeth took a step back, retreating once more to behind her desk.

“Glorfindel,” Elrond’s tone turned sharp in warning as Glorfindel ignored the peredhel to walk around Elizabeth’s desk and once more loom over her.

“The Oath of Fealty is the only way.”

“Are you mad?!” Elrond finally stood, steady composure thoroughly rocked as he openly gaped at Glorfindel.

“Finally, an elf with some sense!”

“The Oath does not require consent- only the will of the one swearing it.”

“Glorfindel!” Elrond cried at the same time as Elizabeth’s-

“You wouldn’t dare!”

Elizabeth gripped the armrests of her chair, not quite believing the words she heard spoken. Just a few weeks ago, Glorfindel would cower at the slightest hint of her irritation. Now, he stood towering over her, opening a challenge for the most obscure reason.

“My friend- think of what you’re doing,” Elrond pleaded from where he stood across the room, arms outstretched as if seeking to touch the other elf but unable to as he remained rooted to the spot.

“I’m sorry my Lord,” Glorfindel spoke gravely. “But this is what must be done.”

“I forbid you,” Elizabeth shoved her chair back as she stood. “I forbid you from attempting- from even speaking of this matter further.”

There was a pause, a brief moment where Elizabeth hoped that her words would finally put the matter to rest- finally convince Glorfindel that swearing an unbreakable oath of complete loyalty was not going to happen.

Slowly, Glorfindel sunk down to his knees. He spent one second more gazing into Elizabeth’s eyes before he bowed his head, golden locks falling in a cascade to shade his face. He then lifted his arms above his bowed head and crossed his wrists. Elizabeth felt her skin crawl at the picture of supplication before her.

“Then punish me.”

“Glorfindel-”

“What?!”

“Punish me,” Glorfindel’s tone remained even as he spoke to the stone floor. “Punish me for my insolence. Call for your guards to drag me to the whipping post that stands in the courtyard and have them strip the hide from my back with their lashes. Then when they are done, they can drag me back here and we can continue.”

“Don’t test me Glorfindel.” Elizabeth felt her jaw clenching in frustration. She had tried so hard in the beginning to paint that image of a cold and cruel mistress- to make them fear what she might do- precisely to avoid this situation.

“This is not a test,” he replied in that same monotone voice. “I am proving a point. Call your guards to punish me. I am willing to do this and more.”

“I can hurt Elrond too,” she snapped, grabbing a letter opener from her desk and pointing the weighty blade at the elf who had fallen silent. “What’s to say I don’t slice him to pieces as punishment for your insolence.”

“You will not.”

“And if I do?” She took the blade and pressed it against Glorfindel’s neck, forcing him to raise his head enough to meet her gaze. “If I slice up your innocent Lord, will you still be so eager to swear yourself to me?”

“Yes.”

Elizabeth’s hand shook where she held that letter opener to the soft flesh of Glorfindel’s throat. A part of her wanted to bear down on that blade a slice a line across Glorfindel’s cheek, to part flesh and draw blood. She knew that if she were following her original plan, the plan that she had previously deemed as safe… then that’s precisely what she needed to do.

And yet, despite the many times she had cut into flesh, grazed her fingers across beating arteries, felt blood dripping down her wrist- she couldn’t do it. She had inflicted pain before- many times. Elizabeth still remembered the first joint she set- a young man had dislocated his elbow after a bad fall from his skateboard. Her attending had stood behind her as she hesitated, pulling lightly on the man’s forearm before stopping when he screamed in agony.

“Pull!” Her attending had commanded. “The longer you take the more pain he’s in. Just pull!”

Eventually, she did succeed in relocating the man’s elbow- she yanked on his arm until she heard that sickening yet satisfying thunk as it landed back in place. And she never forgot the words of her attending after that, how the senior doctor had pulled her aside and cut off her ramblings about how much pain the man was in.

“Listen, Dr. Chen- that is your name now, you’re a doctor. We are doctors and our duty is to heal- but sometimes that means we cause pain, all that crap about do no harm is a lie. If you can’t accept that, then you’ll never make it in this field. But always remember we do harm only to heal.”

The logical part of her brain tried to remind her that she had to do this, that showing weakness before this elf who could easily snap her neck if he wished to was inviting disaster. If his disobedience to her was known, it could cause a domino effect endangering thousands of lives. And yet, she just couldn’t.

Elizabeth slowly lowered the blade that she knew she never could have used. Her fingers went boneless and the only sound in her chambers was the heavy steel of the letter opener clicking against the stone floor.

“I-” she tore her eyes away from the triumph in Glorfindel’s gaze. “I have other matters to attend to. Socialize, plot, do what you will but do not leave these chambers.”

Quickly, she turned and strode out the doors, ignoring the suddenly frantic call of Glorfindel as she slammed the door, locking it behind her. She had no intention of indulging his ridiculous fantasy of him being her guard.

***

Midway through the hall she was flagged down by Gimli who held aloft a thick roll of parchments. He jogged slightly to Elizabeth’s side and grinned as he passed it off.

“That favor you requested- I ‘ave it here.” There was a note of triumph in his voice as he stroked his beard. “It took a while for our scribes back at the mountain to go through all those dusty old files, but they found it all eventually. What need ‘ave ye for loggings of treasure lost to old Smaug’s belly long ago anyhow?”

Elizabeth unrolled the parchment and scanned her eyes across the surface, mentally logging several of the items and their descriptors.

“It has to do with that attack on the town Thulean- several weeks back. One of the merchants carried strange cargo and I needed some reference material. This should be more than sufficient, thank you for your assistance.”

“Aw, ain’t nothing between friends,” he huffed, nearly knocking her forward with the pat to her back. “And it’s an honor to be one to her Highness of Gondor,” he added with a wink.

“The honor is mine.” With an exaggerated flourish to her curtsey, Elizabeth turned to leave- then paused. “Oh, on the note of diplomacy, how fares your gift?” She forced as much casualty into her tone as possible.

“Hah,” the dwarf chuckled. “Prissy little things, aren’t they? I ordered ‘im to polish up my dwarven steel and he turned white as a ghost- stammered something about ‘not knowing how’ and whatnot. So, I sent him to your armory and told him not to come back til he knows how to properly care for armor and blades. He scuttled off and I’m sure he’ll be back ‘afore long.”

Elizabeth paused for several seconds, blinking as she tried to ensure that she heard correctly. She was 90% certain that there was a severe and slightly ludicrous misunderstanding going on. A younger Elizabeth would have jumped at the chance to point out the errors and extrapolate on the importance of clear communication- young Elizabeth had perhaps been a bit pedantic. To be quite honest, even a week ago she would have felt obligated to step forward and mediate the situation. At the present moment however, she simply lacked the time and energy.

They’ll figure it out, she thought to herself.

So, instead of speaking the words balancing on the tip of her tongue, Elizabeth settled on a polite smile.

“Of course, best of luck my friend.”

And with that, she continued onwards.

***

She examined the set-up he had created: a squat crate filled with dried apples served as his chair whilst two barrels of salted cod held aloft a flat plank of wood to form something that aspired to be a desk. The little lamp that she had left him with sat atop the wooden plank and illuminated a spread of papers organized with a system Elizabeth could hardly hope to understand. All around the vast chamber were crates, casks, and barrels now adorned with a variety of chalk markings.

“I can see that you’ve been busy,” she muttered half to herself as she tried to decipher the chalk labels that Erestor had scrawled across half the storage casks in the cavern.

“The Citadel contains more people in need of sustenance than outside appearances would belay. Moreso if you’re expecting to feed an army and even moreso a city.” Erestor spoke without looking up from his work. Half of the parchment appeared to be somewhat orderly and was written in crisp, neat script that was arranged in perfect rows. The other half of the papers must have been his personal notes for the writing was jagged, arranged at all angles, and interspersed with numbers and equations. The handwriting on those documents could perhaps compete with her own in illegibility.

Elizabeth couldn’t help but notice a certain gleam in the elf’s eyes, a light that hadn’t been there before. Unlike every other time she had been in his presence, Erestor’s eyes were not fixed warily on her, focusing his attention on her every move like a sparrow watching a hawk. Instead, the elf was transfixed on his work- a slight furrow dipped between his brows as he silently mouthed numbers following his finger’s path down a page. There, sitting amongst the scattered pages, half-formed calculations, and piles of complexity, was a being in its element. There was something so right about that image, one could almost ignore the collar wrapped around his neck.

“Have you determined yet if we are prepared?”

“Not in the slightest,” he replied, still not looking up from his frantic writing. “You’ve gathered plenty of grain, water, and meat… but not even close to enough oil. If you wanted people to survive, then perhaps this would feed the Citadel’s forces for three weeks. If you want them to fight, you’ll be lucky to last a single week.”

It was- not the answer Elizabeth was hoping for.

“There is plenty of tallow… it lasts longer than oil so I selected it to meet the requirements for fat.” Elizabeth ran over her mental calculations once more.

When first making her stores, she had used a census and registry to count the citizens of Minas Tirith and inhabitants of the Citadel. She had then averaged out the nutritional requirements based on macromolecules- carbohydrates, proteins, and fats, as well as key vitamins and minerals found in compressed bricks of dried fruit mixed with whole grains. She had actually been rather proud of that latter invention which she created to stave off scurvy, Rickets, beri beri, and other diseases caused by trace nutrient deficiencies.

“Yes,” Erestor replied with a frown. “I suppose one could technically claim that these stores are sufficient to keep Minas Tirith’s inhabitants alive. But, there’s a difference between living and wanting to survive and fight. No soldier wishes to go into their third week of an unending siege whilst subsiding off of hardtack, grease cakes, and dried poultry. Food is as essential to rousing troops as a commander’s speech.”

Elizabeth hummed quietly in thought. It wasn’t an angle that she had considered before. There had, of course, been a few lectures scattered throughout her education that spoke of the importance of simple comforts in maintaining the emotional wellbeing of patients, especially those going through extended treatment. She could recall a particular classmate of hers that was extremely dedicated to such aspects of medicine and once gave a lecture on how changing the color schemes of rooms could positively affect patient outcomes. Said student had gone on to working in palliative care.

In truth, these were not topics highly studied by Elizabeth. She had always known that she would practice emergency medicine- that fast-paced realm point-of-care ultrasound and rapid diagnoses. Her job was clear- do whatever it takes to stop the patient from dying. Then, they became someone else’s case. She never had the temperament or the stomach for the long conversations of prognosis like an oncologist or the difficult quality-of-life assessments of a neurologist. Those doctors measured their patients’ lives in years, months, days- Elizabeth measured her’s in breaths, in seconds.

But she wasn’t just an ER doctor anymore. She was a “Princess,” an heir to the throne who had sworn to protect thousands. She was no longer only responsible for the lives of those in her ED, but an entire kingdom.

She needed to learn to think bigger.

“So… this is going to take longer than expected.”

“Yes!” Erestor snapped before pausing, shoulder hunching up and grip on his quill suddenly tightening as if just remembering who he was speaking to. “I- I mean… if it should please her highness, this one begs more time to be allotted for the task assigned.”

Where he had previously been entirely engrossed in his work, the elf now seemed suddenly withdrawn and cautious. He kept his head at a respectful tilt, his eyes on the “desk” before him though his gaze was unfocused.

“Just-” she waved a flippant hand at the vast hall. “Take as much time as you need. I’ll inform the Seneschal.”

Chapter 49 Notes:

New Year new update!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Elizabeth rolled the scroll of parchment given to her by Gimli back and forth in her hands. She had a theory… and she really didn’t like it.

Upon Tirgon’s return the King had first been informed of the threat made against Elizabeth. It had taken no small amount of effort to convince the man that she was fine, but Elizabeth eventually settled his fury by pointing out that Sir Baldred was sorting out the issue as they spoke. It was then that Aragorn approached and requested an immediate private meeting. His tone was one of urgency and Tirgon reluctantly excused himself from Elizabeth’s company.

They had been locked in the King’s study for the past two hours. Elizabeth had returned to the Healing Halls and was going over inventory. With the recent… disturbances, she had been working with the Matron to stockpile essential trauma supplies. She had an unfortunate feeling that she would be needing more soon.

“Your presence is requested in the King’s study, your Highness,” the voice of a young page girl jolted Elizabeth from her counting.

“I will be there promptly. Please bring this to Lady Alentrid, Chief of Investigations and this to Lord Gimli, our guest diplomat of the Dwarves. You are dismissed.” She waved off the young girl’s curtsy as she gathered her own supplies.

It’s time to see how convincing the old man is. She chuckled under her breath at the thought.

The guard stationed at the King’s doors bowed as she approached before rapping perfunctually on the solid oak door leading to Tirgon’s study. He opened it and gestured for her to approach which she did without any outward sign of her hesitation. There were very few ways for this meeting to be pleasant and a plethora of ways in which it may turn very unfortunate indeed.

The environment inside was… surprisingly relaxed considering the topic they were supposedly discussing. Each man had in his hand a goblet of wine as their gazes hovered above a map laid across the desk. Rather more to-the-point than most men of similar status, Tirgon spoke first.

“So Lord Aragorn says he has a theory of how the next attack will play out, and that you have the reason why.” He stated bluntly as Aragorn fixed her with a level, supportive glance.

“Indeed, I had no way to confirm it until I received some additional information today.” She felt the weight of that scroll heavy in her satchel.

“Well then,” Tirgon gestured to the empty chair beside Aragorn as he poured another goblet for her. “Sit, and tell me why there is to be an attack on Emyn Arnen.”

Elizabeth took a deep drought of her wine, breathing in the rich notes trying to calm her nerves.

“Because, buried beneath the hills of Emyn Arnen is the corpse of a dragon- one who once raided the home of the Ironfists dwarves, keepers of one of the Seven Rings.” She released a barely held breath with her words, allowing a moment of silence for her words to sink in.

“I thought we were finally finished with those damn rings!” Aragorn, in an uncharacteristic show of rage, slammed one fist against the mahogany wood.

“I’m afraid not,” Elizabeth replied, already pulling out the relevant papers.

“Elizabeth, you know I trust in your judgment deeply, but I must ask how you would come to this conclusion.” Tirgon was frowning, glancing back towards the map with a renewed focus in his eyes.

First, Elizabeth laid out a small stack of papers, the inventory list from the ransacked merchants in the attack on Thulean. On the top of the stack were the papers regarding the seller of antiques and oddities. Next to it she laid the scroll given to her by Gimli. It was a rather long scroll containing a comprehensive list of all treasures known to have been lost- presumably consumed- in the attack by Smaug on Erebor. She explained these lists before scrolling through and pointing out several spots that were underlined.

“This dealer of so called ‘oddities and curiosities’ is merely a seller of stolen goods. There were an alarming number of items in his inventory that are precious treasures consumed by the dragon Smaug.” Her finger lingered on a listing of a dwarves crown once forged for a prince who died in childbirth- it was a precious treasure whose loss was mourned by Durin’s Folk. “Seeing as he had been traveling from Dale, it is quite likely that either he or a co-conspirator dove beneath the lake and stole these from the corpse of the dragon.”

“And you think the attackers would know that he carried with him goods taken from a dead dragon?” Tirgon questioned.

At that, Elizabeth produced another document, this one dug up by Idhres.

“He has a history of such. Receipts from prior customers show that he has been dealing in these goods stolen from Smaug for a great deal of time. Though the Seven rings of the Dwarves are lesser than the Three of the Elves, they are still… powerful and corrupting.”

“And once more these elven rings return to haunt us.” At these words King Tirgon glanced down to the blue and gold ring gracing his own finger- Vilya, stolen from the corpse of King Gil-galad and passed down to each ruler of Gondor since. It was a powerful tool, responsible for maintaining protection of Gondor and warding off the lingering effects of Sauron’s evil that still clung to the land.

“It is well known what ruin those rings brought to the dwarves who bore them. What being would willingly subject themselves to such dark power?” Aragon shook his head as he spoke.

“Someone very arrogant, very powerful, or both.” Elizabeth folded her hands, a sense of finality in her tone.

Tirgon’s expression turned grave as he spun Vilya around his finger. He had spoken to Elizabeth, in the past, of how uncomfortable the ring made him. To him, wearing it was in a way a betrayal, it was harnessing the power of elves when Men were meant to stand on their own. But, to toss it out would be to abandon a needed weapon in this world ravaged by remains of the war. If not for the Ring of Air’s power in warding off evil, the blights of the land would likely have fallen much harsher on the people of Gondor. Though not corrupting in nature, bearing an elven ring was certainly a burden that she did not envy.

Elizabeth knew not how many dwarven rings this enemy held. Likely, with powers of cloaking and stealth shown they already had at least one. Three were claimed by Sauron before his fall and thus were beyond the reach of any mortal whilst melting in the fires of mount doom. She also knew for certain that the raid on the caravan had been unsuccessful as she had pulled the ring from between the hollow ribs of Smaug’s corpse beneath that frigid lake several years ago. It could also be assumed that if there was a raid planned for Emyn Arnen, then that ring was still buried beneath the ground they intended to raze. Thus, this individual held between one and two Rings of Power.

Elizabeth explained such to the pair- with the exception of claiming that the Ring within Smaug must still be in the lake as there was no possible match on the merchant’s manifest. Aragorn, always intending to follow along, agreed and the two of them were enough to convince Tirgon as well.

Thus, two decisions were made immediately. The first was that a contingent of soldiers would be sent to guard the Long Lake where Smaug’s corpse rested under the pretense that items taken from it had been found to be tainted. The second was that they would take this assumed attack on Emyn Arnen extremely seriously.

Before long, a rough outline of a plan was made. Tirgon would have to consult with Sir Baldred for specifics, but it was decided that a legion of soldiers would be sent to secure Emyn Arnen under the command of Aragorn. After much debate, it was decided that Elizabeth would also go and be charged with organizing the emergency hospital and securing all non-combatants. Tirgon was reluctant to say the least, but Elizabeth was correct in pointing out that there were none more qualified than she and that such tasks fell well within her duties as Heir.

***

After arranging for Erestor to resume his usual tasks until she returned from her journey, Elizabeth launched into preparations for Emyn Arnen. Although her residency training had involved some on-sight work with EMS, she had never even imagined something so extreme as to establish an entire emergency hospital miles away from central support. Thankfully, much of the logistic planning could be passed onto Maranenth, the Matron of the Healing Halls, who Elizabeth was quite certain could organize a tornado into submission.

“But you are certain that my taking six senior healers won’t leave you too understaffed?” Elizabeth asked, walking briskly being the Matron who never seemed to stop moving whilst on the wards.

“I’ve already spoken to several who are willing to work extra shifts to make up for the lost personnel-” Maranenth held up her hand to stop Elizabeth mid-protest. “And before you start worrying about me overworking the staff, remember that it’s a temporary measure and that they all volunteered to pick up those shifts.”

“What would I do without you?” Elizabeth gave a relieved sigh as she resigned herself to following the Matron’s plans. The woman was, after all, very good at her job. If she believed the staffing to be sufficient then it was best to trust her judgment.

“Order 1,000 new cots when 10 are needed.” Maranenth smirked.

“That was one time!” Elizabeth shot back, dodging out of the way as a young apprentice rushed through with bandages.

“You-” she pointed an accusatory finger at Elizabeth. “Didn’t have to deal with the near hysterical Master Carpenter. Now-” without breaking stride, Maranenth snatched the top half off a teetering pile of laundry that a young assistant was attempting to carry- preventing a potentially disastrous tumble. “I can handle the rest of this. I’ll have a list on your desk by this eve containing the staff and supplies that I intend to send with you. You may then add or detract as you see fit. Until then, shoo! I’m certain you have your own preparations to make.”

Elizabeth gave a grateful nod of her head before scurrying out, heading back to her quarters as she still needed to pack.

Not wanting any further potential run-ins with members of the court who would by now have almost certainly heard about the military stationing, she ducked down a servant’s corridor and made her way back to her private chambers. She hesitated a moment at the door to her Parlor.

Leaving the two elves alone had been a rash and stupid move. For all she knew, they were plotting in regards to whatever latest message Galadriel had somehow managed to slip into the Citadel. Although it was clear that Glorfindel was invested in her continued survival- that meant nothing in regards to the people of Gondor. She was responsible for the safety of too many people to be making these kinds of mistakes.

But if she were to catch them in the act of- something… what could she do? Glorfindel had either called her bluff on punishments or just didn’t care. When it comes to mind games and politics, she knew that she was very well outmatched.

Later, she thought to herself as she went down another servant's corridor to enter her bedroom directly.

Instead of the empty room that she was expecting, Elizabeth was greeted with the sight of Gledswith neatly folding a pair of Elizabeth’s healing robes and packing it away in a trunk.

“I thought I dismissed you for the day.” She raised an eyebrow with her hands on her hips. Truly, her staff deserved a break after the day they had.

“You did my Lady,” she replied as she reached into Elizabeth’s wardrobe for a nightgown.

“And yet you’re here packing me for a journey that I haven’t even spoken to you of.”

“Yes my Lady. Tea?” She finally looked up at Elizabeth as she pulled a kettle off the fireplace, pouring the steaming water into a small teapot.

“How did you even know?” Elizabeth, knowing what answer would be given, sat down and resigned herself to sipping her tea as Gledswith laid out the papers that would need her personal seal before being sent off.

“I have my ways,” she gave a mysterious smile before packing one last cloth-bound sack and closing the trunk. “Now, Runhild has been informed and is currently packing. She will travel with you I will remain here with Idhres to manage your remaining affairs. I have prepared your evening bath and there is a light supper for you on the table. Is there anything else you require?”

“No, thank you Gledswith.” Elizabeth gave a sigh, she honestly didn’t know what she would do without her staff- her staff that were apparently in danger by just being associated with her. “And truly, thank you for your service.”

Gledswith gave one of those wry, motherly smiles.

“Always my pleasure, my Lady.” With those words she slipped out the side door leaving Elizabeth alone with her thoughts.

She finished her remaining paperwork, including the Matron’s perfect outline delivered by Idhres who also ignored her order to take the day off, ate a small supper, and prepared for what would likely be her last semi-restful sleep in the near future. Finally, she opened the door connecting her bedroom to her Parlor and found the two elves exactly where she left them, locked in a staring match across the room.

“Elrond,” she spoke to the dark haired elf who immediately turned to face her. “Tomorrow we leave for Emyn Arnen at dawn. You will come with me. I will retire for now.”

Taking the hint, Glorfindel immediately walked over to Elizabeth and followed her back into her bedroom. He took a seat in his usual spot as Elizabeth put out the candles one by one. It was no longer worth the effort for her to chain Glorfindel in place- if it was he who wanted her dead there had been opportunity aplenty. Just as she was climbing into bed, Glorfindel spoke.

“Might I have a blade?” His voice held a forced casualness in it that even Elizabeth could spot from a mile away.

“If you wish to kill me in my sleep then I am certain your hands will do just fine. Poor Runhild doesn’t need to scrub blood out of my sheets as well as my robes.” She replied sardonically. The real problem, of course, was that if anyone where to somehow find that Glorfindel had a blade in his possession- the consequences would not be good.

“Not- not against you my Lady-” Glorfindel sounded aghast as Elizabeth waved a hand to shush him. Though it was dark evidently his elven eyesight worked well enough as he quieted.

“No, I know you have no current assassination plans- I could not be so lucky.”

Elizabeth’s face twisted into a wry smile as she turned over and ignored the stuttering denials from Glorfindel. Oh how she missed days past when she could joke easily with her coworkers- that brand of dark, morbid humor that helped to make the ER a bearable place. There was no time for nostalgia though, she needed as much rest as she could get before the next day’s journey.

Notes:

Part of my New Year’s resolutions is to be more consistent with my writing. Wish me luck.

Chapter 50 Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

The usually quiet city of Emyn Arnen was bustling with soldiers and civilians alike. The people had been shocked to find a caravan of soldiers and military support arriving on their doorstep but, upon seeing their Princess leading the company they took quickly to their tasks. The city guard was sent through the streets to gather those able and willing to help whilst sending those unable to into shelter points designated by the local governance.

Since Elizabeth was riding out with Gondor’s military, protocol dictated that she wear a slim circlet set with a blue stone that marked her as Gondor’s crowned heir and thus the highest authority, save for the King, on the battlefield. Upon being told this by Gledswith before leaving, Elizabeth made it clear in no uncertain terms with Aragorn that she would be leaving the entirety of command, outside of the healing tents, to him. Still, in compliance with her station she wore the circlet pinned above the plaited knot of her hair. The rest of her raiment was the usual practical gown of a Healer with a red smock denoting her status as a Master Healer. Still, despite her best intentions, the circlet made her stick out quite clearly and thus garnered more than a few shocked mutterings of praise accompanied with bows or curtsies. It was Aragorn who came to her rescue and chastised the first several people to do so, reminding them that they were not in court or standing on ceremony- they were preparing for battle. A Prince in armor on the field would be treated as a commander, not a royal. So too should their Princess be treated by her station, not her status. Between Aragorn’s chastising and Elizabeth’s actions in hauling supplies and erecting tents with everyone else, the people's focus on their Princess and the elf trailing behind her soon faded.

Upon surveying the city from its walls, Elrond had advised that the town square was the best location for the triage hospital as it was the only large-open space that was removed from the front gates whilst being close enough for easy access to the wounded. Heeding his advice, Elizabeth gave the order to start setting up. In no time at all Elizabeth had her healing tents strung up in the town square with rows of cots and makeshift shelvings filled with supplies.

On one end of the tents, Runhild stood assessing volunteers from the town and assigning proper roles. She was in the process of passing out smocks to those who were assigned medical roles: green for assistants who were largely volunteers from the city, yellow for apprentices- healers in training whom Elizabeth brought a dozen of, blue for senior- six total including Tristam, and red for master- a title held by Elizabeth alone. Volunteers ranged in experience from midwives to apothecaries, and varied widely in skill level. Those who knew medicine were handed recipes for the salves and tinctures that would be needed and sent to the apothecary station established on the East side. Those who knew of healing were given a crash course in sanitation and the use of antiseptics before being sent to join the ranks of the green-smocked assistants tasked with bandaging and nursing. And those who were eager to assist but lacking in experience were instructed on the names and locations of all the supplies present in the tent for they would be assigned to fetch and carry.

Elizabeth felt a small part of her chest swell with pride as she saw Tristam standing on a crate, shouting out orders for how supplies were to be organized. He had been among the first to volunteer for what she had described as a potentially dangerous but very important assignment. Of course, she also didn’t fail to notice Runhild making starry-eyes at him from the other side of the tents.

It was as she passed a box of smocks that Elizabeth paused for a moment. Before she could talk herself out of it, she reached down to gasp a red smock and tossed it at Elrond who caught it on instinct.

“Put that on,” she ordered, as casually as she could manage. “Remember your cards- green for fine, yellow for urgent but stable, red for trying to die, black for dead or close enough. We won’t save every life but we must as many as we can. You now have the right to override anyone else’s card status. Be careful and swift in your choices.”

She said all this whilst walking, never breaking stride and forcing Elrond to speed up to keep his step behind her. Elrond, like usual, kept his head down as he tied on his red smock- the mark of his promotion to Master Healer. Elizabeth’s implicit order to obey the words of an elf, despite the lack of ceremony, did not go unnoticed as several furtive glances and whispers arose.

“Forlong! If you stack the bandages like that then no one will be able to grab one without toppling the pile. Dernhild! Cotts are two feet apart. We need to fit everyone and still be able to walk between.” Elizabeth began barking orders as the staff hastened to obey. If they wanted to gossip or complain, they could do so after the battle is done. For now, they had work to do.

They had a day, maybe two- if the information given by Arwen was indeed correct. Elizabeth, of course, did have a contingency if this information proved false. It involved a good deal of bravado and syncope, praising the city of Emyn Arnen on their rapid response to Gondor’s call for aid and passing the test with flying colors. What she would say to Tirgon… was a bridge she would cross if she had to.

***

Preparations largely settled, Elizabeth finally entered the tent that was to be hers for the duration of her stay in Emyn Arnen. It was a simple but comfortable affair with a small stove, decent rug, wood-framed bed, large desk, and two sets of chairs. Someone- likely Runhild, had also bothered to arrange a small nest of pillows in the corner along with a flat-topped crate that could function as a desk for someone sitting on the floor.

Elrond silently took his place and began kindling the fire. Aragorn, who was supposed to be outside manning his troops on the walls, followed the pair in.

“Elizabeth,” there was already a weariness in his tone, surely anticipating the argument that was coming. “We have still yet to discuss the matter of your safety.”

“Aragorn, I am in the heart of the city in the healing tents. Rest assured I have absolutely no intention of joining you at the main gates. Now,” Elizabeth shuffled through several stacks of paper in search of the illustrated copies of her triage charts that she still needed to pass out. “You have your duties to attend to, just as I have mine.”

“No,” Aragorn’s tone was firm. “It’s time you learned how to defend yourself.”

“I am perfectly capable,” Elizabeth replied, patting the fold in her skirt that concealed a hidden dagger given to her by Aragorn himself. “I keep it with me always.”

“And do you know how to use it?” The elevation of his eyebrow implied his own perceived answer which Elizabeth staunchly disagreed with. She drew forth her dagger and gripped the handle firmly, testing its weight.

“Hold it like this and the pointy end goes into the other person… simple.” She made a few half-hearted stabbing motions to emphasize her point.

“No,” he deadpanned.

“Well I know the pointy end isn’t supposed to go in me.” She replied flippantly.

“This is not a joking matter.” Aragorn’s voice was firm as he snatched the blade from her hand.

“We have had this same discussion with the same result many times before.” Elizabeth took a seat at her desk and crossed her legs. “Why bring this up and waste our time once more?”

Aragorn paced back and forth for several moments. There was an unusual amount of tension in his frame. He paused at the door to the tent and cast a quick glance outside.

“We are in dangerous times Elizabeth, and you are in a delicate position. I received another note,” he explained quietly once he was sure there was no one listening in. He then pulled from his breast pocket a small roll of parchment tied shut with a white ribbon. “I found it on the foot of a songbird, sitting on my desk.”

He tossed the small scroll to Elizabeth who caught it deftly. With nimble fingers she unwound the ribbon and spread the paper, holding it beside a nearby candle to read.

They come tomorrow eve, when the sun has fled.

May the stars shine upon your faces.

There was no signature, but in the bottom right corner of the parchment was a small sketching of a star- Arwen’s symbol. Elizabeth’s eyes quickly flickered to Elrond whose sharp eyes had no doubt noticed this detail. The elf’s posture was tense, his gaze fixed far too intentionally on the wood grain of his desk.

“It is clear that there are eyes upon both of us now. This symbol is the same as-” Aragorn started, but was quickly cut off by Elizabeth.

“Yes, I’m aware.” She then tapped the edge of the note to the candle’s flame and dropped it to the earthen ground, watching as it burned to nothing but ash. “There have always and will always be eyes upon us. The real question is of course, do you intend to trust this message?”

“I think we are too far into this affair to begin distrusting now.” Aragorn replied.

“True,” Elizabeth’s lips pursed in thought as she contemplated what this could entail. If the battle truly did begin at night, there was far more they needed to prepare. “I’ll ensure we have torches established at the perimeter of the tents and enough oil and lamps to see inside. Working in the dark is not ideal, but we will manage.”

As she spoke, Elizabeth was quick to gather a satchel of supplies, walking towards the exit of her tent before her words were finished.

“Then I shall work on finding proper lighting for the walls.” Aragorn frowned in thought. “Archers serve little use when they cannot see their targets.”

“Good,” Elizabeth spared no moment to linger at the doorway as she called over her shoulder. “Send word to the Healing Tents if you require anything further.”

And with that she was gone, leaving only Aragorn and Elrond in the quiet tent together.

***

“So she brought you, not her almost-guard?” Lord Aragorn’s voice was not the haughty tone he expected, but has a searching quality to it. His eyes scanned Elrond’s form carefully and the elf felt surprisingly like a novice soldier being assessed by a drill sergeant.

“Yes my Lord,” Elrond replied mildly, eyes downcast. The man huffed and gave a dismissive wave.

“None of that, I’ve seen the steel in your spine.”

Elrond felt his heart leap to his throat. This man who was close to Elizabeth, who had captured so many of his kin, was not one he wished to be noticed by.

“Apologies, my Lord,” he bowed his head lower. “But I am afraid that I know not what you speak of.”

“If you’re a broken slave then I’m Gondor’s King,” Aragorn snorted. Before he could help himself, Elrond’s head shot up in shock, eyes widening upon hearing Isildur’s heir laugh at such a statement. “Yes,” Aragorn continued. “I’m well aware- I could be king but am clearly not, just as you could be broken but are clearly not.”

“Is that… a threat against her Highness?” Elrond asked carefully. Does this man worry for Elizabeth’s safety or covet her title?

“Oh, is that loyalty I detect?”

“Of course my Lord,” Elrond dropped his eyes demurely down once more. Was it loyalty? He had always feigned loyalty as any elf with sense would do in a similar situation, but had it at some point become true? Between Galadriel’s cryptic message and Elizabeth’s bizarre behaviors and confession, was she worth loyalty? He surely had many opportunities to take small steps in revenge- botch an important document’s transcription, “try” and fail to heal a soldier, or even just feign ignorance and not share his knowledge in healing. Yet for some reason, he never did.

And who was this man to be so full of contradictions? The nobility and valor of Elros’ lineage sourly spent on heirs diluted so with Edain blood. What could this man want with him? How had he recognized Arwen’s symbol and did he know how they were linked?

“None of that now,” Aragorn’s earlier teasing tone was gone as he swiftly approached the kneeling elf.

With one callused hand he gripped Elrond by the chin and lifted his head. His eyes scanned Elrond’s face, searching intently for something. Though a voice in his head told Elrond that he should drop his gaze, he found himself unable to.

“There it is,” the man mused aloud. “That is Elrond Peredhel.” He abruptly released Elrond’s chin and crossed the tent to pull out a chair. Without breaking eye contact, Aragorn sat and brought a hand to his own chin. “Tell me, Elrond Peredhel, did you choose to hate your human heritage, or were you taught to?”

Elrond paused, surprised by the question.

“Some say that to be taught is a choice, though choice itself is rarely taught,” he responded, matching gazes with the man.

Aragorn huffed once more, something like humor twinkled in his eye.

“So it seems what they say of elves and answers is true- do not go to them for council for they will answer both no and yes.”

He lingered for a moment longer before standing and pushing his chair back into place. It wasn’t until the man’s hand was on the flap of the tent that Elrond finally allowed the courage in him to swell enough to speak.

“How fares L-,” he coughed, considering his words carefully in his haste to spill them before courage could flee. “How fares your elf, Celeborn?”

The man froze, arm still outstretched and gaze fixed on the canvas walls. A minute line of tension appeared in his shoulders as the only indication that he had heard Elrond speak. For a moment, Elrond felt hope seep from his chest as he considered what the captain of the greatest elf-hunters in Middle Earth might have done to his father-in-law.

“He is well enough,” the man replied with a curiously blank tone. “He serves as my valet when I stay in the Citadel and does little aside from dusting my chambers when I am away.”

The man then took his leave, glancing back first at the elf sitting on the floor and then at the small pile of ash that was once a note.

The silence that lingered after his departure felt heavy and Elrond imagined that small pile of ashes rising up to crawl down his throat and choke his lungs. There was something dangerous about that man- a sharpness that Elrond had not seen since he watched an easy smile turn to fury when he delivered a message to Elendil that the elves would not fight alongside their allies.

And now, his daughter, his precious Evenstar had made her presence known amongst the Men who would covet her for both her beauty and status. She was supposed to be safe, deep in the Golden Wood beside Galadriel. He would rather take a thousand lifetimes of captivity and torment at the hands of men than have a single one of their filthy hands defile his daughter with their touch.

But, perhaps he should have known that Arwen was far too much like her uncle Elros- fiercely protective of those they love. Deep down, Elrond had known that with his capture, neither Arwen nor the twins would allow themselves to remain hidden and safe for long.

He could only pray that the Valar would watch over them when he could not.

Notes:

Remember when I said I was gonna update more often... so I maybe fell short of that goal. But hey, things are heating up and I've actually started on the next chapter after this one so hopefully it'll be up sooner rather than later.

When Alliances Fell - Leader_In_Red (2024)

Chapter 1

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Chapter 2

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Chapter 3

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Chapter 4

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Chapter 5

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Chapter 6

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Chapter 7

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Chapter 8

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Chapter 9

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Chapter 10

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Chapter 11

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Chapter 12

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Chapter 13

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Chapter 14

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Chapter 15

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Chapter 16

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Chapter 17

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Chapter 18

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Chapter 19

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Chapter 20

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Chapter 21

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Chapter 22

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Chapter 23

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Chapter 24

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Chapter 25

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Chapter 26

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Chapter 27

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Chapter 33: SORRY Not An Update