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Nemir returned home to Mirkwood for most of the winter and there, she began to research the strange instrument she had found with investigations into the writings. The scholars she talked about the instrument to wondered why she was taking such an interest in a relic of men's history rather than elves' but she still researched into it, collecting as many books as she could to read and research with while she stayed at home. And of course, she hadn't forgotten the promise she'd made to her mother of meeting the suitors. The feel of the forest around her was comforting after so long in a desolate wasteland and the pain she'd carried with her eased slowly as she spent time among the trees.

*****

The candlelight was burning low as Nemir sat at her desk, pouring over the books she’d collected together surrounding the topic of instruments and music. If she could find any information that could lead to finding out what the instrument she’d found once was, the late nights and several melted candles would be worth it. Nemir grinned to herself. Perhaps if she was able to get it recreated, she would be able to play some of the songs to Saxulf. He seemed to have enjoyed her songs in Galford’s inn, back when they were travelling together.

The most recent night they’d spent in Galford then flashed in her mind. The cold, chilling air and the knowledge that they were surrounded by goblins, who were always lurking. Always watching. Nemir’s smile faded and she made an effort to focus more on the notes she was taking with her notebook. The image was soon replaced by the thought of Beldan – the sight of him lying on the ground as she’d reached the mouth of the cave. His face, lifeless and cold as Beli cradled him, sobbing. Nemir set her pen down and ran both hands over her face. She sighed. A minute, then two went by, and Nemir finally moved to look at Mallos, who was curled up on the rug at the end of her bed. He seemed to be adapting well to his new home.

“At least one of us can sleep,” she murmured, “Must be nice…” Nemir rubbed her tired eyes to keep herself awake. On the road, she didn’t sleep very much. She would drift off for a bit but for most of the night, every night, she would sit awake to protect her companions, and she could deal with that, especially if it meant she would catch the threats that encroached on their camp. It was enough rest to keep her going at least. Nemir picked her pen back up and dipped it in ink once again. Even drifting off into a trance right now meant having to face Beldan’s face appearing in her mind again and she didn’t want that. It pulled at her heart, making it ache. It made her throat sting. It was better to focus on research tonight.

And so she read.

And she wrote.

And the sky outside began to lighten until it became a gradient of orange and red and purple. She hadn’t slept. With one glance at the window, Nemir placed her pen down once again and slammed her notebook shut. The research was getting annoying anyway. Then, she crept out of her room, opening the door slowly and gently so she didn’t disturb Mallos, then began to wander the halls. There were a few awake and about but Nemir still kept her steps light and silent to not disturb the mostly sleeping house.

Like a ghost in the halls.

Nemir shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. No, no ghosts. Not tonight.

She ended up at Cevendir’s room and knocked. Nemir figured she could probably do with some company, perhaps she could drag him out to practice swordfighting with her again. Or archery, just to add a few wins to her losing streak. The bow was her specialty after all. After a moment Nemir knocked again, louder this time. Still no answer. She frowned. With his hearing being as good as hers, that knock should have woken him up, but perhaps she would have to resort to throwing cold water over him.

“Cevendir?” Nemir called and opened the door, peering in and was met with an empty room and an open window that was letting cold autumn air in.
Movement sounded from outside and Nemir looked around for a weapon as something – likely someone – climbed towards the open window. Cevendir’s sword. Nemir lunged to grab it and stood ready to fend off any intruder that tried to get in. The sounds got closer and Nemir tightened her grip on the sword but as the person came into sight, she caught a sight of their face. It was Cevendir, sneaking in through his own window. Nemir sighed and re-sheathed the sword as Cevendir made his way in, picking out two leaves that had gotten tangled in his hair, and finally looked up at her. Recognition of the fact he’d been caught washed over his face and he gave her a smile that looked halfway to a grimace. Nemir crossed her arms.

“What was that you said two winters ago about not disappearing off into the night?” She asked dryly.

Cevendir laughed quietly and got up. “How do you remember that?”

“That winter’s not something I will forget very quickly.” Her voice was low and serious as she said it, and it was the truth, that winter had been one etched into her mind and the topic of a lot of her thoughts over the past year. Nemir leant against the wall and quickly changed the topic. “Where were you? What were you doing?”
“Other than climbing through a window?” Cevendir said as he closed the window and looked back at her with a grin. “It’s a secret, I’m afraid. Not for you to know.”
Nemir could sense something important being hidden underneath those words but the question was whether she should pry. The tone of his response, under the feigned levity, held nervousness and finality but he seemed happy enough. Surely he would tell her if it was something bad. If it was good, she would find out in time… probably. She shook her head, returning the grin. “Keep your secrets then, they’re not why I’m here.”

“And what does bring you here?” Cevendir mirrored her pose, leaning against the windowsill he’d just climbed through. Nemir chucked his sword at him and he caught it with one fluid motion.

“Hoping that you’d spar with me for a bit.”

After a moment of silence with Nemir inwardly hoping that he’d take her up on the offer, Cevendir shook his head and gently rested the sword back against his wardrobe. “I’m tired, Nemir, perhaps another time.”

He waited for her to leave and Nemir sighed. “Fine,” she said, drawing out the disappointment in her tone, and returned to her own room. Roughly grabbing her bow and quiver, she took a glance at Mallos, who had woken up and watched her move about the room. She called him to follow as she left and headed towards the wilderness.

Nemir drew back her bow with a breath in. Thuck. The arrow hit the tree with a steady accuracy. She picked up another arrow. Fwip, thuck. Fourth one on target. With every arrow, she let the pain well up inside her and be released as she fired it. Her arrows had formed a line up the trunk. Mallos was sniffing around in the bushes behind her and barked, twice – a playful bark – perhaps he wanted her to throw a stick or give him some attention. One more shot, then she’d turn around and see what he wanted. A deep breath in…

“Lady Nemir.”

Her shot flew past the tree and Nemir spun around to see Orelon with Mallos at his heels. Mallos’ tail wagged excitedly as he barked again and nudged Orelon’s leg.
“Orelon. You followed me?” A hint of irritation at being disturbed seeped into her voice.

“You are pacing the halls at hours you are not usually awake.” Orelon countered evenly, stepping forward. “You seem troubled.”

Nemir sighed and walked over to the tree she’d been shooting at. “It doesn’t matter. Not to you, not to mother or father-” She plucked out three arrows in time with ’you’ ‘mother’ and ‘father’, then the fourth in silence before she continued, still facing the tree, “-it’s not some scandal that I’ve brought back home like last time.”

“Forgive the caution, but it was not unwarranted.” His tone was carefully somewhere between a reprimand and neutrality.

“Just leave me alone, Orelon.” Nemir stalked into the bushes to collect her last arrow. Orelon remained standing where he was, carefully observing her even as she trudged back and glared at him. “Beldan’s dead, if you want an answer that badly,” Nemir muttered bitterly, just loud enough for him to hear. She put her last arrow into the quiver, laid down her bow and sat at the base of the tree that she had been shooting. She watched as Orelon brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose and quickly let them fall again before going over to her. Mallos followed, overtaking him to burrow his way into Nemir’s arms with a whine and she ruffled the fur on his head.

“That is the price of growing attached to mortals, as Lord Thalon and Lady Celemirel have already tried to teach you,” Orelon said as he knelt on the grass. His voice was serious and matter-of-fact, which made the words sting more.

Nemir looked away from him, half-hiding her face in Mallos’ fur, as tears welled up in her eyes and threatened to fall. For a moment, she knew she couldn’t reply without her voice cracking. When she finally could, she whispered “Not like this.”

“Would you prefer to see them wither away, grow old and frail until there’s nothing left of them?”

Nemir looked at him then, eyes wide and watery once again, eyebrows pulled into a frown as she tried to process what he had just asked. Orelon’s expression didn’t change, a silent challenge directed at her to consider his words.

“Or perhaps you will disappear from their life one day. When you decide that the pain of watching them wither is too much,” he continued, then paused for a moment. “The mortals you travel with will not live forever and it would be wise not to create such attachments too strongly.”

Nemir wiped her eyes and faced away from him, trying to keep her breath steady. A part of her was still convinced they wouldn’t die – she knew they would, but she could never picture it, even when she tried to. “I’ll be prepared then,” she said stubbornly. Trying to convince herself. She would be prepared, she had to be prepared.

“Were you prepared?” Orelon asked. It was a simple question which Nemir wouldn’t answer. She just curled her knees up to her chest and rested her head on them, still not looking at him, still not speaking. Her tears finally began to fall and she sniffled. Orelon sighed next to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Take solace among your own, my lady. We will be here much longer.”

The first suitor that Nemir would have to meet was Lanthirdir, son of Iordaer. She couldn’t exactly say she was excited for it but she wore the dress that her mother had picked out and sat patiently while her hair was pulled and styled and a light touch of makeup was put on. A glance in the mirror afterwards showed Nemir a person ever so slightly removed from the her that she recognised. She touched the area under her eye with a heavy feeling forming in her chest. Her scar had been covered up.

Nemir tried not to let it bother her.

She dropped her hand and looked away from the mirror as she put on one of Itholdiel’s necklaces, feeling her sister’s watchful gaze from the doorway. Nemir glanced over to see Itholdiel’s smug expression.

“I told you – it’s the perfect fit for that dress. Are you nervous?” Itholdiel was also dressed up for the evening; she had her hair in a low, loose bun and was wearing a beautiful, flowing silver dress. Nemir could’ve sworn it had been a gift from Amdirnoen from before they’d been engaged. Even in their courtship days, Itholdiel and Amdir had seemed like the perfect couple, even if their meeting had been arranged by their parents and it had once been something Nemir dreamed of for herself. Nemir shook her head in reply to Itholdiel’s question.

“It’s just a meal. I’d rather not have to deal with the suitor issue but I don’t really have a choice.” Nemir explained as she sorted through Itholdiel’s bracelets and rings somewhat absentmindedly.

Itholdiel gave her an amused smile. “There is a chance you could enjoy his company,” she reminded Nemir, who smiled too and shook her head. Deciding on one of the bracelets and fastening it around her wrist, Nemir walked towards the door.

“If I do, it’ll be a pleasant surprise,” she said.

Cevendir caught up with them in the hallway, dressed in green and silver formal attire like they were. His hair half-tied with a ribbon. He greeted them both with a grin. “Well?” He said, “shall we be on our way?” Itholdiel shook her head with a smile as she walked past him and Cevendir bowed, offering his arm to Nemir. “My lady?” he prompted rather mockingly and Nemir scoffed but linked her arm with his anyway. Adopting a more serious demeanor and tone as the three of them drew closer to where their parents were waiting, Cevendir murmured, “You’ll be quite the centre of attention this evening. How’re you feeling about this?”

“Not sure,” Nemir murmured back, ignoring the twist of her stomach that was beginning to grow as everything began to feel more real. “But I can’t back out of this.”

“Well, if you need a distraction, let me know.”

Nemir looked at Cevendir then. His light blue eyes were steeled with resolve and the rest of his expression held nothing but sincerity. Itholdiel’s glance back at the two of them, although more optimistic than Cevendir’s expression, told the same silent story. Nemir took a long unsteady breath and nodded as a little bit of weight was lifted from her shoulders. The three of them were in this together.

Lord Iordaer, Lady Sileves, and Lanthirdir arrived and each exchanged pleasantries and greetings with Nemir and her family. The bows, the words, the social rules, all blended together into one flowing, necessary welcome and lasted until all eight of them were seated at the dining table. A moment of appraisal. Sizing one another up. Nemir and Lanthirdir locked eyes as they bowed to each other and said their greetings. He didn’t so much as soften his icy features for a moment and he looked at her down his nose with a barely-concealed sneer. Nemir’s smile was plastered on as he walked with her to her seat. Mother would kill her if she didn’t at least make an effort.

Their parents began to ask about each other’s heirs and Cevendir was forced to join in to talk about his recent achievements. Nemir took a sip of wine to delay having to start her own conversation. Lanthirdir mirrored her and his gaze wandered dully around the room, a slight frown every time that his gaze landed on her. Uncalled for but Nemir couldn’t say that the sentiment wasn’t mutual. Say something to him, Itholdiel silently told her with a look and Nemir took another sip of wine, hoping that she could bury herself in the glass. Her attention snapped back to Lanthirdir.

“We have heard good things about you,” Itholdiel lied, placing a hand on Nemir’s arm. Whatever Itholdiel had heard hadn’t reached Nemir’s ears, if she’d heard anything at all. Lanthirdir’s expression shifted and his eyes became slightly more focussed. Curious. Entertained, almost. Nemir narrowed her eyes. She’s engaged, Lanthirdir, tread lightly.

“Oh? Is that so?” he said.

“You have been aiding in many of your family’s affairs, is that not so?”

“Yes, it is…” Lanthirdir sat back in his chair with a grin. He swirled the glass for a bit and watched the wine spin before commenting “Well I’ve heard a great many things about this family as well.”

Itholdiel fixed him with a diplomatic, even smile. “Not all of them bad, I hope.”

“Not all.” The coldness in his pale blue eyes told a different story.

“How much have you heard about me?” Nemir probed. His expression fell again and he looked at her in such a way that it chilled her.

“All about your little ‘adventures’,” He sneered and tilted his head as if he were observing a wild creature. “For a time, it seemed like that was all you knew but I’m glad you are starting to see better now. Such journeys are ill-befitting of a lady.” He gave her a once-over with faint disgust finding its way onto his face. Another swirl of the glass. Another sip. Lanthirdir set his gaze on her again and Nemir began to pick at her food to avoid his eyes.

“I find that much can be learnt by travelling. Especially about the world beyond our forest’s borders.”

Lanthirdir laughed dismissively. “What is there to know? The men are like fruit flies and the dwarves are uncivilised barbarians. They are beneath us.”

Nemir bit her tongue hard and forced herself to take another sip of wine without replying to his comment. She couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he ever encountered Beli. No doubt it would turn to violence pretty quickly, but how quickly was the question. A minute? Thirty seconds? Even that might be generous. Nemir quietly took a deep breath in and out and set her cup down, mentally crossing out yet another line of conversation.

“I’ve found many interesting pieces of history,” she said, hoping it would redirect the conversation, and took a breath to carry on but Lanthirdir interrupted her.

“That’s very nice but if we are to be married, you will have to refrain from such irresponsible behaviour. I can’t have my wife disappearing for months at a time on a whim or searching for some relic of the past. You would be to look after the house.” Lanthirdir waved his hand uncaringly in yet another dismissive gesture. His condescending tone was starting to get on her nerves. Taking a breath in, Nemir drummed her fingers against her other hand under the table. Don’t start an argument. It’s not worth it. But she couldn’t keep the glare from creeping into her expression. She turned her head to Itholdiel for some kind of vindication for her rising anger but Itholdiel’s face was stunningly difficult to read. A calm, even mask covering up whatever reaction she might have had. With an ever-polite tone, Itholdiel changed the conversation.

The rest of the night went no better between them, apart from brief moments of respite when Cevendir and Itholdiel brought his attention away from her. One meal and he’s already talking about marriage? Not only that but telling her to give up her life? Nemir roughly rubbed the makeup off her face, starting with revealing her scar. A want to kick something welled up inside her. A want to scream. To throw something. Nemir buried her face in her towel to muffle her frustrated groan and dropped to a crouch. She stayed like that for a few minutes with frozen, heavy limbs, not wanting to move, before shifting to sitting on the floor instead. Bunching up the towel and chucking it across the room, Nemir scoffed. He’d really had her whole life planned out ahead of her.

A knock on the door. Light but just loud enough to be heard, the familiar touch of her mother’s hand. Nemir paused her writing.

“Come in,” she called. Deep breath. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s only a conversation.

Her mother stepped in, a neutral but analysing look on her face. Nemir watched as her gaze shifted to the letters on her desk and put them away in a drawer before looking back. Those are private.

“How did you find the meal?” She asked.

“I will not marry him,” Nemir replied. It was better just to get to the point of it all. “I don’t see us getting along well enough to entertain the idea.” Her mother sat by the window and the slightest shift in her expression somehow radiated dissatisfaction.

“You could learn a great deal from your suitors if you try. With the next one, you must put some effort in,” she instructed.

“I already have been. The meal went as peacefully as to be expected, I followed every social cue and obligation, I am yet to cause any embarrassing scenes-” A pause held in the air as Nemir realised she had begun to get caught up in humour that her mother would not find funny. Better left for Cevendir. Even Itholdiel might be a better audience for those kinds of jokes than her mother. Nemir put down her pen after a moment and turned to face her. Her mother’s lips were pressed together and the hard stare told Nemir that stopping had been for the best. There was still something that lingered. “You covered up my scar.” Nemir’s voice was pathetically quiet but as level as she could make it. Vulnerability hidden behind a thin, cracked stone wall.

“Good first impressions are everything-” Her mother’s tone had slipped into Lady-of-the-House once again. “-when you are married it will be less of an issue but on a first meeting, you don’t want to present any… flaws.”

“There’s nothing wrong with my scar, mother.”

“You may not think so but some things are best left covered up.” Her mother’s definitive answer. That was it, then. Nemir turned back to her desk with no energy left to pick back up her pen.

“I see,” she said.

Silence passed between them for a full minute before her mother moved to leave. On her way out, her mother stopped behind Nemir and put a hand on her shoulder. An ache to melt into it ran through Nemir but she stayed put as her mother said softly, “Your father and I only want what’s best for you. In time, you will see that.”

For once, it was a sunny day. Still cold outside, still frosty and white, but sunlight streamed into the hallways, and that was enough for now. Nemir poked her head around Cevendir’s slightly open door. He was scribbling away at his desk, so intensely focussed that he made no reaction to her appearance. The expression on his face was soft, with a light smile, and his shoulders were relaxed. From here, she could see the neatly-made marks of Cevendir’s handwriting but the angle and distance made the words themselves impossible to read.

“What’s that? A love letter?” she teased. She expected a snide remark back, perhaps relating to the suitors that she still had to meet. Even a 'mind-your-business' and getting shooed out the room. What she got instead, was startled deer-eyes as his head snapped up to her. That was a rare one. A strained half-chuckle escaped from him and he began to frantically collect his papers together.

“No, it’s nothing like that-” he began but his thoughts seemed to be cut off as he gathered the scrunched-up bits of several attempts prior scattering the floor. Nemir laughed in disbelief. Like glass. Cevendir didn’t often hide things from her but never had he been this easy to read.

“It is, isn’t it?” she prodded with a grin eating into her face. “Who’s it for?”

“Nobody! They’re not-” Cevendir expertly dodged her attempts at grabbing the papers and held the letters above his head. He hid the papers behind his back when she tried standing on tiptoes.

“Liar!” Nemir laughed as she hopelessly grabbed at thin air and her grin was starting to spread onto Cevendir’s face too. He shook his head and pushed her backwards.

“You’re a nuisance.” His words didn’t hold any malice. Cevendir sighed and hit her on the head with his papers as he passed by her to close the door. He didn’t turn back to her immediately, just looked up and around into the crevices and corners around the door. “Alright,” he eventually said, but the air of levity began to drain a little as he dropped the rejected attempts into a drawer and closed it. “You must not tell anyone though. You have to understand, Mother and Father must not know. Promise me, Nemir.”

Cevendir examined her expression with a guarded edge to his stance. Nemir nodded, “I promise,” she said and meant that promise with all her heart. Cevendir glanced at the door again so Nemir focussed on listening to what was on the other side. Nothing, quiet. “Nobody’s listening in. Or at least I don’t think so.”

Cevendir nodded, then took a deep breath and rested against the arm of his chair. “The person I’m writing to… his name is Fuindil. He’s one of the scouts that roam the forest and protect the border – a silvan elf.” Cevendir looked down with that same soft look from before.

So that’s why the secrecy. Nemir sat on the desk next to him, quiet as she processed everything. Nemir tried to picture someone but without anything to pull from but a name, she only managed a nebulous silhouette. “When did you meet?” she asked.

“A little after you left to go on your adventure. I was out hunting and I ventured out a little farther than usual. Night fell and I ran into spiders. It was a stupid mistake. Wandered into the wrong area, let my guard down too much. There were a lot of them but he found me just in time. He offered to accompany me somewhere safer and of course, I took him up on the offer.” Cevendir ran his thumb along the side of the chair arm. “It went from there, I suppose.”

“And Mother and Father aren’t suspicious?” Nemir asked cautiously. Cevendir raised an eyebrow at her.

“I have had roughly six hundred years of practice over you of not getting into trouble.” Cevendir teased softly, nudging Nemir’s side. A pause. Cevendir looked through the window opposite them. “No, I don’t think they are. They would have said something by now.” A smile was creeping back onto his face. “Or they’d be trying harder to marry me to a ‘lovely young lady’ who I’ll never have feelings for.”

“I wonder what that’s like.” Nemir said dryly.

Cevendir’s smile grew into a proper one. “You’re just upset because you’ve chosen your disappointment-of-the-family quirk and it’s not being unmarried forever.”

“Perhaps I could use Itholdiel’s.”

Cevendir shrugged. “I’d guess that you already have, with the Viglunding business.”

Nemir laughed hollowly. A pit in her chest began to ache in the silence that followed and she buried her face in her hands, forcing a smile. Stupid. This is supposed to be about Cevendir. Keep it together. After a moment’s hesitation, Cevendir placed a warm hand on her shoulder.

“Sorry… Whatever you see out there, you can always tell me what’s resting on your shoulders.”

Nemir nodded and sniffled, wiping the tears that had dampened her eyes away. “Yeah.” A tired resignation laced her tone.

“Nemir.” Cevendir pressed.

She nodded, and wiped the last of her tears away. “Yeah. Yeah, I know… Same with you. For anything about Fuindil, that is.”

Cevendir nodded and said softly, “I’d like to take you to meet him one day. And I will. Just… not right now. I don’t want to lose everything if I make a mistake.”

“I get that.” Nemir placed her hand on his and nodded.

I really like what you've done with your character in these posts, Poppyseed. You're developing her different facets and your writing is quite good!

Thank you !! :D

We should talk about getting back in the saddle for this game and a potential schedule for doing so.

The next suitor was an elf named Mirdandir. No support from her siblings this time, Nemir and her parents were travelling to Lord Eriston’s manor alone. Itholdiel was spending time with her fiancé and Cevendir’s official story was that he was going hunting. Somehow, Nemir doubted that was true from the grin on his face. He’d still made her promise to tell him about the afternoon she was about to have on her return.

Nemir picked at the lacy gloves she’d been made to wear as her mother lectured on and on with commands that Nemir had been trying to tune out for the last hour.
“We want to make the best impression, Nemir, so no foolish games or talk of your dangerous expeditions. Smile and keep good posture.” Her mother’s arm was linked with her father’s and they walked gracefully up to the front door.

“I know, mother.”

“Do try to remember all I’ve told you.”

Plastering a smile on her face, Nemir nodded. The door opened and there they were. Lord Eriston and Lady Hithfaerien. Both in navy with silver embelishments, with long, flowing hair that Lady Hithfaerien adorned with jewels and Lord Eriston simply let hang loose over his shoulders. Next to them, a younger elf with the same snowy white hair but cut short, with a fringe neatly swept to the side. Avoiding her gaze. Presumably, Mirdandir. They went through introductions, just as painful as last time, and Mirdandir, with a short glance to his parents, bowed and kissed Nemir’s hand. He still avoided looking at her and didn’t smile as he dropped her hand quicker than he took it. This was going to be another fun one. Mirdandir looked over to his parents conversing with hers with an unreadable expression.

Lady Hithfaerien placed a hand on Mirdandir’s shoulder. “Why don’t you take Lady Nemir to see the gardens for a little bit?”

“Of course.” Mirdandir turned and motioned with his head, “It’s this way.”

“Mirdandir,” Lord Eriston’s stern voice warned. Mirdandir clenched his jaw and with a smile just as forced as Nemir’s, offered her his arm. Nemir didn’t even have to look at her parents to sense the expectation in her mother’s look so she took it without much hesitation and he led her outside.

Mirdandir untangled his arm from hers as soon as they were away but the garden itself was beautiful and Nemir couldn’t help but feel relief to walk through it at her own pace. Bushes lined the stone path, with lanterns hanging from tree branches. Surely, in the spring or summer, when leaves had returned to every branch, the place would come to life but the frost and snow that covered the area offered its own kind of charm. A frozen wonderland. A fountain in the centre had an ever-flowing gush of water pouring from beneath a crystal – the top of the structure of woven, stone branches reaching ever upwards and outwards. Underneath a tree behind the fountain was an alcove of benches. Small details in even the armrests of them.

She needed to at least try. To appease her mother. Tracing her fingers along the fountain’s outer edge Nemir said, “This place is beautiful. I can see why-”

“What do you want?” Mirdandir asked and just like that, an invisible wall was thrown between them.

“I- What do you mean?” Nemir meant to smile while picking at her lace gloves again but it ended up more of a grimace. The gloves were going to have holes in by the end of the night.

“Do you actually want to marry me?” He asked.

That was a loaded question, considering the circumstances. Nemir pressed her lips into a thin line, regretting it when she recognised the habit as her mother’s. His words were unfriendly and there was clearly a correct answer. But was it yes or no? Was this a test or was it an opening for escape? The truth was probably best; no point in dancing around it if he was asking her directly like this.

“No.” Nemir answered. He looked stunned for a moment, then nodded and looked away.

“Good. Neither do I.” He said.

It was that easy? Nemir pulled at her glove’s loose thread as their agreement began to sink in. She dusted snow off the fountain’s outer wall and sat on it, revisiting those last few words and took a long breath in. “So what now?”

A long pause. “Should we pretend?” Mirdandir asked with a lighter voice than before. Something in his expression had shifted and, for once, he looked at her with something faintly resembling a smile.

“What do you mean?” Nemir watched him closely.

“Pretend to be doing exactly what our parents want for one afternoon, or even a few meetings. We can work together to find a way out of the marriage itself but I’d wager that we’ll get less trouble for turning away other suitors. We also may not have to meet as many others if they believe their plans are working out with us.”
An opportunity. Nemir felt a smile creep onto her face. “It’s a deal then.”

The afternoon passed peacefully. For once, the look on her mother’s face was one of satisfaction usually reserved for Itholdiel and Nemir was no longer a problem to be fixed. It felt like glimpsing into a mirage of an alternate life, so strange yet so fleeting.