[Amanaduial the archer]

After coming away from Isildur, Arthain had wandered Rivendell's corridors for a while, but, disliking the sniggers of the servants, despite their outwardly polite appearance, had retired to his room, attempting to read some more of the well-thumbed but little-read book he had had with him for a while. But he couldn't concentrate- this wasn't his room. The elegant balcony, the way it faced out onto a patioed, ordered, bare-seeming courtyard, the way the walls were a stylish cream and the carvng on the door of plants that it was doubtful any man would ever see...this wasn't a home to him, and he was restless there. When in the book a character whom Arthain was sure he had never heard of was brought in as obviously a main character who had been there for some time, Arthain gave up. Putting down the book, he stood from where he had been sitting in a cream armchair, and walked swiftly from his room, hoping to avoid anyone.

After thoroughly losing himself in the citadel, he turned and came out in a courtyard. The sound of water running down and through a miniture, crafted waterfall could be heard softly, and silver birch trees overhung backless white benches. But, more importantly for Arthain, there was no one else there.

Seating himself on one of the stone benches, he mused on what was really making him uncomfortable; Isildur's words. They had disturbed him, in their harhsness but also, although he didn't want to admit it even in his own mind, in their closeness to his own thoughts of late.

Sighing, the captain closed his eyes, letting himself relax in the quietness of the courtyard. Why all these sudden doubts? Never before had he thought such things in such earnest of his and Melost's friendship. In the past...but in the past they hadn't stayed close, not over the last few years. Had these feelings and tensions been present before- was Arthain simply looking back on those times with rose-tinted glasses?

Arthain tried to let the gentle sound of the water wash over his own mind, to wash them into some sort of sensible order. But they were interrupted- the sound of fine skirts swishing against each other and the stone floor made him turn almost guiltily, as if caught somewhere he should not be. But the owner of the skirts simply smiled warily at him before sitting down beside him.

"Is anything wrong, master Arthain?" Anwanelme's voice was soft and seemed anxious. Why was she anxious for him, after the comtempt she had shown at the start of dinner? But they had talked well. He turned, smiling at her, veiling his thoughts, or so he hoped. His hand was gripping the edge of the bench beside him and, as Anwanelme sat, she held her hands one over the other, laying them on the bench. Just like before at dinner, their hands were very close. Arthain couldn't help noticing. Her slim fingers lay just a few inches from his rather more worn hands. How would she react if...

"You have persuaded your mother, Mistress Anwanelme?"

His subject change did not work. Anwanelme smiled, cocking her head to one side, still puzzled. "You have not answered my question, Arthain."

Arthain grinned, but her words struck a different chord, and a rather disconcerting one at that. Subtly but definitely, he moved his hand slightly away from hers. "Quick, Lady Anwanelme, quick." He grinned again, then shrugged. "I...well, I suppose I am just uneasy about the ride tomorrow, odd though it may seem."

"Anxious about going to Lorien?"

"You know my thoughts well, Lady, is't true what they say about female elves being able to read minds?" He joked, hoping she did not see his real surprise. What, no jibe?. She smiled slightly.

"Just Galadriel- the Lady of the Golden Wood Lothlorien." She laughed slightly at his expression, the sound playing a melody with the sound of the water. "Do not worry, she will not bite."

"It is my first time that I will ride to the Golden Wood, and I do not doubt that it will be my last."

"Do not worry, Arthain. The wood is beautiful, not intimidating. The Lady is a good and kind host, although she may seem a little disconcerting at first to your peop- to you." The hasty change was made quite smoothly but did not go unnoticed, but Arthain did not mention it. "Besides, you are there in good company, and under well respected command."

Anwanelme's hand had somehow moved closer to Arthain's again. He felt somewhat uncomfortable- he had seen Melost's expression before- but how could be move it without seeming rude? Anwanelme had comforted him though- not just with her words, but with her concern, and with her thought for him and his worries. He smiled, nodding slightly at her. "I thank you, Lady. You have made my mind more easy, indeed." And he was surprised to realise that these words were true.

She smiled back, then stood, her skirts gently rustling again as she did so. "I am glad of that, Arthain. But I cannot stay- I have an engagement to keep." She turned to leave then, as an afterthought, offered her hand to Arthain. Surprised but ever the gentleman, he took it, brushing it lightly with his lips. She smiled once more, nodding him goodnight, then was gone.

Anwanelme's final gesture surprised him- she was indeed not the cold, predjudiced human hater that he had first feared her to be. But she was like Melost in some ways indeed- a way of cocking her head to one side, one eyebrow raised, when she was reinforcing a question, the way she had not let her question drop. They would make a beautiful pair, a wonderful couple, he thought, but was not sure what his feelings were over that. That puzzled and surprised him- what other feelings apart from happiness for his friend and his, well, new aquaintance?

The sound of quick feet surprised Arthain, and he stood, turning. The owner of the feet seemed to be just out of his range of sight though. Moving quickly to the corridor, he looked down to where it had come from, but only saw a glimpse of someone turning a corner. But he feared the worst- the tunic of the runner had been all too familiar, what he had seen. No, there had to be more than one tunic like that here? But in his heart he knew, and imagined what it must have looked like, himself and Anwanelme, sitting together, talking and smiling, hands closed then, as she departed, him kissing her on the hand, gratified. What it must have looked like- to Melost.