[Ithaeliel]

After taking Ithilion back to the stables, a weary yet relieved Feadhros retired to what he claimed his resting spot, which also served well as a perch. It was one of the higher branches of the ancient mallorn tree upon which the palace lay in all its splendour. From there he espied many a curious activity, and in the past he had seen suspicious things happen, in which case he reported it to Galadriel immediately. His infamous wily ways were surpassed only by his love and loyalty for the Lady.

On this day, however, Feadhros was too careworn and exhausted to be attentive of his surroundings. Heaving himself up onto the branch, he lay down cautiously and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. He heard the laughter of children playing together, the more soothing voices of the grown elves, and he felt magic in the air about him. Seldom was he home of late, and all that was beautiful of the Golden Wood was greatly accented now. The young scout basked in the glory of these things, and he was nearly lulled to sleep by it all. Then he heard two whispering voices nearby.

Sitting up quickly, Feadhros glanced about him, trying to discover who was speaking. Looking down toward the back of the palace, he saw two young elves sneaking out. One of them he recognized as Nuhrivë, the daughter of his partners Milar and Isolde Fleetheart. The other was a border guard he had seen a few times but had never spoken to. Leaping lithely from his perch, Feadhros landed quietly on the next limb, making his way downward until he was just above the two. Then, nimbly as a cat, he sprang in front of Nuhrivë and her companion. The girl gave a yell and jumped back. "You...!" she gasped.

Feadhros grinned a little. "What are you doing out here?"

[ December 30, 2002: Message edited by: Ithaeliel ]