[Nilpaurion Felagund]

As the Elves watched Faerim walk away, Erenor spoke up. “Why, indeed, did you ask him that?”

Bethiril shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said in a weak voice. “Just curious, I guess.” A few moments passed before she spoke again, this time in her normal, melodious voice. “So, here we are, and the remnant of Arnor, despite all our efforts to stop it. What do we do now?”

“Let us speak to the king again,” Erenor suggested.

“Can we speak to the king again?” What followed was a suppressed chuckle. “That Mellonar protects him. He’s already sent us out of the way twice, after all.” Bethiril looked at Erenor, hoping that she did not yet know of her last attempt to talk to the king. But she was silent. At hearing Mellonar’s name, her eyes flickered with a barely suppressed flame.

“Too bad. The Orcs were much better to us then he is,” the older Noldo said in an attempt to bring Erenor out of her deadly mood. It worked, but not in the way she hoped. Erenor recalled the event that almost broke her pride in her abilities.

“I am sorry,” Bethiril said, and she meant it. She realized a moment later that she was no longer the cold emissary that she was. What has happened to her?

“Never mind that. We must catch up with our group.” With that Erenor began walking back into the caves.