Songs Unspoken

Celin.

Finally, the day arrived—the day these mighty, stupid elves decided to let me out. Or, more accurately, were made to let me out.

I had a very apologetic Elrond, a slightly defeated king, and a thoroughly worried Thalion on my hands. Elrond had transformed into a mother hen in the span of a single day, Gil-galad was showing early symptoms of humbleness, and sweet Thalion flinched at every breath I took.

A day after my panic, he brought another card game and encouraged me to paint! Yes to paint, I was wondering if he will give me crayons and candies later or not.

He’d clearly mistaken me for a child and was using whatever ridiculous tactic he knew to keep me entertained. And still, he blushed whenever the silence stretched or our hands accidentally touched. I liked him. He was approachable, pretty, and hadn’t yet grown into one of those haughty, all-knowing elves. I was comfortable with him in a familial easy way.

All in all, my mood had improved after throwing Gil-galad out of my room. Well—his room. Whatever.

I knew he didn’t mean harm, and I always hate myself for having too much empathy. But I didn’t have the energy to be polite. That’s what you get when you push someone to their breaking point—knowingly or not. Who cares.

Elrond gave the best apology speech I’ve ever heard. He even made me think of the clumsy, pride-filled excuse-for-apologies my ex-boyfriend used to give me. 

Next was Gil Galad. He was probably about to deliver a more majestic version of it before I cut him off.

At least the elves know how to apologize—and try to fix things. If they don’t repeat the mistake, I’ll admit they know all the rules of apology and how to apply them. That, of course, remains to be seen.

After Elrond’s long, poetic, and very explanatory apology, he told me he was going to take me out—starting with the library and archives. Not the main one, but the smaller library in the king’s wing. He said it was a safe choice: librarians are mostly calm and quiet presences, minding their own work, and happy to share knowledge. Being there, he thought, might give me a sense of purpose.

His plan was simple—after spending some time there, maybe I’d find something interesting, start helping out, or perhaps browse through their healing texts and see how my knowledge could be adjusted to theirs.

Yes, always healing. It was apparently impossible to have a conversation with Elrond without being drawn into a medical topic. My knowledge of medicine was limited to what I'd picked up through experience and a few general rules—like “boil water before drinking it.” But the poor soul was genuinely optimistic. He seemed to believe I might spark a medical revolution in their world. Let him hope.

Thalion and Varohil were likely to follow me everywhere I went—at least until I became more familiar with the surroundings. Of course, that was just a polite way of saying they were going to monitor my every move. I didn’t mind Thalion. But Varohil? Aside from a few short, begrudging interactions, we hadn’t spoken since our charming first encounter.

I wasn’t excited to go out—I just desperately wanted to get out of there . Thanks to Círdan’s gentle soul—and my own inexplicable fondness for him—I’d gotten through the worst of my post-panic-attack misery.

He’d told me he’d chastised both Elrond and Gil-galad. I wished I could’ve seen it. He also assured me there would be no consequences if I ever felt the need to hurl something at either of them. That alone made me feel better.

So there I was, standing in front of the mirror in my room—well, the guest room they gave me. I stared at my reflection. I was wearing a dress: simple, modest, well-made, in a soft shade of light blue. A pair of sandals. My hair combed down.

Elrond had offered me some jewelry suited for a descendant of Númenor—big, medieval-looking things, obviously designed to flatter one’s sense of grandeur. I refused. I told him I wanted my own, something me .

So the result? I will be given them back when the king decides, so I had no jewelry on me. And apparently, that decision had offended the entire Númenórean bloodline all the way back to Elros. Still, Elrond didn’t try to strangle me with a speech about it. Progress.

Thalion was there, standing just behind me, watching our reflections in the mirror. He wore his usual boyish smile.

I asked, “How do I look? Ready to mingle?”

He replied, a little shyly, “You look… normal, my lady.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Is that a compliment?”

His eartips turned red. “Ah—I mean, it’s not obvious you came from another world.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Alright. And by the way, stop calling me ‘lady.’”

He nodded, like he always did. We’d had this conversation many times.

We were waiting for Elrond, who was supposed to accompany me. Thalion had come earlier to have breakfast with me, and now that I was fed and dressed, we started our usual round of cards. He was good—surprisingly good—but he didn’t take it as seriously as I did. Which meant, naturally, I won most of the time. I was already plotting what to bet on next time.

As the minutes ticked by, I wandered over to the window and stared out. The scenery was lovely—but it would’ve been even better if it wasn’t so damn blurry. I missed my contact lenses. I could feel anxiety creeping in, coiling tight in my chest. But gods, I wanted out of that room so badly. I forced myself to focus on the present and shoved the worry under my imaginary rug—that handy mental spot where I dump everything I can’t do anything about.

We were in the middle of our fourth game when a knock came, followed by Elrond’s voice: “May I come in?”

Yes, they ask for permission now. Progress. I said yes, and he stepped inside. Thalion stood up so fast and bowed so sharply I was certain he’d pulled something. Do elves even strain muscles? I had so many ridiculous questions about them.

Elrond gestured toward me with all the flourish of a theater actor. “My lady Celin, shall we? Lindon’s beauty awaits your discovery.”

He was being far too dramatic today.

I stood up and told Thalion that we would continue the game as it was, and then I joined Elrond.

In the king’s wing, there weren’t many people. We passed through the corridors and entered a large, spacious hall. Elrond walked beside me, pointing out things, sharing bits of history, and mentioning details about the library. I nodded along, but I wasn’t really listening.

My vision was still a bit blurry, but as we neared the hall, things began to sharpen.

And gods, it was beautiful. Breathtakingly beautiful.

The rooms were built from sturdy wood and stone—a strange but harmonious blend of nature, both elegant and solid. The walls were high, decorated in a way that was both bold and incredibly delicate.

I couldn’t find the words to describe it properly. It wasn’t like the palaces I’d seen in Europe, or even in Asia. This place was more serene, more alive. Humble and majestic all at once.

I felt small and unimportant in comparison.

As we passed through the main hall in the kings’ wing—just as Elrond had mentioned—we saw a few other elves and ellethes, all beautiful, serene, moving like water.

A lady passed us. Elrond nodded politely in her direction, and she returned the gesture. She was so beautiful, so elegant, so utterly otherworldly that I instinctively wanted to hide behind Elrond.

I had never felt so out of place in my entire life. And believe me—I’ve had my moments.

My anxiety was spiking and my thoughts were spinning: What the hell am I doing here? No—fuck—this isn’t real. This is that damn dream again! And then we stepped outside.

The stone path stretched ahead, warm in the sun, framed by gardens that looked like they had grown into place with deliberate grace. The moment the view came into focus, I stopped breathing. Gods. I had always thought nothing could be more beautiful than the villages in the Alps. 

I was wrong.

It was breathtaking . The trees stood tall and proud, scattered in such a natural harmony it felt as if they'd stepped aside to make space for us, knowingly. The air felt different—cleaner, richer, alive. It wasn’t just beautiful. It screamed life.

Birdsong drifted through the air—bright, melodic, insistent. I followed the sounds with my eyes until I spotted flashes of vivid color nestled on branches like jewels. I wished I could see them more clearly. Would Elrond commission a pair of glasses for me if I behaved? I was half-joking, but it felt like a crime to be here and not be able to see every exquisite detail.

I wandered toward a tree trunk, captivated by the intricate pattern in its bark. Yes—I love patterns, I love details. I ran my fingers along the surface. It felt like the trees back on Earth. I had half expected it to feel like velvet—like magic made manifest—but it didn’t. It felt real. Natural. Alive.

“You’d be more dignified if you closed your mouth. You’re very close to drooling.” I heard Varohil’s voice before I even saw him, that unmistakable orange head sliding into view from the corner of my eye.

My jaw snapped shut with an audible click. I hadn’t even realized it was open—and I was not drooling. He had ruined my moment. Completely. I turned to him, eyes narrowed. “Oh, you’re here too. What a bad omen.”

I cursed myself for not coming up with something sharper. It takes a moment for your brain to shift from admiring divine beauty to crafting a proper insult. He lifted his chin, clearly ready to say something equally charming. Elrond, stepped in with a calm smile. “Varohil. Such a lovely day, isn’t it?”

Varohil didn’t miss a beat. “There won’t be any lovely day with this around.”

Yes. I was this .

“I said, ‘Happy to hear that.’”

Elrond continued, entirely unbothered, “As you know, I’m taking her to the library.”

Varohil replied, voice cool and sharp, “I know. Gil-galad is being generous again.”

I decided it was smarter to stay silent. I didn’t know this man well—hadn’t read about him, hadn’t figured him out. Better to keep my mouth shut and let him reveal himself in time. Elrond, perhaps sensing the shift in the air, gently took my elbow and steered me toward what I assumed was the library. It was close to the king’s wing; I’d seen the door to it earlier, but Elrond had turned me in the opposite direction back then.

Varohil started pacing alongside us, speaking with Elrond about how “it was time” and so on. I wasn’t really listening. My eyes were fixed on the building ahead, its grand wooden doors, the clean stone path leading up to it, the few elves moving gracefully nearby. They all nodded respectfully to Elrond and Varohil—some even smiled at me. Others ignored me entirely. I focused on keeping my mouth closed and trying to look… proper.

When we reached the wooden doors, Varohil offered Elrond a curt goodbye, completely ignored me, and disappeared without another word. Elrond turned to me and said, “He’s a good man. Just... difficult. And slow to trust others.”

I snorted. “As if you and the king are so easy.”

He sighed and looked up at the sky. I swear, he was probably sending a silent prayer to the Valar for patience. “It’s far too early to start this,” he murmured. Then, with a graceful motion toward the doors, he added, “Come, my lady. Let’s get you in.”

He pushed the doors open and—my gods—it was even more beautiful than the library of Emperor Franz Joseph in Vienna, even more stunning than the Lello Library in Porto.

I stepped inside and just stood there, staring. Books and shelves, towering pillars, graceful statues, a few elves moving quietly, thick tables, and carved wooden chairs—it wasn’t vast in quantity, but it was majestic and airy, like something straight out of a fairy tale. And this wasn’t even the main library. It was simply the king’s personal collection.

I envied Gil-galad. Truly. It felt unfair for anyone to have something this beautiful all to themselves. From behind me, I heard Elrond’s voice:
“Don’t you want to come in?”

I noticed my mouth was open again—and I was definitely not drooling. I stepped inside, and I felt it immediately: happiness. I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the faint, familiar scent of paper and ink. Oh gods, I was happy. That deep, bone-deep kind of happiness. The kind I’d only ever felt in the Alps, or at a beach watching the sun melt into the horizon. I was alive, truly alive—and for the first time in a while, this place felt real. Very real.

I must’ve had a silly smile on my face, because Elrond said, a little giddily, “Finally, you smiled.”

I flashed him a toothy grin and said, “I try to stop it, but I can’t.”

He gestured for me to follow, saying, “That is good.”
Then he led me to the shelves and began pulling books down, explaining each one. Some were written in the Common Tongue, some in Sindarin, and a few in Quenya. I didn’t care. I was far too excited to notice the languages. All I wanted was to sit on the floor, flip through the pages, and soak in the brilliant illustrations and illuminated margins.

I was dying to find a book from the First Age with Maedhros’s image in it—the well-made redheaded bastard. Oh gods, I wanted to see Lúthien, to see Fëanor in all his fiery glory. I was doomed. I was starting to enjoy this.

We ended up with a pile of books—mostly the ones with the most illustrations—and settled at one of the tables. I was so giddy I completely forgot to pay attention to the few elves around us. But, as Elrond had said, they weren’t prying. Each was absorbed in their own work, reading or jotting down notes in elegant, quiet rhythm. I didn’t care—I just wanted to devour the images.

I started flipping through the books, asking questions whenever I couldn’t read something. Elrond answered each one with far too much patience—and far too many words. I didn’t even want to leave for lunch, not until my stomach rebelled against the solemn dignity of the library. Elrond insisted we step out and have a simple meal in the sitting room of the king’s wing. I brought one of the books with me, of course, and Elrond nearly had a panic attack every time I turned a page while holding a spoon.

We went back inside. Elrond was a good teacher—and I had a sneaking suspicion that my curiosity amused him more than he let on. I felt like a child discovering the world, and he was the adult watching it unfold, maybe feeling a bit younger himself because of it. Elrond was kind, grounded, but also quietly haunted in that very elvish way.

There were so many books—not just about history, but also about human kingdoms. Maps of their times were tucked between pages, with small, delicate changes to borders that made me itch to study every detail. I wanted to devour it all. There were even a few children’s books, though I had no idea what Gil-galad wanted with those in his personal library. It was hard to picture him reading one to a child. Which reminded me—I hadn’t seen or heard any elven children around. So I asked Elrond.

He said, “Elves do not beget children as often as humans. Right now, there are no elven children in Lindon. Thalion and an elleth, one year younger than him, are the youngest—barely considered adults by elven standards.”

Which, as he later explained, meant they were around sixty. Sixty! So sweet Thalion—the boyish, blushing Thalion, who looked like an awkward eighteen-year-old with a shy blush—was actually sixty-two. That was... awkward. I should’ve guessed it. I had read about how elves matured more slowly, but it hits differently when you’re staring one of them in the face.

When I got over it and looked around again, I was suddenly reminded of my first day at university. Our high school barely had a library, but the university one was massive, filled with every kind of book I could dream of. I remembered being nineteen—restless, idealistic, bursting with energy and ambition to change the world, to matter . I smiled at the memory. And I missed my world. I missed my friends. I thought about the three of them—yes, exactly three—who were probably calling me like crazy, wondering where the hell I’d disappeared to.

I’d thought about them almost every night. The nights I cried were usually the ones when memories of them hit the hardest. And sometimes, in the quiet after, I wondered if it was a strange kind of mercy that I had no living family left. No one waiting for me. At least my parents weren’t grieving me. No parent should ever have to grieve their child. I wasn’t wise, not really, but I knew that .

There was always a break in the middle of joy—or maybe just in the middle of my joy. I turned to the window. The view was still beautiful, still blurry. And just like that, I felt strange again. Out of place. Not unhappy, but not whole either.

I looked at my hands, at my fingers—I needed to write, or I was going to lose my mind. I asked Elrond if he could give me paper, a notebook, and something to write with. He replied with quiet pride that Lindon had the finest quills and ink in all of Middle-earth, and that they were in abundance. He promised to have the best quality set delivered to my room.

I liked that about the elves—the pride they took in their craft. These Noldor never missed a chance to boast about their skills or inventions. And, honestly, it was kind of endearing.

We were mid-conversation when a very handsome, very tall, very graceful elf practically glided toward us. He had a calm smile on his lips, the kind that made you feel like he already knew the punchline of a joke you hadn't even heard yet.

He looked at us politely and said, “Elrond, won’t you introduce the lovely lady?”

Elrond stood up. I followed—part of my etiquette lessons: if Elrond introduces me to someone, I should be standing. He cast a nervous glance in my direction and said, “My lord Arafin, this is Lady Celin, my long-lost Númenórean kin. Celin, meet Lord Arafin, Chief Archivist of Lindon.”

I curtsied as best I could and said, “Honored to make your acquaintance, my lord.”

Elrond visibly flinched. Yes. My first mistake. I should’ve said something poetic, involving starts, moon and shining. Arafin, however, didn’t seem fazed. He bowed and replied, “May the stars indeed shine on the hour we met, Lady Celin. The High King has spoken highly of you.”

I wanted to blurt out “I highly doubt that” , but I was very politic and simply said, “The king is kind.”

Elrond let out a breath, clearly relieved. Arafin said, “I see you’re quite interested in the history of the First Age,” and launched into a brief, thoughtful commentary about a few of the books I’d been browsing.

I nodded along. He didn’t seem intimidating at all. In fact, he reminded me of the librarians I knew back in my world—calm, collected, deeply knowledgeable, and speaking in that even, unhurried tone that made you want to listen. The optimistic part of me—the part that gets giddy at birdsong—was already plotting future projects with Arafin, dreaming about ways I could help improve their library system. Not that I had the slightest clue how their system worked. For all I knew, it was already flawless. But still, a girl can dream.

He pointed out a few books and told me to start with those. I thanked him. Then he stood up and turned to Elrond. “A true Númenórean blood, Lady Celin. I hope to see you again.” With a polite bow, he glided away.

I leaned toward Elrond and murmured, “See? A true Númenórean blood . Did you see how well I played that?”

Elrond gave me a sideways glance. “You were adequate. Arafin is easy to impress. And you do look Númenórean.”

I blinked. “What?”

He shrugged slightly. “You have the typical features—pale skin, dark hair, thick eyebrows, large eyes. You actually look a bit like me.”

I frowned and, for the first time, properly studied him. There wasn’t any obvious resemblance, but we could probably pass as distant cousins from the same ethnic group. The main difference was his eyes—clear, blue-gray, that classic Noldorin silver light—while mine were plain brown. “Well,” I said, “since you’re pretty, I’ll take that as an upgrade for myself.”

He chuckled. “Good. Keep that spirit up for the rest of the day.”

I snorted.

We finally picked out three books, and I took them with me—already planning to stay up half the night flipping through them again and again, staring at every single one of Finwë’s offspring like a doomed fangirl. That was the plan. That, and convincing Elrond to give me a notebook and whatever it is they use instead of pens here. I needed to write. So yes—dinner, writing, and obsessively browsing ancient elven history. That was tonight’s itinerary.

And I was thinking foolishly that my glorious first day in Lindon was over.

Thalion.

I still have trouble believing I was placed under the direct command of the king . It felt like a miracle! I hadn’t even been tested for higher duties yet. Most guards wait decades just to be acknowledged by the king personally—some even centuries before he speaks to them privately.

It was an honor. And pure chance. I’d only been a guard for two years—exactly one month after coming of age and being allowed to apply. I’m fairly certain it was my mother who talked Varohil into accepting me. I had completed all the required studies while I was still a teenager. I memorized every theoretical protocol, passed all the exams, and always behaved well.

Even when Mellosee dragged me into her stupid little adventures, everyone knew I was innocent. I was just... trapped. I still remember how stressed I was, thinking I might be rejected because of that incident—when Mellosee tricked me into stepping into the restricted wing of the library. Lord Arafin himself caught me. But he believed me when I told him I thought there were free candies hidden in there. I was eight.

He gave me a few candies anyway. And told me never to trust Mellosee again. I listened.

And somehow, it seemed the Valar had given me their blessing—placing me on duty at exactly the right time and place, just as Lady Celin emerged from the trees. On the second day, while she was still housed in the king’s chamber with Lord Elrond and the High King himself, the King—the High King—summoned me to his study.

I was frightened to my bones. I was convinced he was going to banish me to somewhere cold and distant, perhaps for showing up at the wrong time, or for some other grave mistake I hadn’t realized I’d made. Of course, I would have accepted any fate the King deemed just. He was Gil-galad—he had reigned longer than any before him, wise and fearless in battle. I had grown up on stories of his gleaming armor and shining spear.

I tried to look collected. I mentally recited every etiquette rule I had ever learned about speaking to royalty. But I was sure my face had betrayed me. I was as pink as a ripe strawberry. I stepped into his study and bowed—exactly as guards are trained to do, by the protocol scrolls.

He was sipping his wine. Everyone in Lindon knew how much he loved his wine. Our king had the finest collection in all of Middle-earth.

He looked at me. I kept my face straight, preparing to meet my doom with dignity. He told me to sit and I did as was ordered.

To my utter surprise, he poured me a glass of wine and brought it over. I didn’t know what to do—so I took it and thanked him. The wine had a velvety texture and a rich berry taste. “Drink it, Thalion. It is from Lindon, aged and perfected by our own wine master,” he said.

I obeyed. It was quite tasteful, although I was still a novice with wine. When I was on duty, no guards in their first years were allowed to drink. I wasn’t an expert yet, but if our High King said it was good, then it must be something special.

After a few moments, he set his glass aside and looked at me. “You have witnessed something that I would rather you had not. You are too young to face such dilemmas. Varohil speaks highly of you, and I agree with him. I remember your childhood—it seems like only yesterday when your uncle brought news of your birth, and all of Lindon celebrated.”

I gulped—and some wine went down the wrong way. I started coughing, hard, and was now certain I’d gone from strawberry pink to tomato red.

The King raised one eyebrow and said calmly, “Easy, child. It was a nice occasion to celebrate.”

I managed a wheezy “Thank you” between coughs.

He continued, with an amused smile, “Thalion, listen to me—and listen carefully. This lady is still a mystery, and she will remain a mystery for some time. I asked you here because I wanted to speak to you personally, to give you my command.”

He set his glass down and looked me in the eyes.

“We cannot speak of this to others. The fewer who know, the better. You will not speak of her origin or anything outside the story we will craft. Not to your peers, not to your family, not to your closest friend. Not to anyone. And not under any circumstances.”

There was a long silence, and I had stopped coughing. So... I wasn’t being banished.

The King was giving me a private order. I nodded, slowly, trying not to look as stunned as I felt.

He continued with gravity in his voice, “Use your words, Thalion. Tell me—do you understand?”

I straightened and cleared my throat. “Yes, my king. Your word is my command.”

He nodded and looked me in the eyes. I swear—he could see straight through me. Right into my soul. And I really wished I had a stronger one. Then, he poured himself more wine and gestured toward me. “What do you think about her?”

Valars! The King was asking my opinion . My opinion. Me . Thalion. I didn’t answer right away—I was too busy trying not to fall out of the chair. Then I realized he was still waiting. Expectant. I scrambled for something impressive. Something deep. Clever. Meaningful and nothing came. So what I did say was, “She is sad… and alone.”

He tilted his head. “And?”

And? That was all I had! I’d seen her only once! I didn’t know anything about mortals—how was I supposed to compare her to anything? I was just of age! Still, I tried. I thought hard and added, “She’s frightened. But not in the way you might expect.”

He nodded. “Not the typical fear and intimidation mortals feel when facing elven authority.”

I nodded so hard I think I nearly sprained my neck. He fell silent for a few moments, staring into his cup. Then he said simply, “Keep your word,” and dismissed me.

I stood up, hesitating for just a second—I didn’t know what to do with the wine glass. So I placed it carefully on the nearest table, bowed as sharply as I could, and left. That was the moment I realized…I wasn’t a boy anymore. The King had trusted me with something precious.

And from that day forward, I would carry that weight like a sword strapped to my back—always.

I returned to where Varohil was stationed, just outside the door of the strange mortal woman—Lady Celin. The King had given me a direct order. I was truly honored and a bit smug.

Days passed, and I saw more of her. Some days, she looked sad and quiet, caught in long silences. Other days, she was bright and sharp-tongued. I noticed her beauty more than I wanted to—and I was probably pink the entire time we spoke or played cards.

When I wasn’t on duty outside her door, I went home and told my family it was just a new post Varohil had assigned me to. That was what Varohil told me to say. It felt strange to lie to them. I wanted to shriek and tell my mother everything —what I’d seen, who she was, how important it all felt.

But the King had commanded me. And now I was a man, and men… keep secrets.

And the next problem was Mellosee, who kept pestering me whenever she saw me. Lord Elrond had told her—and a few others—that a distant relative of his lost brother was now in Lindon. He was preparing the public slowly, wisely. But Mellosee wanted details. Every day , she asked what the lady looked like and why she wasn’t allowed to meet her. I told her to shut up and mind her own business. She didn’t.

The day that finally Lady Celin was allowed to explore the king’s wing, I was standing at my usual post near the entrance to the King’s hall, minding my own business, when she appeared again, skipping up to me like she hadn’t been a nuisance just the day before. “You look ridiculous when you try to look serious,” she said. “Like a baby trying to give a speech.”

I shot back, “You’ve never even seen a baby. You’re the youngest elf here.”

She smirked. “You’re one year older than me. That means I did see a baby— you —when I was a baby too.”

“You were a terrible baby,” I muttered.

“I was fun ,” she said proudly. “Now tell me—what does she look like? Is she similar to that old wrinkly mortal woman we saw once? Is it true mortals can’t form coherent sentences?”

I didn’t answer. I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending I couldn’t hear her. She kept going. “Can she run, do you think? Or jump?”

I snapped, “You’re stupid. Of course she can run and jump.”

Mellosee leaned in with a grin. “Have you seen her doing that?”

I didn’t say anything, trying to think of a new way to dodge her, when I caught sight of Lord Elrond and Lady Celin returning from the library. My chest lifted. I was genuinely happy to see her out again. She’d had a hard time in that room.

“You’re smiling, you idiot,” Mellosee whispered beside me.

I quickly practiced my lips into a straight line, straightened my posture, and said, “If you’re done pestering me, look forward—you’ll see her.”

She turned. Her eyes lit up. “Oh! She looks like us… just no pointy ears. That old mortal woman we saw once also had round ears.”

As they got closer, she added, “She looks good. And I do think she can run and jump.”

Then, grinning broadly, she stepped forward and called out, cheerful as ever, “Elrond! Good evening. Don’t you want to introduce me to your mysterious relative? I’ve been pestering Thalion for a while—now it’s your turn.”

I sighed. She never learned how to speak to Lords and Ladies—and they never punished her for it. Lady Celin was staring at her, wide-eyed, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. And our kind Lord Elrond—of course— bowed to Mellosee. That’s how he always encouraged her reckless, impolite behavior.

“Young Mellosee,” he said, with a small smile, “your agony is over. You may meet my kin—Lady Celin.”

Mellosee beamed and took a bold step forward. Lady Celin instinctively stepped back and raised an eyebrow. At least she had some sense. Mellosee announced brightly, “Oh my lady, I’m Mellosee—Thalion’s friend!”

I wanted to object. Strongly. But I kept my mouth shut and stared straight ahead like a good guard. Lord Elrond stepped in smoothly. “Yes, Celin. This is Mellosee—the main source of my torture and delight. She is the youngest in Lindon… and we have, I fear, spoiled her rotten.”

Lady Celin smiled widely and said, “I like her already.” Then she turned to Mellosee and added, “I’d be happy to ally with anyone who can successfully torment these mighty elves.”

Mellosee beamed. “Then we’ll be best friends. I already have some plans.”

Elrond chuckled. “She always does. But my dear Mellosee, let’s give Lady Celin some rest. She’s tired. You can share your plans with her another time.”

Mellosee frowned. “She has a mouth and she can talk. Why are you answering for her?”

Celin smiled triumphantly. “Finally. Someone with sense. I hope the stars shine—or do whatever it is stars do—at the hour of our meeting, Lady Mellosee.”

Mellosee laughed. “Oh, they’ll shine. And you are very welcome in Lindon, my lady. I will do my best to make your stay… exciting.”

I snorted. That sounded terrible. Elrond turned to me and said, without missing a beat, “Thalion, it’s not that terrible.”

I nodded. “As you say, my lord.”

Elrond told us they really should be going, but that they would talk again soon—and if Mellosee behaved herself, she could meet Lady Celin properly another time. They exchanged a few polite words—Elrond always excelled at small talk—and then they left us.

Which meant, unfortunately, that I was alone with Mellosee again.

She looked at me, clearly bored now, and announced, “I don’t need you anymore,” before strolling off like a leaf in the wind.

I sighed in relief and resumed my post.

That evening, I was scheduled to stand watch outside Lady Celin’s door once more. Lord Varohil and I still rotated shifts—quietly, carefully, as the High King had commanded. Just out of caution.

As the sun dipped lower beyond the treetops of Lindon, shadows stretched long across the stone corridors, and my shift outside Lady Celin’s door grew quiet.

Inside, I could hear the faintest rustle—pages turning, maybe. I was curious to see what interested her, and to ask if she liked the painting materials I gave her. Maybe we could read those books together. I’ve never been much of a reader… but maybe I could start?

But tonight, I was stationed outside her door. My place had been decided by the King.

So I stood silently, back straight, spear steady, just as I had been trained. And yet, something about this post never quite felt like duty. It felt… important. Personal. Like I had been entrusted not just with a task, but with someone.

Someone lonely.
Someone loud, unpredictable, and sometimes terrifying.
Someone sad.

I didn’t know what the next days would bring.
But I knew I’d be here, guarding the door.

Just in case.