A/N: Hi. 'Sup? So...this is an AWFUL chapter in my opinion, but... I'll let you judge for yourselves :) Ummm...it starts out a little while after the last flashback ended. As always, please comment and vote! <3 Julia

Oh, wait! One more thing! I just cried for a few minutes over the death of Beleg, so if anyone wants to fangirl or have a civilized chat about it (there's a difference) you know where to find me ;P

Feanor is standing very close to my bed. I stare at the boquet of colorful, freshly-picked flowers that he offers. Though we still can't speak to each other, I get the feeling that his father will allow me to stay, at least until I heal. Grinning, I take the flowers and nod my head. He gets the message.

It's awkward, since we can't talk to each other. He studies me for a few minutes, and I study him. I study the way his raven hair flows down his shoulders and is intricately braided, the color of his eyes, which are like the dress my mother used to wear all the time, his ears, and how his golden and red clothing is still wet at the bottom from when he found me.

We both turn as a gently creaking sound, like footsteps, comes to the door. Feanor dashes over to open it. Finwe enters, looking down sternly on me. I get that feeling again, like I'm not supposed to be here. Both of the Elves seem to sense my nervousness. The ruler and I make eye contact, and he sneers before turning to Feanor, saying something, then leaving. Obviously, I am not important to him.

The footsteps sound again, but this time, the door opens to reveal the two younger elves. The dark-haired one is Fingolfin, and the blonde is...what's his name?

I point to him. Feanor looks confused at first, so I point to myself and say my name, then point to the blonde and cock my head to the side, raising my eyebrows and trying best to show my confusion. He nods and points to his brother: "Finarfin."

I smile as a form of thanks but quickly look down. I need to find a way to escape this place, but if I get to attached to its inhabitants, I fear I will never have the urge to leave, at least not to leave forever. A sudden thought strikes me: Where will I go? Melkor's fortress is out of the question, seeing as he just made an oath to kill me, and that is all I have ever known. As I look back up at Feanor, a sinking feeling settles into my gut. I can't leave because I have nowhere to go...which means that this place, whatever its called, will be my home. For now.

*        *        *

SOME YEARS LATER

I sit beside Finarfin near a small, trickling stream. Feanor and Fingolfin couldn't come with us because Feanor was studying something about forging, and the latter had matters to attend to with Finwe. Finarfin and I don't know each other very well, but it gives me an excuse to get out and about, and maybe to become better friends with him.

He leans back on the grass, the light glinting off his golden hair, which spreads out above his head. Copying him, I lay down, and my long black hair joins his yellow. We are that close together. At the same time, we seem to realize this, and we inch away. Despite me trying to hold it in, a giggle escapes my mouth. Finarfin grins at me.

"Luinil," he begins, "I'm glad you could come with me."

"I'm glad to be here," I respond, turning my head to look into his pale-blue eyes. There's a moment of silence before he sighs, the smile fading from his lips, and sits up, facing me.

"It must be hard for you," he says. His eyes are filled with something betweern concern, pity, and sadness.

"What must be hard?"

He shrugs. "I've seen the way people treat you. They think you're different, less worthy of this beautiful land, because you don't look like us. Who are they to judge you?"

I laugh softly. Yes, his words sting a little bit, but I know he's not trying to hurt me. He's just talking, and the tone of his voice almost makes up for the fact that he's reminded me that I'm not welcome here. He continues to speak: "My brothers and I have noticed, Luinil. We know everything that's going on. But...out of the three of us, I feel like I'm the only one who really cares."

I stare at him, unsure of what to say. "Thank you..."

He laughs. "I am sorry. I...I've never been amazing with words."

"Why do you feel like you care the most, Finarfin?" I ask, tilting my head to the side. The Elf looks down. "Fingolfin doesn't know you very well. Well...neither do I, but... I feel like you have a dark past. I know you don't want to tell me, and I respect your privacy, but I feel like you have a few dark secrets and need someone to care for you."

My eyes become unfocused as I think about how right he is. It's almost as if he knows the truth. Of course, he's probably guessed at it, as others have, but he says it with such understanding that it's hard to believe I haven't told him.

"You haven't told me about Feanor," I point out. Feanor is my best friend, and I want to know why Finarfin thinks he cares more than Feanor. He shrugs.

"Feanor fancies you."

I know he's going to tell me more, but it takes a moment for that sentence to sink in. Feanor, eldest prince of the Noldor...fancies me? How? After all, he is the most handsome Elf I have seen so far, so he has his pick of practically anyone. Why would he choose me?

"But..." I prompt, staring wide-eyed at Finarfin.

"But Feanor is selfish. I don't know if you have ever noticed, but it's true. He has many vices that he chooses to hide from you."

"What do you mean?" Feanor has always seemed honest, kind, and virtuous. I can't think of anything that would make Finarfin speak of him that way.

"You are not one of his brothers like I, so you must trust me when I tell you this: Feanor's spirit is fiery, and he tends to act purely on emotion. He also values power and precious metals over family and friends. Keep that in mind."

I shake my head because what he is telling me does not seem anything like my best friend. "Finarfin, we are still young; you speak as if you are taking about someone much older than an elfling."

He smiles grimly. "I did not expect you to understand; but surely you must notice his resentment for my mother."

I frown, remembering several occasions where he had shown dislike for Indis. "Yes...but is that not expected? She's not his birth mother. It makes sense that he wouldn't particularly love her."

"Yes, but don't you understand? It's not just that Feanor doesn't favor her. He disrespects her, and so in that disrespects Fingolfin and me. We love our mother, and have asked on several occasions that Feanor make an effort to also; but he will not even try."

My eyebrows draw together, and I stand up. Finarfin doesn't make a move to follow me; he only asks, "Where are you going?"

"I'm leaving. I didn't come here to talk about my friend behind his back. Think what you want about him, but I trust Feanor."

He sighs and looks down. "Luinil...I just want you to be careful. I can sense that Feanor will not live to be happy. I don't want you to have to share that burden with him."

Turning away, I angrily start the walk back to Tirion. It's getting late, and I have had enough of Finarfin son of Finwe.

*        *        *

As I lay down to sleep, the soft fabric of my nightgown rubs against me. I look down at it, thinking about what my nightclothes were a few years ago: parts of my mother's dresses that she had sown together. A knock sounds on my door, and assuming it is Feanor (he often comes to tell me goodnight), I say, "Come in."

To my surprise, Fingolfin walks in. I blink a few times, wondering what he's doing here.

"H-hello, Fingolfin," I stutter. "How may I help you?"

He looks almost as confused as I am. His clothes are a deep blue color, like always, and they sway as he turns back and forth, as though looking for something.

"I'm sorry if I've surprised you, Luinil," he begins, "but I'm unable to find Feanor, and I thought I might find him with you. He fancies you, you know."

I roll my eyes, torn between being annoyed with him for bringing up the subject and concerned for Feanor. "Yes. I know. Finarfin's already told me. Where was Feanor last?"

"I don't know; I thought he was with my father, as he came in after we were finished speaking." He suddenly freezes, his face turning as red as a tomato. "I'm sorry," he repeats. "This is very improper of me, actually, being here--in your room, that is--and I promise it won't happen again. Forgive me."

I smile. "It's nothing to worry about, Fingolfin. It's not like you are going to..." My voice falters and neither of us can make eye contact or speak for a few moments. He breaks the silence by stepping out the door and saying quietly, "Sleep well." I go to close it behind him, nodding.

As I crawl into my bed, letting the fluffy covers caress me, I wonder about Feanor. Where could he be? Did he run away? Those thoughts in my head, I slowly drift off to sleep.

My dreams are memories that I've tried to forget.

I'm young again, and standing at the top of a tower beside Sauron, looking down at the black, desolate lands beneath us. "Sauron," I begin, but he cuts me off. "Mairon. I've told you this several times already. Call me Mairon."

"Mairon," I start again, unnerved by the way his bright eyes seem to be staring deep inside of me, "why did my mother marry Adar if she's afraid of him?"

Mairon bites the side of his lip, but I can't tell if it's because I'm annoying him or if he's just thinking. He stays like that for a moment before sitting down on the ground beside me. His black cape and clothing flow down over his criss-crossed legs. "Your mother never married Melkor. Her father owed him, yet had nothing to give except his daughter; so Melkor took her. I'm not sure if she really grew to love him in the way that he desired, but I do know that your mother cares for him almost like a friend."

"What do you know about friends?" I ask. I'm not trying to be rude, but there is the simple fact the Mairon has no friends. How can he know what friendship is like?

"I used to have many great friends," he says, his eyes becoming unfocused as if his thoughts are far away. "But I left them all when I came into Melkor's service. Some wept when I left. I suppose that is true frienship, though you are right in thinking that I have never felt it. Your mother cries sometimes when Melkor does something particularly..." I can't tell if he was going to say "bad" or "good". In this case, it can be either. The only thing that changes it is which side you're on.

*        *        *

Waking up, I discover that I'm drenched in sweat, and my hair is wild, as though I've been flailing and rolling around in my sleep. I probably have. My breathing is shallow and laboured. I've tried so hard to forget all my conversations with Mairon--Sauron. I've tried to forget all the times he helped me grow, the times he didn't seem so bad; however, the memories cannot be erased, no matter how hard I wish for them to go.

I hear a creak outside my door and freeze. Who could it possibly be? Quiet as a mouse, I tread over to it and turn the knob slowly to prevent squeaking. I yank open the door. I'm oddly unsurprised to find Feanor standing there.

"Can I help you?" I say slowly, blinking at him. He looks tired, stressed, and slightly...crazed; he also looks happy. 

"Luinil," he says. "I've come to tell you something that I've wanted to say for a while, but--"

And he runs at me, pressing his lips to mine. I stand there for a second, shocked, before pulling away.

"Feanor," I scold, pulling him into my room so there isn't as much of a chance of us being heard. "Feanor."

He looks at me in a confused sort of way. "Yes?"

"Feanor, do you..." I pause to take a deep breath, trying to get my flustered thoughts under control. "Do you realize that if anything were to happen to Finwe, you would be the leader of the Noldor?"

He nods eagerly. I continue. "And do you realize that I cannot possibly rule alongside you as your queen?"

His smile falters. "Why?"

I sigh, sitting down on the edge of my bed. "Because, Feanor, the people are afraid of me. They hate me. If I was your queen...they would hate you too."

"That doesn't matter to me! Luinil...if people hate you, they must also fear you, yes? We can use that to our advantage!"

He sounds so excited. I stare at him, slightly horrified. What Finarfin told me earlier is starting to make sense now: Feanor may like me, but all he wants is power. He knows that if people are too scared of me to do anything bad, we won't have any trouble. Doesn't he realize that one of us will certainly die if that happens? Or does he not care?

"Feanor," I say quietly, looking at my hand, which are folded in my lap, "you can leave now."

Stricken, he blinks rapidly a few times. I point to my door. "Please," I whisper. "Leave."

Just as the door is about to slam closed, I hear him say, "Goodnight, Luinil."

I let it close and listen to his footsteps fade away as he trudges to his room. Staring at my wall, I mutter to no one in particular: "Goodnight."