I scan the final entry of Oropher's journal, his last hastily written words on the eve of the battle. Proof of his overconfidence vaults from the parchment as unintentional foreshadowing. The Battle of Dagorlad was his last. His unwillingness to follow the High-King Gil-galad's orders led him to make an early charge upon the enemy, and he and his lightly armed company were no match for the forces of Sauron.

Even so long after his demise, I feel a stinging frustration. I lay down my quill. If Oropher had waited on Gil-galad, would the outcome have been different? Would he still be King of the Greenwood, and Thranduil the Prince? It is impossible to know, but perhaps life would be different for our people and realm. Pride consumed, as it always has...

The heavy warmth of the mid-June sun makes me glad for my haven in the caves. Their cool temperature serves as a popular respite to those working out of doors; even some of the villagers find solace for a time.

I shake my cramped hand and pick up the quill, persistent to keep going. It is only a matter of days before Thranduil's Aur en-Onnad, or Day of Begetting, and I hope to present the final work to him then.

Lost in writing Oropher's diatribe about Gil-galad's continued lack of faith in him, the blunt knock on the scriptorium door comes as a surprise.

"You may come in."

I look up when I hear the creaking of wood and clapping of boots on stone. Still in his guard uniform, he has obviously taken leave from his duty at the prison cells. The dark shade of his leaf-patterned attire matches the brown of his eyes and hair. Without waiting for a greeting, he approaches my writing table.

"Lord Elros." I stand. "This is...unexpected."

"You look exquisite today, Lady Rîneth." He rolls my name over his tongue like honeycomb, and roves his eyes over me. "That particular hue of blue reminds me of the river Anduin on a clear day."

I avert my eyes downward, pretending to be distracted by my writings. "And you, my lord, rain compliments like a summer storm. But...thank you."

"You may see my compliments as rain, but it is only because your garden is in need of water, my lady."

"My garden?"

My mind urges me to stay calm, but discomfort roils from my stomach like a wave. I doubt my half-hearted attempt at hiding it is successful. Yet Elros is oblivious, his own flowery words seemingly giving him courage. He walks around the table, my only safety barrier, to approach me closer.

"I believe there is hope for it yet."

How had I never noticed his ridiculousness before? A scent of lavender and mint wafts under my nose when he is an arm's length away, overwhelming and cloying, like his words. I step back.

"Is there something you need, Lord Elros? I am rather occupied in finishing my project for the King...I am sure you understand."

"You are not alone in having duties for the King. Tomorrow I am leaving for Imladris at his behest." He raises his chin. "As I am yet unaware of the time of my return, I shall bear this agony no further."

He tentatively reaches out his hand. I look away.

"Should you not be at the prison cells? I would hate to hear our prisoner escaped..."

"A young guard took over my duties until my return. Nandir or Narunir...I cannot remember his name. He seemed eager to assist. I doubt there will be any escapes, my lady."

"Even so, a young guard--"

"Enough." He closes the gap and takes my arm. "No more delaying on your part. I wish to hear it from your pretty mouth. That you love me."

My stomach twists. "Lord Elros--"

"It is obvious, yet you are intent to keep it from me, and play this maddening game. Or perhaps you are afraid of my rejection? I assure you, there is nothing to fear."

I wrench my arm away. "You have gone too far. Your arrogance has you believing that which is not the truth."

"My arrogance?" He smirks. "It is not arrogance, but observation. The looks you have sent my way, the secret smiles, the honeyed words... you have given me no reason to believe otherwise."

I move to the opposite side of the large table, putting a barrier between us once more. My eyes dart to the painting of Lindon on the wall, to the shelf underneath storing my overflow of books, to the cheerful vase of purple woodland flowers resting upon it, to anywhere but Elros. I touch the varnished oak table. Several moments pass as I steel herself.

I meet his eyes. "I apologize for giving you the wrong impression, my lord, but I sincerely assure you any smiles or glances on my part were from a place of friendship."

"I...do not believe you."

"You only saw what you wished to see."

His eyes narrow. "I thought for certain--"

"Have you so easily forgotten how I introduced you to my friend on the night of Yestarë? Or my request for you to ask her to dance instead of me?"

"I believed you to be teasing me."

"Regardless of what you believe, I am not one for games." My voice is as taut as a bowstring. "Precisely those which involve the hearts of my friends. Gwendes is the one in love with you, not I."

"Gwendes...your red-haired friend?"

My fingers curl into the skin of my palms. "Do not pretend to be ignorant of her."

He clears his throat again. "She is...fair of face, I admit. But I do not believe I must step down to find a willing partner."

"I suppose by stepping down you mean she is of lesser nobility than you. In character, however, she is a hundred steps above you."

Elros' eyes widen, and his mouth forms a tight line. "You surprise me, my lady. I would have expected your...oddity would make you grateful to hear of my affections for you. Yet you wish they were for your friend instead."

"Oddity," I repeat in barely a whisper, my heart falling to the floor, the rest of me with it.

"For lack of a better word." He picks up one of my finished writings and glances at it, scowling. Letting it fall, it drifts briefly in the air before landing on the table edge. "It is at least an oddity for the Eldar. I would have guessed it was caused by the mixed blood, yet your sister does not share it..."

My breath catches in my throat. I have heard this before, from someone else, long ago. Blinking furiously, I strain to hold in my tears. I will not let him see them, will not let him see how he has affected me...

"Nevertheless, I looked past it and still found you desirable. I even planned to ask for your hand today. I am relieved you stopped me in time."

"I am as well," I say between clenched teeth.

"For years I have wondered why you are so close to the King, but now I understand clearer. You are both...unlovable."

I slap my palms on the table surface, my chest rising and falling with my weighted breaths. "You may speak ill of me, but you will not speak ill of King Thranduil in my presence. He has given you a great position in these Halls, one you do not deserve and never have."

His face remains expressionless.

"Leave."

Offering no further response, he makes his way to the door. Before turning the handle, he looks over his shoulder. "Farewell, Lady Rîneth. Galu."

I close my eyes to find my composure, surprised at the force of my own words. But I feel no remorse for them. He deserved far worse, and for the briefest of moments I imagine him being taken by spiders on the forest road to Imladris, no one there to save him. But then I reign in my emotions. No, I do not wish him death. Only a harsh awakening.

When the clap of his boots became less audible on the other side of the door, I open my eyes. Hands shaking, I unlock the hidden drawer in the table and grasp the cool silver handle of my mirror.

I cannot say why I feel compelled to look. Nothing in my reflection has changed. My brown curls are too unruly, my face fair enough for my race.

Since the awakening of the Elves by Eru, my people have carried a great love for beauty and symmetry in all things, whether it be the trees, the stars, the sea...the ships they build, the cities they construct. Men call us the fairest creatures in Arda, without blemish or fault.

But my eyes are an anomaly. They stand out as a blatant imperfection ...

One is gray, the other brown. Light and dark.

I return the mirror to the drawer and sit down, and pick up my quill to write again. But as the tears fall to the parchment and smear the ink, I know I shall have to start over.