———————————

Three months later, in the latter days of September, when the days were shortened, and the shadows were deepened, the Dúnedain of the North set forth from the Bay of Forlond.

And, in the south, the days of Arien’s liberty were already numbered. “Stop fidgeting, dear,” reproved Aredhel, as she patiently tucked the right side of Arien’s blue gown. “I would be very sorry to stick you with these pins.”

“I cannot help myself,” mourned Arien; she was standing on a stool while Melian and Nessa worked diligently on the train of her gown. “Since this affair has begun I have hardly slept a wink.”

Aredhel’s hands moved with swift precision as she continued to make gentle tucks in the garment. “You have had two months already to get used to the idea, Arien,” she mildly scolded, and began to smooth the garment. With an ambivalent expression, she stepped back to examine the fit of the gown.

“But that is not what troubles me,” Arien asserted a little crossly. “In fact, with all these obligations, Lord Anárion and I have hardly had a chance to ourselves; this is not what I thought it would be like.”

“Then make time to court,” Aredhel frankly advised. “You are not obliged to accept every invitation that is offered; so, a few will be offended, but in time they will come to forgive you.” Cautiously, she stepped around the full spread of Arien’s train and knelt next to Melian, who was attempting to alter the embroidered border of the train.

“How were you able to find a single fault in this pattern?” Melian groaned; truly she thought it a superfluous concern; the border seemed near perfect to her elven eyesight.

“That is the reason why her gowns are impeccably well done,” said Arwen, who had, at that moment, entered Aredhel’s suite with a ten month old Eldarion in tow; his little hand fell from hers as he clung to the skirt of her gown; his thick black curls contrasted with the silver folds as he rested his head against his mother’s leg. Melian’s faint look of irritation was immediately softened when she caught sight of his little head just o’er the low table. “I have brought someone with me,” Arwen announced, as she beckoned to a figure that stood just beyond the threshold.

“Ah, Rien,” said Arien, who had noticed her entrance through the looking glass. “What are you doing here?”

Rien had come to relay the message that Lord Anárion and a friend would call upon Lady Arien within the hour. “And I wished to come in person to assist in any way that I can, although, I must confide that I am not very good with embroidery.” She looked apprehensively at Melian and Nessa; the former was removing several miniscule beads from the embroidered border and the latter was sewing a single bead into it.

“That is very kind of you, dear,” Aredhel acknowledged. “We can still find something useful for you to do, but another day will have to do since Lady Arien is to leave us now.”

Arwen, who now had Eldarion lifted in her arms and nestled against her hip, came around to observe Aredhel’s handiwork. “What do you think?” Aredhel asked her.

“It is lovely, Aredhel, but the beads in the neckline seem a bit uneven,” articulated Arwen, thoughtfully. “Arien, how do you intend to wear your hair?”

“She shall wear it loose,” Aredhel promptly answered; her whole attitude was one of restless contemplation. “I see what you mean about the beads,” she submitted. “Fortunately, I can still alter it.” She stuck the extra pins into a small cushion on one of the tables. “Ladies, we must stop here if Lady Arien is to be punctual to receive her guests.”

Truth be told, Arien was glad to be released; she was earnestly tired of the perpetual demands on her time and was in desperate need of quiet solitude.

“Come, come, dear,” Aredhel appealed, “another moment’s delay and you shall be late.” She gesticulated to her attendants to accompany Arien into the adjoining room. “And be very careful with those pins.” Arien nodded. “Why is Eldarion still awake?” asked Aredhel, amid the squeals of delight that echoed through the room; Melian was playing with the child as Arwen tightened her grip on his squirming body.

“I have tried unsuccessfully to get him to sleep,” Arwen replied as she began to smother his cheek with kisses.

“I am ready,” proclaimed a flustered Arien, who issued from the adjacent room in a hurry. “Oh, I know I shall be late.” She hastily said her farewell to her companions, thanking them repeatedly, as they urged her from the room.

“Poor dear!” expressed Melian. “I do not know how she will survive until her wedding day; these engagements are too exacting.”

Arwen agreed. “But they are nevertheless a courtesy that should be observed.”

“I hear that we are to expect Lord Meneldur any day now,” interposed Aredhel, who was now occupied with removing the silver beads on the neckline of Arien’s gown. “It has been a short while since I have last seen him.”

“Yes,” said Arwen, who held each of Eldarion’s little hands in hers to steady his stance on her lap, “and Lord Arthon accompanies him also.”

“Lord Arthon!” Melian exclaimed. “Now there is a name that I thought never to hear again in Middle Earth.”

“Oh, I forgot,” teased Arwen, “that once upon a time, you two were great friends.”

Melian blushed slightly. “I thought that he had passed o’er the sea to the blessed realm.”

“No,” said Arwen, “he has established a realm in Forlond, near the Grey Havens.”

“How long are they to stay in Gondor?” asked Nessa.

“They did not say,” Arwen replied, “but I would place it at two months at the very least. And you Nessa, when does your mother arrive?”

“In January; she should arrive a fortnight before the wedding.”

“It will be good to see her again,” Aredhel remarked; her dark head was partly bent to inspect the pattern of the neckline where several beads were already removed.

Shortly thereafter, Arwen took leave of her companions to attend to Eldarion, who had begun to rub his eyes. Melian and Nessa took their leave also, citing their need to settle unfinished duties. Melian, who for the past ten months was still laboring under the injury done to her feelings, now looked forward with eager anticipation to Lord Meneldur and Lord ArthonÂ’s arrival.

As to the prince, she had heard very little of his peregrinations, and wished him every safety along his path; naturally, as the time went by, she had began to think of him less frequently. For one thing, Eldarion had brought a new vivacity to her existence and she delighted especially in those times when Arwen was called away to duty and Eldarion was left in her charge. And now, with the promise of new faces and diverse conversations, their evenings were sure to improve.

Nessa, on the other hand, was a little nervous about meeting, at last, a close relation of Amandil. Reason dictated that there was not the slightest premise for that fear; after all, there was nothing to be regarded in herself that distinguished her above any other stranger to this Dúnadan; notwithstanding, this slight anxiety, which she was never able to wholly defeat, would carry her through the subsequent months until their guests arrived in Gondor.

—————————————

In January, three weeks before Lord Anárion and Lady Arien’s nuptials, in the early hours of the morning, Alatáriël, the ship of the Dúnedain, arrived in distant sight of the shores of the Anduin. On that day, Nessa was visiting with Arien to help with the preparations for her wedding excursion.

“Arien, you must decide for yourself,” lamented Nessa; she had several gowns draped across her arms. “Shall I keep the red one to send on to Anorien or will you take it with you to the seashore?”

Arien was lying in bed, fully dressed, with a damp cloth on her forehead. “I am sorry to be such a bother, Nessa,” she languidly replied. “I know I would be happy with whatever choices you make.”

Instantly, Nessa began to protest. “Indeed no! I would rather come again on the morrow when your spirits are better and you can exert yourself.”

“No,” said Arien, rising indolently from her prostration to make herself useful. “I cannot afford to lose this day’s work.” She sighed heavily. “I swear I have not had a moment’s peace since this business has begun.”

“Yes, I know,” Nessa empathized, “but when this is all over, you can rest easy.” She carefully laid the gowns across the chair arms. “Now, what do you say to these? The more quickly you decide, the sooner we will be finished.”

An hour later, after a suitable wardrobe had been chosen, the two maidens busied themselves with the rest of ArienÂ’s belongings that were to be sent on to Anorien within the fortnight.

“Arien, why did you decline Lady Erendi’s invitation to Anorien?” asked Nessa. “It would have been advantageous to you, if only to elude the constant barrage of social calls.”

“Yes, I know,” Arien agreed, “but I confess that I am not ready to visit Anorien.”

“Oh! And why is that?”

“Well,” said Arien, as she handed several of her undergarments to her waiting lady, who was overseeing the packing arrangements, “after the wedding tour to Dol Amroth, Lord Anárion would like us to remove to Anorien straight way.” Her waiting lady withdrew to one of the adjoining rooms and Arien closed the door to speak privily.

“And you do not wish to go directly?”

Arien nodded. “Am I being selfish again, Nessa?”

“Hardly,” said Nessa, half-assuredly, not entirely trusting that her answer was rooted in the truth.

“I have tried many times to conform to the idea of living in Anorien,” Arien said, guiltily. “I have been dreadfully unsuccessful.” She picked up one of the bolsters from the chair as she sat down to watch Nessa, who was valiantly wrestling with the latchet on one of her small trunks. “And even worse, Lady Erendi plans to reside in the city for the first year of our marriage. I cannot begin to imagine how I shall abide the solitude.”

“Oh!” said Nessa, more than a little surprised; she understood the propriety of Lady Erendi’s determination, but she also remembered the grandeur of the manor in Anorien, and was convinced that Lady Erendi’s residence in that manor would little interfere with the activities of the young couple.

“Is this not already an omen of the failures to come?” Arien murmured.

“Well, perhaps, dear Arien,” implored Nessa, “perhaps Anorien will not be as lonely as you fancy.” She surrendered fiddling with the latchet and pushed the small trunk safely to the side of the chair. “And if it is, I am sure that Lady Erendi would be happy to return there if ever you asked.”

“No, I could not ask it of her,” admitted Arien. “She has significant faith that I would perform my duty as her son’s wife and mistress of the manor in Anorien. It is, after all, the place that he has chosen as his home.”

Nessa wiped her hands in the apron that she wore over her dress. “I am glad that you are resolved upon this, Arien,” said she, comfortingly. “Do not underestimate your life together. Your home is wherever he is; it is not confined to a single place.”

Arien nodded. “I shall miss you sorely, Nessa.”

Nessa smiled melancholically. “Alas, this step you take alone, Arien, and I cannot accompany you; it saddens me, I own. I shall miss all the evenings spent in this house; they will never be the same without you.”

“Ah, now you are stirring me to tears,” said Arien, her eyes quickly moistening.

“We are two very silly girls.”

Arien attempted to laugh with some effort to lighten the mood. “Nessa, I am glad at least that you are to join us at the end of our wedding tour in Dol Amroth.”

“Yes, well, the decision was not altogether mine; having an interest of their own, my mother and Lady Erendi were very keen on the idea.”

“Whatever their motivations, I am nevertheless pleased that they have persuaded you to come,” said Arien. “It will be our last time together before I depart for Anorien.”

Nessa untied the apron and discarded it with the other garments to be laundered. “I shall leave you now, Arien. Shall you dine in this evening?”

“No, Lord Anárion and I are to dine with his mother.”

Nessa approbated. “That should be a nice change.” She bent to kiss Arien’s cheek and slipped the flower basket that she had brought with her over her hand.

“So few,” said Arien, peering into the basket; inside were ten long stemmed pink roses. “Will that do?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. I shall add some of our white roses when I get home.”

Arien grabbed Nessa’s hand, “Do remember to get Lady Aredhel’s opinion on the cloth pattern that I gave to you.”

Nessa nodded. “Until tomorrow then; have a pleasant evening.”

————————————

After lingering to chat with Lord Alcarin, whom she met on the first floor, Nessa bent her footsteps homeward. Before passing into the mansion, she decided to gather the roses to add to those that she had brought from ArienÂ’s to replenish her vases. Graciously declining the gardenerÂ’s offer of assistance, she borrowed his flower shears and proceeded to the gardens.

Nessa winced as a rose thorn pricked her finger. The boisterous afternoon wind whipped the prickly branches mercilessly, making it that much more difficult for her to cut the roses.

“Ah, it looks like rain also,” she softly muttered; dark clouds were rapidly invading the aging sky.

“Yes, and it will be a tremendous downpour,” intruded a calm, unfamiliar voice.

Nessa had been alarmed initially, but not very much so; there were still workers in the garden, trimming, pruning and performing all sorts of gardening tasks. “Who are you?” asked she, surveying the strange personage that stood before her; he was very tall and dark haired; his eyes were light grey and not unlike the hues of hers and her other companions. He was clad in dark clothing and he stood with his hands clasped behind his back.

“I am Lord Meneldur, Dúnadan of the North,” he answered, with a slight bow.

“Oh…” said Nessa, a little unevenly, “…I am pleased to meet you.”

“And whom do I have the honor of addressing?” asked Meneldur.

“I am Nessa.” In her thoughts, Nessa evaluated Meneldur’s person. Sure, she was vaguely reminded of Amandil, but the expression around his light grey eyes was gentler and the lips were settled in a small pleasant smile; he was not as grim as his brother.

MeneldurÂ’s first impression of Nessa was one of admiration for her extraordinary physical beauty; he could not quite perceive her age but he had settled it at somewhere around two and twenty, though, in that, he did err.

Nessa, without being conscious of it, was squeezing the stem of the rose in her hand.

“You are hurt,” observed Meneldur, gazing at Nessa’s blood stained, bandaged finger; she had wrapped a piece of Arien’s cloth around her injured finger.

“It is nothing,” said she; she made to re-commence her rose cutting when Meneldur stayed her hand.

“May I?” he asked. “Your wound is small, but it must be a discomfort.”

Nessa objected by declaring that she did not want to impose upon his time, which surely could be put to a better use. “At the moment, my time is my own to do with it what ever I choose,” he assured her. “I am at my leisure.”

Nessa was still a bit doubtful but she eventually acquiesced. “Now that I have somewhat removed any further resistance, will you point out your preferences to me?”

For another fifteen minutes or so, under Nessa’s guidance, Meneldur collected a nice bouquet of long stemmed white roses. When he was finished, he asked, “Is that all?”

Nessa smiled; it had not gone unnoticed that he had suffered the wind’s violent abuse through thorny lashes; yet, she did not doubt that he would selflessly sustain another round just to please her. “You are too kind; but this will do, thank you.”

Meneldur acknowledged her gratitude. “May I ask one thing of you?”

Nessa slowly nodded. “Say on.”

“Where is your kin?” On his own, Meneldur had tried to resolve it based on his knowledge that most of the Telcontar household had originated from the north.

“Lord Meneldur,” called a tall, dark haired man, who emerged from the path that led to the mansion.

“Mallor, what is it?”

“We are ready, my lord.”

“Aye,” said Meneldur. He turned to Nessa, “We may meet again, yes?”

Nessa nodded. “Yes, I do believe so.”

After they were gone, Nessa gathered up her flower basket and shears, for the sky threatened an imminent downpour. No sooner than she had entered the service stairway, the torrents were unleashed. In her bedchamber, she rang the bell for her waiting lady to prepare her hot bath, while she arranged the freshly cut roses in her vases.

An hour later saw Nessa sitting before her looking glass and examining the face within. The long, loose, freshly brushed hair shone in the reflection. The slender hand that cradled the fine chin was adorned with a single silver bracelet. The lovely features were relaxed and a hint of somberness stole into the light grey eyes.

For her, ArienÂ’s nuptials produced two contrasting feelings. On the one hand, she rejoiced with her friend, who until then had known more of lifeÂ’s unfavorable vicissitudes than its good fortune. But on the other hand, upon a deeper review of her feelings, she found that an unhappy and envious sentiment marred that joy. It had been a shocking revelation and one for which she was still very much ashamed. She wanted to utterly crush that feeling and vanquish it from her heart, but it had been many times proven that it was a hard feat to accomplish.

Disgusted by these meditations, Nessa visibly shuddered; she rose from her cushioned bench and stepped unknowingly upon a slip of paper that must have fallen earlier, when she had struggled to close the terrace doors against the wind’s ferocity. Taking one last glance at her reflection, she took the flower basket from her chair, and quitted the room; she wanted to add the remaining roses to the floral arrangements in the music room.

In the hallway, she met her waiting lady, who told her that she had forgotten to relate that while she was out, Melian had been to see her. Nessa thanked her and promised that she would see Melian as soon as she was finished in the music room.

When she got to the music room, Nessa was a little surprised to find the room dimly lighted, especially since the dinner hour was nigh. She placed the basket in one of the chairs, took one of the candles from its holder and proceeded to light several other candles with the single flame. An imperfect sound caught her ear, but she did not regard it because of the volatility of the wind outside, which crept through the crevices in the doors and windows.

After the room was fairly lit, she returned the candle to its holder and turned to remove the roses from the basket. A small cry escaped her lips, when she realized for the first time that she was not alone.

“Pardon me! I have startled you; I should have made myself known earlier.”

Nessa paled horribly.

“There you are,” hailed Meneldur, who had, at that moment, entered the room. His subsequent speech died on his lips when he beheld Nessa’s countenance; he had seen similar reactions that day, but none had impressed him more excellently than hers.

‘What vision is this?’ thought she, stupendously; did her own eyes deceive her? The flood of her thoughts grew perplexed. The tall stature, the bonny features, the immense blue eyes were all unchanged. Was this an apparition? No, it could not be. The image in her memory was different still. She thought it an incredible thing that his great personal beauty had increased or mayhap she had forgotten him as he truly had been. His blue eyes, which had always been one of his most endearing traits, in this fresh appearance, seemed keener. His handsome face had grown more solemn and his hair had grown quite long, indeed; in the days to come, after the astonishment of his presence was much allayed, she would silently approve of its length.

AmandilÂ’s imperious gaze did not waver; he too walked in memories of the past; he remembered her face; it had grown finer; the beauty that had been evident so many years before had blossomed in a prodigious way. But nothing of her emotions was hidden from him and in this, for him, she was unaltered.

“We meet again,” said Amandil, with a solemn smile. “You look well.” Nessa nodded. “Have you met my brother?”

Nessa glanced at Meneldur, who smiled at her, compassionately. “I have,” she rejoined.

Meneldur had discerned that Nessa possessed a genuine solicitude towards his brother and it was times like these that he particularly regretted the severity that was AmandilÂ’s habitual air; for, being witness to their present exchange, he was fully persuaded that his brotherÂ’s manner had served to depreciate the poignancy of the moment. He wished that Amandil had demonstrated more warmth and liveliness towards his companion, but that was scarcely to be expected. In all the years that he had known his brother, he had seen him smile on numerous occasions, but had rarely ever heard him laugh.

“Well,” said Meneldur, glancing from one face to the next, “well, I had come to fetch you, Amandil, to share a toast with our lord before dinner, but you may consider the invitation withdrawn.”

“No, Meneldur; I shall join you shortly.”

Nessa had turned again to her rose basket. By now, her mental confusion had ceased and she was able to recover something of her wits; she could not be easy, however, but she could at least exhibit some measure of sagacity.

After Meneldur had gone, she looked expectantly at Amandil; she was certain that in the brevity of their encounter, he had already summed up her foibles; the old, familiar frailty was revived. All the growth that she had made through the years now seemed for naught; her confidence was not what it should have been in his presence and she was disappointed.

“It is good to see you again,” said Nessa, agitating herself to speak; she began to re-arrange the flowers in one of the vases on the table nearest to the large harp. She felt Amandil draw near, and unintentionally, she stiffened. He must have sensed her anxiety because he turned abruptly toward the window.

“Much has changed since I was last here,” said Amandil, “and yet the old bonds and faces are the same.”

Nessa was unsure of his meaning and therefore said nothing.

But Amandil longed to discover just how much Nessa had changed from that idealist novice of the years before. “I have just lately heard of Prince Legolas’ sorrow,” said he.

“An unhappy affair,” said Nessa, “but… but I believe that even in misfortune there can sometimes be an augury of a better fate to come.” Amandil turned from the window to look at her.

Nessa felt his eyes upon her but she could not look.

“Well, I shall leave you to your employments,” said Amandil, at length. The two parted cordially and a little strangely.

For some time after he was gone, Nessa sat silent and still; she was unclear about what it was that she was feeling, but, whatever it was, it took her breath away.

“Nessa, did you get my note?” asked Melian, who tapped lightly on the open door to alert Nessa to her presence.

“Note… what note?”

“I left a note on your dresser.”

“It must have fallen,” puzzled Nessa.

“You have seen him,” Melian mused, “you know that he is here.”

“Yes… I know.”

The summons for dinner came then and further conversation was forfeited. On the stairs, they met Aragorn, who was slowly ascending the steps with a chattering Eldarion, who insisted upon climbing them without any lift from his fatherÂ’s arms.

The dinner party that night was much larger than Nessa had anticipated. There was a full delegation of the Northern Dúnedain present, comprised of twelve, tall, dour men, including Meneldur and Amandil. Also of the party was an unknown elf, which she easily concluded to be Lord Arthon. Introductions were made accordingly, and she found that whereas their air was imposing, they were affable enough in conversation.

Dinner that night also revealed a different sort of camaraderie that existed between King Elessar and his northern brethren. For Nessa, these men, who were both impressive in manner and appearance, brought a foreign aspect to their usual party. She heard several tales of their past, but they were delivered in such an unromantic way, that even she had to agree with Avallon when he openly exposed it as such.

“Ah, Avallon, we have no time presently to concoct rhymes of our adventures to please you poets,” defended Lord Meneldur.

While this opened up a dialogue on talent and the lack thereof, Melian cast an amused glance at Nessa, who was seated next to Lord Meneldur, near to King Elessar and across from her.

“You have changed, Lady Melian,” averred Lord Arthon.

“Oh! What do you mean?”

Arthon examined her face closely. “I cannot tell you; for the moment, it evades me, but there is something about you that is changed.”

Across the table, Meneldur was putting a conjecture of his to the test. “My brother can be a little too severe at times, but he is a good man.”

Nessa colored; she had been caught off guard by Meneldur’s comment, which she suspected was against his nature to make. “I know,” said she, casually pushing her untouched food around her plate. “I knew him a little before…” Meneldur understood the part that she had left unsaid. “How is he, really, after all that he has endured?”

“I cannot say,” Meneldur honestly replied. “He has never spoken anything of what has passed.” He reached for his glass of wine. “Not to worry though. My brother is a prudent man. If he harbors any ill feelings in consequence of that tragedy, I am confident that he will work them out in his own time.”

Nessa’s glance traveled down the table to where Amandil was seated with Aredhel, Arwen and several of the other Dúnedain. A conversation was in progress, carried on extensively by Aredhel and Amandil that she could hear nothing of, because of her distance from them, and she sincerely began to hope that an opportunity might arise again that evening to speak to him.

When dinner was ended, the party disbanded to pursue various activities; some lingered still around the dinner table, some retreated to the music room for poetry and song, and others retired to another room where tables were set up for chess.

“Nessa, what do you say to a game of billiard?” asked Melian, who followed Nessa’s gaze to Amandil, who was leaving the room with several of the other Dúnedain, who were vocalizing their intention of participating in a chess match.

“Yes, of course,” she answered, and followed Melian out of the dining room, where sat Aragorn, Arwen, Meneldur and two other of the Dúnedain, reminiscing.

“I must warn you that my skill is a bit unpracticed,” said Lord Arthon. “I have not played in too long.”

“That is to say that if we win, it is a poor victory,” Melian derided; “How clever of you.”

Lord Arthon smiled urbanely. “Perhaps I was too hasty in thinking that you were changed, Lady Melian; you are still as witty as ever.”

“Nessa, we must play our best to win,” pressed Melian.

“I always play to win,” Nessa rejoined, smiling toothily at Melian, as Lord Arthon stood back to allow them to pass into the room.

“Oh, Amandil, did you hear that?” asked Lord Arthon.

Amandil, who was removing the cue sticks from their storage place, answered that he had; there were two other spectators in the room with him.

‘Great!’ thought Nessa, recalling her open boast; she was sure to play awkwardly now.

“Ladies, you are welcome to choose first,” invited Amandil.

The game began and Nessa found that Lord Arthon was much better than he had let on. While she and Melian were no dabblers either, they still lost to him and Amandil, whose skill, at the least, equaled that of the former.

“Good game, ladies,” praised Lord Arthon. “Amandil, what do you say to switching partners? The match should be more balanced that way. There is no pressure, ladies. We shall play simply for leisure sake.”

Amandil had no objections, and Melian played with him against Lord Arthon and Nessa. During a subsequent break, Amandil approached Nessa.

“Your stance is too tense,” he advised, “and your bridge is unsteady.” He began to illustrate the flaws in her execution and showed her the better form for success. “Now, you try it.” Nessa complied and he corrected her where it was necessary. “Your aim should work better now.”

He turned to rejoin his friends, when Nessa pleaded, ever so softly, “Please stay.” He turned to her again; his blue eyes gazed down into the slightly upturned face. “I mean… I wanted to know how you have truly been.”

“You are concerned for me, I see, but there is really no need to be.”

“Oh!” said Nessa, who was a little slighted by his laconic response. “Then I am sorry that I…”

“I did not mean to imply that your solicitude is un-welcomed,” Amandil promptly interrupted. “You misunderstood me; and I am not so unworthy as you must have thought me just now.” Nessa colored; how accurately he read her feelings. “Notwithstanding, I was sincere when I said that there is no cause to worry on my behalf.”

“All these years, I have never forgotten you,” she said in a low, passionate voice; she wanted… no… needed him to know. The look in his eyes intensified, but it was in no way an answer or reciprocation of this confession.

That night, when Nessa retired to bed, the sublime sensation of a lover that was thwarted in love, overwhelmed her. “Could he have failed to understand my feelings?” she softly whispered. The intensity of love, that was too long dormant in her heart, was fully awakened.

It did not take long, however, for the enormity of her action to sink in. Reflection brought her into a deplorable collision with her past conduct and it was obvious to her that the fool she had been then was the fool she had been that night.

——————

Author’s Note: I cannot believe that I have been writing this fan fiction for four years now. Time sure do fly.

Anyway, as some of you might know, I plan to re-write this story after I’m finished. One of my biggest regrets is the vague time line. Hence, that’s one of the things I plan to correct on the final work.

Guys, thanks for sticking with me. I know sometimes its awfully long between the chapters but I have a lot of real life stuff to juggle. So, as I have always said, I don’t intend to leave this work unfinished, as long as I’m able to.