Ah, guys, sorry for the long wait. I have been editing and changing this chapter so much that I just decided to go with it as it is. Sorry if I missed any editing errors…I give up! **roll eyes** Anyway, thank you for your PMs and reviews. Its wonderful encouragement, especially in the face of changing interests.

Anyway, there is a new painting of Amandil that was done by Ebe Kastein. You should check it out in the Fan Art section here at CoE under “Invited Artists” or in the link to my Live Journal in my CoE user information. I must admit that the link for my LJ displays the paintings in a larger format and the details could be better appreciated. Anyway, on to the story.

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Claps of thunder, at once terrible and awesome, reverberated against the windowpanes. The inclement weather had persisted through two days and there was little sign of Mother NatureÂ’s relenting. Intermittently, the gloomy tapestry of the enraged heavens, brightened ominously with the flash of lightning. Smacks of raindrops could be heard from within as they ferociously pummeled the balcony walls. All nature seemed to be in revolt of some unknown offense.

Sitting quietly and undisturbed by natureÂ’s furor, Arwen was engrossed in penning a letter to her brothers, who were now the Lords of Imladris. She was not long engaged in that occupation, before Melian sought her.

A brief exchange ensued between the two regarding Nessa’s whereabouts. “And Aredhel could be of no assistance to you?” Arwen casually inquired, her thoughts resuming to the letter at hand.

Melian smiled; Arwen’s inquiry had revived her memory of a little spat witnessed moments earlier between Aredhel and Avallon. “I dare say that she little heeded my supplication, lest tonight’s dinner be imperiled by any lapse in assuaging Avallon’s ego.”

Arwen smiled. “I fear this is becoming a daily ritual between those two.”

Melian smirked. “I have already told you my suspicions regarding Avallon’s increasingly belligerent temperament.”

“Yes, yes,” Arwen acknowledged dismissively. “I cannot very well submit to daily interviews with him simply to appease his caprices.”

“It works charmingly every time,” Melian teased. “And since your beauty never fails to restore his good temper, surely, it must be worthwhile. Indeed it would spare us a few less daily episodes. Should I meet with a thousand more souls in this world, I do not quite think that there could be one that surpasses Avallon in snobbery.”

Arwen made no answer but to shake her head and recommence writing her letter.

“Are you writing to Imladris?” Melian inquired, as she turned to glance through the rain-drenched windows. Arwen voiced her confirmation and Melian continued, “Are we never to see Elladan and Elrohir in Minas Tirith before another twelve months?”

“I hope not,” Arwen remarked. “But I do understand their desire to remain in the north for some time to come.”

“Yes,” agreed Melian. “The last letter I had from Elladan informed me that there was some cause for worry in some areas of the North Country.”

“Shall I send them your love?” Arwen mused as she dipped her feathered pen in the inkwell.

“Please,” Melian consented.

“And shall I finally apprised them of this spectacle that I have witnessed within you?” Arwen jested.

“Pray, tell me, what might that be?” Melian queried, as she rolled her eyes.

“Why, the sublime submission of your chaste heart!” Arwen knew that Melian was now sufficiently reconciled to her situation to make light of it; she had accepted circumstances for what they were; but most essential to this new attitude was a sanguine hope; it had cast out her feeling of dread for her future prospects.

“You have seen this spectacle?” Melian replied sheepishly.

“Then you deny it?” Arwen immediately countered.

“Rather, I admit to nothing,” Melian asserted. “But I fear this supposition of yours, if communicated to Elrohir, can result in no small torment; I know him too well to credit him with less; he would not scruple to use it against me; I daresay that he would find it rather diverting.

“Ah, I see how it is now. In the first case, you have declared my understanding of you as a figment of my imagination,” Arwen retorted. “In the second case, you have succeeded in stirring my compassion. Very well. As you like! Your secret is still safe with me.”

Melian chuckled. “I suspect it will always be,” said she as she bent to kiss her cousin atop her head.

“Well, shall you give me leave to finish my letter,” Arwen benignly encouraged.

Melian readily acquiesced; her interest in finding Nessa had already resumed.

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From the windows of her bedchamber, Melian surveyed the chaos below; the tree-branches were brutally whipped to and fro by the violent winds; broken branches littered the grounds; water fountains swelled and overflowed with vegetative debris. The storm that day was ruthless.

As she gazed, the awareness of what she saw, receded. She had just been informed that Nessa had returned to her bedchamber, thoroughly drenched through, as if she had been for some time outdoors. She was to join her as soon as her attendant came to summon her.

MelianÂ’s curiosity was confined to her own contemplation. She had no desire to intrude upon NessaÂ’s privacy, if that was her preference, nor force her confidence. Her aim in attending to her was merely to lend her support, if entreated.

Later, when Nessa was partially restored to comfort, and when Melian stood brushing her hair, a collected silence settled over the two. Neither one broached the subject of her earlier disappearance. In fact, contrary to NessaÂ’s inclination to submit and divulge all to Melian, she was hindered by feelings of shame; she could not expose that shame to anyone else- not even Melian.

Plagued by doubts and accusations of inconstancy, her day had been a restless one; self-examination had exposed uncomfortable truths. How could it be that love dies so easily? How could her heart be thus changeable? Deep review had taken her back, even to the ingenuous days of Elendur, when she had begun to regard him in an affectionate light. Since then, experience had taught her the truth of those emotions; ElendurÂ’s kindness had roused exaggerated feelings of gratitude, which, in her naivety, was mistaken for a blossoming love. Instead of drawing comfort from that conclusion, Nessa, unfortunately, used it against herself.

It was suffocating to be thus besieged by the weather, when liberation could only be to her advantage. She desired fresh air; she needed to walk; she needed to think. She had tried, but that failed; the storm was intensely belligerent; it perfectly mirrored her turmoil; recent revelations had induced that state.

Vexingly, an insidious feeling had woven itself into her heart; it violated her sense of virtue; it repulsed her chastity; instinct revolted forthrightly; her verdict hailed it as base; the impossible seemed likely; she had begun even before she was conscious of it. ErchirionÂ’s attentions, though always appreciated and accepted before, had gradually begun to please her in a different light.

While her feelings had been secure against romantic entanglements, she thought generously of his merits and her benefit thereof. Now, when there was a hint of progress toward that end, her conscience cried out; it was better conceived than practiced.

Truth be told, NessaÂ’s dilemma was partly of her own making; hers was a personality of extremes, who loved passionately, suffered acutely, and cleaved steadfastly. It was therefore no small wonder that she viewed this subtle change, dramatically. It mattered not that seven years of her life had been sacrificed to the memory of one, whose amicable indifference little warranted this allegiance.

“Dearest, shall you join us for dinner?” Melian petitioned; her voice had effectively jolted Nessa from introspection.

Nessa appeared startled. “No…no, I shall like to have it in my room. I do not feel myself equal to company at the moment. Please make my apologies to the others.”

“As you wish,” Melian rejoined; she gently pressed Nessa’s hand in a gesture of consolation before taking her leave.

For some time afterward, Nessa sat gazing at her reflection in the looking glass. The fine features had grown more beautiful through the years; there was a somberness of countenance that suggested disillusionment; ironically, it added to, rather than detracted from, her beauty. But those eyes -those eyes that bear witness to the despairing soul- were surfeit with melancholy. Yet, if she ceased to think of it as perverse, she had a perfect chance at happiness
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“Perhaps this past year has wrought more good in your life than you are willing to admit. Nessa.” Lady Arien handed a cup of tea to her friend before taking a seat next to her on the love seat.

Nessa reflected. Five years of tutelage and two years of practical exposure had earned her a new appointment by Queen Evenstar. Her title effectually granted her much oversight of GondorÂ’s educational program for children. This had been the queenÂ’s goal for many years; Nessa had only to prove herself worthy of that task.

This position, which was influential by its very nature, gave her new purpose and she meant to perform it well. “I should never attempt to deny it,” she replied to Lady Arien, “although it would have been an increased pleasure to work directly with the children.”

Arien smiled. “Certainly! I see so little of the outside world now that I have almost forgotten the sound of a child’s laughter; there is so much of innocence in its timbre. It is never good to repine but I find myself wishing for those days so long ago when frustrations were contained only in the hectoring endured from a big brother.” She paused with the cup of tea raised to her lips, “We took so much for granted. How could it have gone all so wrong?”

“The sun shines on the happy as well as the forlorn. I think it is left to us to decide whether to savor the sun or shut it out. I speak these words but I little heed their practice.” She set down her teacup upon the small table placed before them and rose to her feet. “Your brother seems unusually distant today, Arien. Do you mind terribly if I joined him for a little while?”

Arien also rose. “Not at all!” she assured Nessa. “In truth, my mind has been more than a little uneasy about his current temperament. It disturbs me exceedingly to contemplate the resumption of his former despondency.”

“I would entertain nothing so morbid, dear Arien. It could perhaps be just a melancholy mood. If I dare say it myself, he might have more of a right to be melancholy than either you or I.”

Arien smiled before kissing Nessa tenderly on the cheek. “It is as you say then. Forgive my momentary despair.”

“All is forgiven already,” Nessa replied with a smile. She quitted Arien then to join Lord Alcarin, who was across the hall in the family library. His manservant had just quitted the room, after arranging him comfortably in a chair set before the windows, which displayed a marvelous view of the grounds.

He must have heard Nessa’s approach because he suddenly said, “Ah, you have finally decided to join me. No doubt my sister has filled your head with foolish concerns.” He turned around to survey Nessa’s expression. “Well, come now, out with it,” he demanded. “Is my accusation just?”

Nessa seated herself across from him in a cushioned window seat. “So that’s how it is now; my visits with a friend are no longer above suspect? Can I no longer visit with you in peace?” she asked him calmly.

“It is not my intent to injure your peace,” he said after scrutinizing her for a while longer. “But answer me this,” he addressed her after further deliberation, “how is it that I am to congratulate you on your new royal appointment, yet I have heard of it from other lips but yours?” There was a hint of hauteur in his eyes. “I had not thought myself so unworthy a friend as your actions suggest. But perhaps I have judged you unfairly again.”

His gazed conveyed a medley of expectation and condemnation. Nessa felt justifiably uneasy. She had attempted to tell him at various times during the preceding months, but they were almost always inappropriate for one reason or another. Alcarin had a tendency to confide in her the difficulty he faced in relinquishing his dreams in light of his immobility; she had often suspected that these confidences were passed to her to spare Arien any further anguish. In any case, she had invariably felt that her news would only serve to exacerbate AlcarinÂ’s disappointment.

Despite their benign friendship, she was never blind to AlcarinÂ’s inveterate pride; she knew that, despite moments of despondency, he still cherished a high opinion of himself; in fact, she could almost credit that high opinion as the source of that despondency. She would even venture to suppose that under different circumstances, a friendship like theirs would have been inconceivable to his pride; after all, she was maintained by the patronage of the royal couple and without any other claims to their society.

“Your expression speaks volume to me,” Alcarin informed her, his face a manifestation of supreme hauteur. “Do you think so poorly of me that I should begrudge you the merit of an appointment that you must have endeavored steadfastly to earn? For, it could not be otherwise supposed that this royal appellation was sanctioned without successful efforts on your part.”

Nothing but the keenest sense that she had inflicted injury caused her to overlook his hauteur. “Forgive me!” she exhorted, as she knelt before him. “Believe me to be sincerely chastised by your just indignation. I desired only to preserve your good feeling; it led me to act as I have done. My action was never rooted in the belief that envy might arise upon your discovery of my appointment; I was more acutely concerned with the renewal of your disappointed hopes. I speak plainly because I now see that feelings such as these should not be concealed between friends.” Judging from his silence, Nessa could tell that he was still considerably perturbed by her concealment.

Their mutual trust had been the labor of many years; she worried lest this lapse in judgment should undo the whole.

Her eyes bespoke her earnest contrition and before long, Alcarin had raised her hands to his lips and kissed them. “Leave me!” he commanded. She arose to do as he bade but not before he had spoken again. “Perhaps you were right,” he conceded, “but it was still wrong of you to withhold such momentous news from a friend.”

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Some months later saw the arrival of a royal delegation from the country of Rohan. It had been three years since King Elessar and Queen Evenstar had treated with the royal couple of Rohan, due in part to LothirielÂ’s delicate condition; she had since given birth to Elfwine, the fair, heir to the throne of Rohan.

The arrival of the royal family in Gondor was instrumental in ushering their relations from Dol Amroth and Ithilien to reside for a time in Minas Tirith, so long as they persisted in the city. Prince Imrahil, it is true, could scarce contain his delight upon beholding his youngest grandchild; there could not be enough said on his admiration of the childÂ’s golden locks and his liberal affections; the subject never failed to excite him; and anyone so disposed to hear him, was thoroughly educated on his grandsonÂ’s daily diversions.

If Prince Imrahil was delighted with his grandson, his parents was scarcely less so; Eomer was extremely fond of his boy and Lothiriel was not to be outdone with her motherly love and attentions. The child was exceptionally good tempered and it did not take long for his innocent charm and infectious spirits to woo all those around him.

“Shall you join us on our journey to Ithilien?” Lothiriel inquired, as she and Melian descended to the first floor of the Telcontar mansion.

Melian smiled. “I regret that is not possible.” To Lothiriel’s inquiring glance, she added, “I am to remain behind; duty commands it; we shall meet again the day next. The child shall be safe in our care.”

On the first floor, Erchirion and Amrothos, who were also making the journey to Ithilien, joined them. Melian took the opportunity then to extricate herself from any further invitation.

“Lady Melian, may I join you?” Erchirion begged as he fell into step with her.

Melian nodded. “Certainly,” she assented, as she retrieved a watering pot from one of the gardeners attending the hedge near the house. This, she intended to use to water a small garden that she and Nessa had contrived for their enjoyment.

Erchirion began tentatively. “I had hoped to solicit your opinion on a certain scheme I have been contemplating. Do you mind?”

Melian smiled curiously. “Not at all,” she encouraged.

“Thank you,” Erchirion returned laconically. He paused a moment with indecision, as if contemplating the best way to begin. “Before I proceed any further, I must openly declare that there is something of selfishness in my proposal, though it would not discredit what must be considered to the benefit of all.” Melian was visibly amused; Erchirion took the opportunity then to further elucidate his claim. “I do not mean to condemn my actions prematurely, but merely to acknowledge that my motives, though perhaps not above reproach, were however, formed with good intentions.”

“You have disarmed me well,” Melian retorted, with no small measure of amusement. “It is no longer within my power to reprove your intentions; you have prejudiced me in your favor; your sincerity has rendered you faultless, though your design might indeed prove egotistic; I applaud the manner of your approach; it has left me incapable, even had I been disposed to lay judgment.”

The two exchanged a knowing glance before the one started to chuckle. “No, it would not do to have you think ill of me,” Erchirion admitted, after a brief chuckle. “It is important for me to maintain your good opinion, lest I also risk impairing the favor of one who is very dear to me.” Melian’s smile slightly faltered; Erchirion perceived it; in fact, his statement, though entirely artless in origin, once formed, was purposed to that end. But who could blame him? Which man who has ever loved, and unsure of its return, did not seek unwaveringly for a sign- any sign of possible requital. He desperately yearned to understand the truth of Nessa’s feelings and he knew Melian was her confidante.

“You give me too much credit, Erchirion,” Melian replied empathically. Yet, she felt fairly certain that Erchirion’s situation was not to be pitied. She truly believed that with time, Nessa could grow to love him, if not with equal intensity, at least to a degree that would not dishonor his heart. “True friendships are not so easily swayed as your words imply.”

Feeling all too well the bounds of his honor, Erchirion returned to the subject of his original intent. “Yesterday, Nessa and I waited upon Lady Arien, who, by all appearances, seemed well, though not withstanding her habitual air of melancholy. I dared not approach the subject with Nessa, who seems overly sensitive in matters concerning her friend; but you, you have seen her recently.” Melian nodded. “Do I err in my opinion or is she much graver than ever she has been?”

“I think not,” Melian averred. “But the years have been difficult for her; more difficult, perhaps, even than we perceive. Not to mention the guilt she must occasionally suffer if ever she resented the burden of caring for her brother; her cares are so many; Lord Alcarin’s vacillating temperament is also no small feat to overcome.”

“I was made to understand that his temperament has calmed considerably through the years. I must confess, -and here I readily offer a blemish of my character- that I have never much cared for his company. I suppose it was really the manner of his behavior at that tavern so many years ago that fueled my indifference; for, a sentiment of antipathy I will not admit to. Prior to that incident, I had only a slight acquaintance with him. Am I, however, to forever reproach a man simply because of his actions on a single night so many years ago? Valar forbid! I have known many a friend who has acted more imprudently. Yet, this man, Lord Alcarin, has invariably cooled my thoughts of amity toward him; his excessive air of arrogance has worked to his disadvantage.”

“He was all that you have said, and perhaps to some extent, he still treasures a great deal of pride; but, I think you will now find him more susceptible to the receipt of your friendship. He was taught a lesson hard indeed to learn at first, though invaluable in the end: the hubris alienates, but humility endears. I cannot help but feel that connection with the external world will be to the benefit of both their society.”

“Then you will certainly approve my scheme, for, it was calculated towards that end. I have no doubt that Lady Eowyn will approve it; I am proposing only one night of games with our own intimate party. I sought your opinion on the matter since you are better acquainted with the two; I can boast only of a slight friendship with Lady Arien; I do not know her well enough to speculate on her answer, and more doubtfully, her brother’s.”

“I am happy to be of service, but Nessa might have proven more useful; I can only speculate on an acceptance by both siblings; she, however, by the very essence of her more intimate acquaintance with them, would have been more qualified to advise you.”

“That might very well be,” Erchirion declared, “but, I do not intend to inform her of my invitation to Lady Arien and her brother.”

“Why the secrecy?” Melian queried; but the next moment gave her clarity, and the next, confirmation, when she recalled his earlier admission. He had contrived this scheme with Nessa’s pleasure in mind; though, ultimately, it translated to the pleasure of all. Good times were rare among them and an evening of games was certain to be appreciated by more than one quarter.

Erchirion gave no answer; her smile had conveyed to him the full measure of her comprehension. In any case, it was time for him to join his party for their departure to Ithilien, and further conversation was impeded.

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Time had persuaded Lady Vana, that the perfect bliss upon which all her prized hopes once centered, was blemished. This feeling arose not so much from any imperfection on LegolasÂ’ part -he was ever attentive to her needs- but rather from some nebulous sense of disquiet. At first, she had thought it a trifling concern; after all, Legolas was still the Legolas she had known all her life: noble-hearted; sagacious; and amusing, when at leisure. In fact, the years had only served to exalt him further in the ranks of her esteem; she was particularly proud of his success in establishing and governing their new elven realm in the land of Ithilien.

But all industry aside, there was little progress on the subject of their mutual relation. During the early years of building, her feelings allowed for his necessary involvement and oversight of all things concerning the new kingdom; now, however, there could be no excuse that would sufficiently exonerate his emotional indifference.

Yet, at times, his grey eyes would beset her with the most earnest and searching gaze, which was at least indicative of some measure of emotion. She knew not what it was that he sought so fervently at times, but often it beleaguered her spirit. Fortunately, that emotion would endure only as long as his penetration persisted; as long as peace abounded, apprehension was transiently banished; her heart had no disloyalty to accuse him of.

Notwithstanding the absence of a mutual promise between the two, a shared trust -undefined by any form of romantic persuasion- subsisted between them. It was only natural to think therefore, that each took a solemn interest in the happiness of the other. And yet, regarding matters wherein the heart abides, it was deemed insufficient.

Lady Vana had been the first to love; it was something that she had more than once chided herself about, especially when doubtful of a return. It was no mere task to read LegolasÂ’ heart; indeed it did more to fuel her confusion then instill reassurance. That he loved her, she was never in doubt; but the very nature of that love was debatable. Furthermore, that peculiar tenderness, that often reveals the ethereal bond of conquered hearts, could not be anymore deficient in their relations, than it was at present.

Pride counseled that she was entitled to better and vanity was not far behind to introduce contention. In this mood, it was insufferable even to endure the princeÂ’s unfailing attentions. Not that his courtship -if at all it can be thus labeled – did not strike a chord with her; it did, but not in a way that effected gratification. There was not the slightest modicum of fervor in his addresses, and that alone incensed her. His behavior was at distinct odds with her expectations and it excited her to frustration.

These frailties, experienced most often when her patience had waxed thin, would afterward, in moments of contemplation, mortify her. It exposed her failings to self-corrective measures and deliberate improvement; it drove her to repentance: she should never have forsaken Greenwood in favor of Ithilien.

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As to Legolas, suppressing thoughts of Melian had become like unto a habit. Separation had somewhat eased this burden although it by no means diminished the potency of his love. On the contrary, the essential necessity to stifle that very affection, served only to heighten its value in his estimation. What anguish is suffered by the heart that yearns to confess, but cannot? What sweet agony endured?

There was no doubt in LegolasÂ’ mind that he was in full possession of MelianÂ’s affections. Of her forgiveness, he was indeterminate; his conscience dictated that he deserved nothing more than her polite indifference; he had, after all, conscientiously marginalized the worth of her affections, by sacrificing them to his honor.

Had he never known her, he was convinced that he could have been a happy person. Lady Vana was his match in many things; it was no great wonder that their friendship persisted through countless years. Naturally, prior to and after the war of the ring, it was a general expectation that their friendship would culminate in connubial union. He, himself, had entertained similar thoughts though really only in fleeting; in truth, his mind had only been thus engaged upon discovering that their union was widely anticipated by many in his realm.

Be not deceived, however, by his display of hesitancy, for the prince indeed was not immune to the influence of Lady VanaÂ’s charms. Their perfect knowledge of each other, coupled with her gentility and his wisdom, further recommended their match. Legolas, unfortunately, could not yet bring himself to any open declaration. In this matter, integrity overshadowed moral duty. Until that day when he could truly confess a more tender sentiment of love, he was resolved to admit to nothing.

Instead, he willingly bore the consequence of inciting Lady VanaÂ’s love, in spite of sounder rationale. Had all the world been so disposed to think and act, what bitter perversity it would have sown. Reason alone should have persuaded him of his innocence. Or perchance he was not entirely blameless?

Whatsoever the case might be, he certainly felt a keen interest in her happiness; he esteemed her, though perhaps not in the way that he ought, now that he had tasted of a purer and more passionate kind of love. He could not perjure himself to ease his conscience; he felt a genuine obligation to Lady Vana but he could not profess to a love that he did not feel.

Sometimes it happens that when a soul is ready and willing to love, all else falls into place. It worked even better when there happened to be a pre-existing form of regard already in place. In the princeÂ’s situation, it proved a difficult task; his two selves were at war within; the noble leader was ready, able and willing, but the amorous lover languished for thatideal love. Embattled by these two natures, there was the need for deeper reflection.

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It was another wretched day for the wiry thin girl, as she labored testily through the dark passageways, with a pail of water. It was the last of several trips and every step taken was promptly accompanied by a fresh set of oaths. Despite her emaciated appearance, the strength of her lanky arms, was astoundingly formidable; the scars on her hands alone, alluded to a storied past.

Schooled only in a vicious existence, she was lavishly illiterate and ignorant; neglected from birth by a drunken mother and a callous father, her bestiality seemed almost inevitable. For one not yet eighteen years of age, her heart was unusually hardened. It was about seven years ago, when just ten years old, her father had returned, after a twelve month, with a band of thralls. This was hardly abnormal, but in this particular case, there was one among these thralls, whose behavior intrigued her.

Bounded hand and feet with heavy chains, he was subjected, unabatedly, to her fatherÂ’s cruelty; but, unlike the other thralls, he had borne it phlegmatically. At that tender age, being already numbed by violent displays, she had found his resolute silence absolutely provocative. Evidently, it had a similar effect upon her fatherÂ’s men, for every second seemed to rile their anger against his fortitude. Looking back, she was still amused by the progression of that scene; regrettably, the blows had eventually prostrated him much sooner than she had anticipated; but, at least the prelude had entertained her.

For some arcane reason, her father took a special interest in this particular thrall; it was not customary for him to treat his thralls with any distinguishing service; indeed they were barely treated mercifully. In this specific circumstance, however, the aforementioned thrall had fallen ill from a head wound that had been inflicted before his arrival and a healer was immediately fetched. Her father had been more merciful than she would have given him credit for.

An old, decrepit hag, whose ministrations were as gentle as her gnarled hands, had attended to the prisoner; her attentions, nevertheless, proved effective; the prisoner might have recovered earlier, had not his weakened state encouraged infection. Fortunately, he had been conscious enough to partly save his own life by instructing the old hag to fetch certain medicinal herbs to combat and reduce the hold of infection.

From that day to this, if the young girl had heard above five words from him, it was by dire necessity. She was not allowed to attend to him unaccompanied, and that suited her fine; she hated the way his eyes would shadow her movements when she came to dispatch their sole meager meal; she resented the gravity of his eyes- eyes that could, under different circumstances, be appreciated for their inimitable shade of blue. Inwardly, she would smirk at his atrophied frame; how altered his appearance was. Interestingly enough, these ones were the best fed; they were kept isolated and inactive; her father had said that it was the best way to devour their strength; these were his reprisals for past mortifications and he was determined to repay.