You can never have too many elves....

[forwandered]

He's smaller than most elves, small and frail, looking as if one strong breeze might bowl him over entirely. His clothes are little more than rags and he has no possessions but a crude knife on his belt and a small blue lamp carried carefully in his right hand. A collection of rotting rags cover the stump where his left hand should be, crusted over

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[arid_white_lady]

There's a tender young elf - Gwindor has never met her, for she died well before his time. She sits on the porch, knitting. Should he awake, he will find her there, singing softly to herself.

[forwandered]

He does wake eventually and once he does he merely watches her warily for the time being. It may all be some sort of trick meant to lure him back.

[arid_white_lady]

It definitely isn't, and Aredhel eventually looks up from her work, giving him a small smile. "Is there aught that you need?"

The hair cut is strange. Very strange. It bothers her - like the memory of something else.

[forwandered]

Asking someone you've never met Are you an illusion of the Enemy? probably isn't very polite so he remains silent for now, still watching her, his remaining hand clutching his lamp tightly.

[arid_white_lady]

That's precisely what Celebrimbor asked everyone when he first arrived, though Aredhel doesn't know that, of course, though she sees the fear in his eyes, and it is reminscent of many of her cousins' and husband's fears.

"I am Aredhel Ar-Feiniel, Irisse, daughter of Fingolfin," she offers quietly. "Do not fear me. I am unarmed."

She speaks Sindarin to him, in her accented Noldorin voice, and it's very soft, motherly, even. "Whence come you?"

[forwandered]

"From Angband." He has the same accent himself, less prominent due to his being so much younger than her and it's a little raspy from being underused over the past fourteen years. "I was a prince in Nargothrond before that, lady."

[arid_white_lady]

She bites her lip, a little. Gwindor is going to be pretty unhappy when he finds out who her husband is, she figures. "Then you have known my cousin Findaràto," she replies with a small smile. "Come now. There is nothing to fear here, not now, at any rate. Do you need to be tended?"

[forwandered]

"I would not mind seeing a healer, if there is one who is not too busy." It may just be the understatement of the century, but he's still trying to be as polite as possible. And a large part of him is still afraid it's all a trap.

[arid_white_lady]

She puts away her knitting into a little basket, and stands, slowly - there is, on her belly, a very small swell, which may be a trick of the light, or not. "I will do what I can - if I cannot do enough, others mayhap can be fetched," she replies with a small smile.

[forwandered]

"Thank you, my lady." He smiles a little. It's hard not to be taken in by all of this. A house, a pregnant woman offering him help... He's never seen a snare of the Enemy's so enticing and if it is a trap he's walking right into it, but at this point he almost doesn't care.

[arid_white_lady]

She gives him a small smile back, and extends a hand to him, beckoning. "Come, Gwindor of Nargothrond. I will tend to you."

[forwandered]

He follows her, a bit of trepidation still remaining, but it's easily stamped down for the moment. He wants to be looked after and tended to after so long spent in the darkness.

[arid_white_lady]

She opens the door, then, and waits for him to go through, paying heed to his ability to keep the pace.

[forwandered]

He keeps pace fairly well. He was leading a much taller man around after all and he had to be quick even if he was ill and broken.

[arid_white_lady]

Aredhel nonetheless keeps heed of him throughotu the walk, and takes him to a more secluded area of the Elven wing, because she expects he won't want to be too close to the Feanorians. In fact, he may be neighboring Finrod and the princes of Doriath, perhaps.

She opens the door, and says, softly, "This room is unoccupied, and as of now, yours, if you want it."

[forwandered]

"I would, my lady." He would like the room no matter where it was, next to the Feanorians or not. His years of captivity have erased all of his hatred for any elf, only servants of the Enemy have it now and even then it is tempered with fear.