Chapter Text
For a few moments that felt like eternity, Rin just stood there, her chest heaving from exertion and adrenaline. A small frown was beginning to form on her face as she stared at where the King of the Ainur had been merely seconds ago, while she felt her heart plummet to her stomach. She blinked in confusion. It seemed like her body was able to understand something instinctually, but her mind didn’t want to catch up yet.
The silence from her interaction with Manwë was beginning to pressure her ears and her head.
I… I don’t understand, she shook her head, casting her eyes downward. I… I don’t… Why? She found it extremely difficult to form words. Her mind was drawing blank as if it was too afraid to break the silence of the Void.
And then, the world unmuted itself for her. Sounds all around her came crushing down, assaulting her like the first time she visited the palace garden. She could hear the buzzing streets of Tirion just beyond the end of the path, its people engrossed in their daily lives. She could hear the voices of the servants walking and talking in hushed tones at the gates. Somewhere behind her, there were two sets of feet running, getting closer. Someone was shouting a familiar name.
It was only when she lifted her gaze up towards Tirion and witnessed the world’s indifference that she truly understood.
No one will help me.
This time, very slowly, she bowed her head, her eyes wide. She felt her – no, Eӓrien’s – mouth open, but nothing came out except for a sharp, croaking sob. The alien, elvish voice had never sounded so raw, so human like it did now. It sent a chill down her spine, because it wasn’t her voice, and yet at the same time, it was. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the elves around the gates, stopping to look but not approaching her. They stayed together in small clusters while she stood alone in front of the gates. She felt an intense tension grip her body upon noticing their scrutiny, nailing her stiff to the spot. Their strange, grey eyes observed her with a mixture of curiosity and mild worry; their heads moved in that uncanny, bird-like elegant motion. She stuck out like a sore thumb thanks to her little spiel with Manwë, but never in her life had she felt so insignificant and worthless as this moment.
I’m alone.
As if to confirm this vital realization, her ears began to ring, their screams muting everything else out. Cold sweat slowly began to trickle down her temples as she desperately tried to fill the ever-growing emptiness in her chest with air.
I’m all alone.
A small, eerily calm part of her mind knew what was happening to her the moment she felt her fingers go numb and her legs tremble. And though it wasn’t yet drowned out by the tsunami of panicked thoughts, it was still powerless to urge her to move this body of hers away from the gates and prying eyes. She watched herself drop onto her knees in an odd fascination. In those blissful few seconds of numb shock, she blinked and looked around with a passive expression on her face.
This surreal disconnection proved to be rather difficult to sustain when it was getting harder and harder to breathe, unfortunately. The more she struggled, the more she became aware that she was indeed limited – no, dependent – on this nearly hyperventilating body. That she was connected to it somehow.
Trapped in it.
I can’t get out, was all she could think of as she lifted her trembling hands to fumble around her shirt, nails clawing at her chest and neck. Get out, get out, get out, get out –
She was startled out of her ever-escalating thoughts when a hand tentatively touched her shoulder. Moryo’s face entered her peripheral vision, his eyes wide and his face unusually pale. He was saying something to her, but she couldn’t hear him. Seeing him kneeling right in front of her, so uncannily human and inhuman at the same time; feeling the gentle weight of his hand on her shoulder, physical and there, made her flinch back violently.
“No…” she sobbed between gasps. No no no no….
Her vision was starting to blacken around the edges. Moryo was shouting at something behind her, panic evident in his face. Her heart was beating like it was going to rip itself out of her chest. No amount of air was enough, for her chest felt empty and heavy at the same time. She was falling apart, and she was afraid that when she did, there would be nothing left of her but emptiness.
This is not real, she thought desperately. She closed her eyes tightly to block out everything, including the worried elf in front of her. Tears fell freely down her cheeks for the first time since her arrival, and she could now taste her pain too, all solidified and taken shape through this body. Her hands came up to her ears. When she felt the pointy tips, she roughly pressed her palms to cover them. Not real!
Even though she wanted to throw her head back in an attempt to gulp some much-needed air to her lungs, her body began to close in on itself, bending down into an almost fetal position. Her forehead touched the grass as she opened her mouth to scream, but it came out as nothing more than wheezes and sobs that racked her to the core. She was taut from head to toe as she tried to willfully block anything and everything out, desperately chanting the same thing in her mind over and over again.
Not real.
As if the universe wasn’t mocking her enough, she felt a new pair of hands holding either side of her shoulders to try to coerce her to sit more upright. Her body resisted without her control. But whoever it was, they weren’t going to let her delude herself. A timid, non-intrusive touch of another mind penetrated her panic then, gently calling a name. Not her name, but a name.
“Rin.”
She barely had the peace of mind to figure out that it was Prince Nelyafinwë speaking to her through ósanwë. When talking and touching weren’t enough to calm her, they must have resorted to this method.
This proved to be the last thing the poor human needed. The mental connection contradicted with her very nature, with all she had known, making her jerk away from a contact that wasn’t there. Shouldn’t be there. She physically backed away in a frenzy, shaking her head. Her eyes still closed, she tried to scream. Her body could only conjure breathy, pathetic groans.
The tentative touch of Prince Nelyafinwë recoiled away in shock, having felt a fraction of her delirium in his attempt to calm her down. Unbeknownst to the human in Eӓrien’s body, he had caught a glimpse of her internal screams, the overwhelming panic, and the unrecognizable words.
Rin barely noticed it when an arm circled around her shoulders, while another looped under her knees. The tautness of her body slowly dissipated as she felt more and more lightheaded from lack of air, making the job of whoever was carrying her easier. Thoughts were leaving her head, but her primal instinct to survive, to endure, still tied her to this body, to this world. It seemed like her body had already decided what her reality was. Without daring to open her eyes and thus admit defeat, she unconsciously clutched at the shirt of her carrier. Her fingers weakly closed in on the fabric, making a fist.
She didn’t know where they were taking her, and she wasn’t going to remember how she even got there the next time she willingly opened her eyes. All she knew was that wherever it was, it wasn’t going to be home.
******
She woke up to the strong smell of liquid herbs burning through her nostrils. Her nose scrunched in distaste as she blinked her eyes open in annoyance. It took her a while to figure out where she was, and who the people looming around her bed were.
Oh.
I’m still here.
At least she was a little calmer now, having exhausted herself with a breakdown that she should’ve seen coming from a mile off. Though, she could still feel her heart clenching ever so slightly upon waking up here.
Again.
She was at the healer’s ward. The familiar face of Winyavílë was hovering above her face, far enough to give her space if needed, but still close to observe any symptom of discomfort she would display. The small, stinking bottle in his hand told her that he was the culprit of her rude awakening. His expression was as passive as ever. The few rebellious strands of golden hair had not managed to free themselves from his intricate braids yet. The day must’ve just started for him.
How much time has passed since I was brought here anyway?
His calm demeanor and (generally) gentle conduct of his craft along with his soft facial features and golden hair reminded her of something. But what? It was at the tip of her tongue, she could feel it. But it wouldn’t come to her. Right now, her mind was blissfully empty, and her heart was conveniently too light to care. Since the echoes of her breakdown and its cause remained in her memory, Rin was sure that this numbness would soon fade along with her physical weariness.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a few other healers walking around silently. One quick skim through the infirmary told her that she was the only patient there. Was she the cause of all of this, then? Colleagues for back-up? Whatever for?
But this wasn’t all. Right behind Winyavílë, there stood Carnistir and Nelyafinwë, each wearing their own brand of “worried looks”. With his arms crossed and a scowl marring his face, Carnistir looked confused, and maybe a little afraid. His eldest brother looked less intense, but more contemplative.
“Glad to see you come to your senses,” said Prince Nelyafinwë, giving out a small sigh of relief. “You had us worried.”
“Worried?” Carnistir scoffed. Ignoring the warning look his brother was giving him, he continued to say, “That would be an understatement.” Rin couldn’t help but smile a little over how aggressively he worried about his friend. It was rather cute. “What in the name of Eru happened, Rin? We thought you were wounded at first, but there wasn’t anything on you – ”
“She has a sprained ankle,” Winyavílë interjected calmly as he took an icepack from another healer and carefully put it on Rin’s elevated foot. It was already bandaged and lifted by extra pillows, much to her surprise.
“Apart from a sprained ankle,” Carnistir corrected himself, rolling his eyes in irritation. He huffed, “And that is hardly any reason for someone to start struggling to breathe.”
“Maybe I have a very delicate disposition,” Rin suggested, deadpan.
The blank looks all around her told Rin that her joke didn’t quite land.
“Now’s not the time to be cheeky, Rin,” muttered Carnistir through gritted teeth, his hand going up to pinch the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “This whole situation is odd, and you know it.”
“Which begs the question,” Prince Nelyafinwë took over, his words deliberately slow to stop Carnistir from getting more anxious, “whether something happened between you and High King Manwë.”
Silence reigned for the next few moments. Rin couldn’t help but sit up against the pillows, teeth clenched and eyes narrowed like a cornered animal. But one look at the elves told her that they were genuine in their level-headed interrogation. They were treating her ailment as if it were a physical wound, not a psychological one. And when physical wounds are in question, it is imperative to be straightforward and empirical. Did they seriously not know, or were they trying to make sure it was pure psychological?
She looked away to hide her frustration and quietly spat out, “He didn’t do anything.” And that’s the problem. Though, even the slightest possibility of the King of Arda knowingly harming a creature of this world must have been an absurd notion to the peaceful denizens of Valinor. Up until this morning, Rin had thought the same. She had genuinely thought that he would listen to her, understand her, and help her get back to her own life, back to where she belonged.
There was a flash of recognition in Prince Nelyafinwë’s eyes upon hearing her answer. While it wasn’t much of an explanation, it confirmed what they had all been suspecting. Hers was a matter of fëa, not hroa.
Which, Rin supposed, was half true.
After wrecking her tired brain for a few moments trying to think about what she could say to explain herself to others, Rin decided to say nothing at all on the matter. I don’t owe them anything. There was anger deeply seated in her heart towards these people now, at how carefree they lived in their perfect little paradise, blissfully unaware of the struggles of the rest of the world and what she was going through. She knew these feelings were unfair and unjustified – especially when it came to the two brothers in front of her, who had been nothing but friendly towards her – but she was pent up with frustration and despair. At that moment, she just wanted to scream at all of them to “fuck off”.
Instead, she turned her laboriously crafted empty gaze towards the brothers. “So, you saw everything?” Her instinct was to turn the tables on them a little.
Carnistir’s eyes narrowed at her evading their question with her own question. He was not going to let her drop the subject so easily had it not been for his eldest brother raising his hand to stop him just as he opened his mouth. From the flat look Rin was giving them, Prince Nelyafinwë seemed to have gathered that she didn’t want to talk about whatever had happened to her at the gates.
Good call.
“We saw King Manwë will himself away, and shortly after, you… collapsed,” Prince Nelyafinwë clarified, his tone turning uncertain at the end. “More and more people were gathering around the gates, and I had a feeling that you wouldn’t like to be the center of attention at that moment if you could help it, so I took the liberty to bring you here.”
Rin’s eyes drifted away as she nodded absent-mindedly. It must’ve been quite the show. She supposed it was way too early for the Valinorian elves to be well-versed in mental ailments.
And why would they? The dead were rehabilitated in the Halls of Mandos (in theory), and those who lived were residing in paradise. Besides, the Gardens of Lórien were apparently enough to heal all sorts of mental, spiritual and physical hurts. Well, she thought of Míriel, almost all of them. It was a place overseen by the Valar and their Maiar, not elves. Rin doubted elves were ever left to deal with their distress completely by themselves, without the assistance of the Ainur. If so, how much understanding and empathy could a mortal get from a timeless, truly unkillable, angelic being?
Rin’s lips curled up in a bitter smile, I don’t think I can even set foot into the Gardens anyway. If Manwë forsook me, I doubt either Irmo or Estë would ever willingly help me. She remembered how Lady Nerdanel’s requests for a Maia to look at Rin’s concussion had gotten rejected.
Her eyes widened upon thinking about the matriarch. She was suddenly reminded of something very, very important that she had overlooked during all the commotion. The elves in the healer’s wing all witnessed her rueful expression turn into a horrified one.
“Oh,” Rin groaned, hands coming up to cover her face. “Oh no.” How could she forget it?
“Rin?” Prince Nelyafinwë called out to her tentatively. “What’s wrong? Are you in pain?” Rin shook her head, not daring to look up. She had been careless. She should’ve put it down and then rushed out into the gates.
“This is bad,” she moaned through her hand. “This is really, really bad.”
“What?” Carnistir blurted, barely holding himself from blowing up. He had been there when it happened. How could he not remember it?
In any case, Rin had to come clean. She had to confess.
When she finally raised her face from her hands, distress was evident in her expression. “I dropped Lady Nerdanel’s vase!”
Silence.
The princes and Winyavílë blinked. The other healers stopped whatever they were doing.
And then, a soft snort followed by laughter erupted from Prince Nelyafinwë’s chest. Rin watched in astonishment at how the eldest son of Fëanáro threw his head back and cackled without care.
This only served to make Rin feel more outraged. “Stop laughing, this is serious!” she cried indignantly. “It was a commission soon to be delivered!”
Meanwhile, Carnistir was pinching the bridge of his nose, shaking his head and grumbling under his breath, “By the Valar, the audacity…”
Winyavílë looked at her as if she had said something incomprehensible, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and disapproval.
“It seems,” the healer said slowly with a tired sigh, “like we need to set your priorities straight as well.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Rin grunted, crossing her arms.
Carnistir finally burst, “You pass out, and that is what you get worked up about?”
In fairness, Rin was still mentally and emotionally disoriented. But it wasn’t like any of them could help her with that. The thought alone was enough to be a catalyst to send her into another pit of despair.
But she needed to get rid of all these elves to even attempt to deal with her baggage. She couldn’t let the sense of immense unease consume her right now.
She needed to be alone.
Always alone now.
“She spent so much time on it too. It was supposed to be finished so she could focus on the lotus lanterns,” she grumbled, shaking her head in an effort to dispel her own disturbing thoughts. “Besides, life goes on,” she added, looking away. Manwë’s reaction and the carefree elves all around her were enough proof of that.
“That may be, but it isn’t more important than your health. Ever,” said Prince Nelyafinwë, having finally recovered from laughter. His expression was rather serious now, his tone firm but reassuringly so. “Rest assured, Mother would’ve said the same.”
“Speaking of, where is Mother?” Carnistir asked. “Still in Father’s forge with him and Lord Aulë?”
“That is indeed a very good question,” said the eldest son of Fëanáro. With a graceful cant of his head, he gestured towards the door, “Why don’t you go and let her know of Rin’s condition?”
Rin and Carnistir opened their mouths at the same time, each having their own objections.
“I’m sure she’s pretty busy right now –” Rin began, while Carnistir asked petulantly “Why does it have to be me?”
The redhead responded to their antics with a single lift of an elegant eyebrow. “If anyone is allowed to interrupt their discussion in face of an emergency, it’s you, Moryo,” he said calmly to his brother. They stared at each other for a long moment, long enough to have Rin assume that a silent conversation was happening between them. In the end, Carnistir sighed and turned to leave.
Then, Prince Nelyafinwë turned to Rin, “And I know for a fact that Mother would not want this to be kept secret from her.”
Soon, Carnistir was definitely not stomping out of the healer’s ward, grumbling under his breath; and Rin was half-sitting on the infirmary bed, doing her best to not glare at the third elf in line for the Noldorin throne. She didn’t need to be a mind reader to gather he had ulterior motives, however noble or good-natured they may be.
And surely enough, the healers also dispersed, making their way towards the palace kitchen to bring her something to eat and drink. Her claims of not being hungry were politely ignored, much to her irritation.
All left except for Winyavílë, who insisted on staying nearby in case another “incident” happened. Rin watched in astonishment as her healer politely refused the prince’s equally cordial order, saying that he was under strict orders from Lady Nerdanel to keep an eye on her.
The eldest prince seemed to have seen the merit of keeping the healer around, for he gave a little nod of consent in Winyavílë’s direction before turning back to Rin.
She chuckled derisively, “To have not one, but two princes of the Noldor at my beck and call… I must truly be special.” She had to laugh at the irony between now and the first time she had met the Fëanorians. The sense of awe and trepidation left its place to bitter sarcasm and frustration. The dull ache in her chest intensified as she beheld the otherworldly beauty of the prince in front of her.
Well, she thought ruefully, I suppose the word “otherworldly” doesn’t apply here, since I am in the “other world”. If anything, I’m more otherworldly than him, in a weird way.
Though he could sense something was bothering her immensely, said prince was unaware of Rin’s exhausting mental gymnastics. He gave out a sigh, a tired smile adorning his lips, “Well, you certainly know how to keep us on our toes.”
Rin knew she was in trouble when his face turned serious. He walked closer to the head of the bed, and asked quietly, “May I?” His eyes briefly darted around the healer’s ward, signaling to her that he wanted to have a private conversation. Well. As private as it could be with Winyavílë around.
She weighed her options. Could she even refuse a prince? Let’s just get this over with. She gave a small nod of consent.
With her leave, Prince Nelyafinwë sat at the edge of the bed, and leaned forward. Even that small movement looked too fluid, too graceful. “Moryo told me that you’ve been trying to contact the Valar for quite some time now, and that they’ve been… ignoring your letters,” his voice was lower, even quieter now. “He says this might be the reason behind the incident at the gates.”
Unable to hide her little flinch, she bit her lip nervously. A prick of irritation made its way into her chest upon learning that Carnistir shared this information with his elder brother. But the anger quickly dissipated this time, since Rin knew and felt it was unjustified. Vórilotsë had known of some of her endeavors of trying to establish contact with the Valar as well. It wasn’t a secret, anyway, save for the content of the letters.
But Prince Nelyafinwë noticed Rin stiffening. “Do these assumptions hold any truth?” he asked gently.
Looking away, Rin tiredly murmured, “Yes, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” She was too exhausted to come up with a total lie.
He frowned, “How so?”
Rin looked at him as if he sprouted a second head, “Didn’t you see what happened at the gates? Whatever I was asking for got rejected.”
I got rejected.
The slight wobble in her voice didn’t escape the prince. He opened his mouth to speak but then closed it again hesitantly. He looked like he wanted to ask something but was having second thoughts on whether he should ask it or not. Rin regarded him curiously as he searched for the right words, realizing this was a rare moment. Ever a man of diplomacy, debate and literature, it was unusual to see him at a loss for words.
Finally, he slowly said, “If you could perhaps… share at least some of the contents of your letters, or why you wanted to contact the Valar in the first place, maybe we could figure out why they’re avoiding you.”
It sounded like a direct, simple question, but Rin felt like he was dancing around another, unknown subject. Well, she could dance, too. “You’re awfully quick to come to that conclusion,” she stated carefully. “How come you have so little faith in your Valar? Maybe I’m in the wrong here instead of being the wronged.”
He raised a brow at her remark, “You’re quick to jump into the conclusion that I’m jumping into conclusions,” he said, a spark of amusement briefly flashing in his grey eyes. “I’m simply withholding judgement until I hear from all sides and understand their reasonings.”
Rin snorted, “You’d make a good king, my prince.” A smile creeped up on her lips, half genuine half sarcastic.
This was the first time she witnessed the regal prince of the Noldor roll his eyes, “Then you should know by now that distractions won’t work on me.” There was a childish stubbornness in his tone that Rin almost chuckled upon hearing.
With a low voice laced with uncurbed worry, he then added, “You should also know that our house isn’t completely unfamiliar with grievances in fëa,” Here Rin assumed he was referring to his grandmother, “And given that you had a concussion quite recently that resulted in memory loss, it’s bound to have repercussions,” he shivered a little at something he remembered, but before Rin could ask what it was, he continued, “It’s already strange that the Gardens didn’t send any Maia to look at you. I just have the feeling that all of these are connected somehow.”
Oh, he is good, she thought begrudgingly. If it hadn’t been for anxiety slowly yawning back to life in her chest, she would’ve said she was impressed.
“In order for us to get you the help you need,” he said finally, “we need to know what you seek so desperately.”
Rin was stunned into silence. He was able to gather all this just from the crumbs of information he had gotten from here and there. Her real identity was still something he couldn’t possibly learn on his own – or at least that’s what Rin tried to tell herself for reassurance – but he had gotten surprisingly close to the truth on his own.
Denying it would be stupid at this point. Rin didn’t trust herself with being that good of a liar.
“Apparently I asked for something I shouldn’t have asked,” she murmured. Something so impossible that even the Valar cannot – or will not – grant.
Prince Nelyafinwë remained silent, looking at her expectantly. Rin considered how rude it would be to tell a prince to mind his own business.
Oh, to hell with it.
“I wanted to ask if I could go home,” she huffed, arms crossed.
He tilted his head, “Tol Eressëa?”
She nodded. Sure. Let’s go with that.
“I see,” he hummed, looking away in contemplation. “I must say, I’ve never heard of anyone wanting to journey back after coming to Aman.”
“I bet your kings were so awestruck the first time they saw this place,” she said conversationally, hoping to divert his attention. “Given their enthusiasm to grab their people and practically run after Oromë to the western shores.” There was a slight twitch of his brows upon hearing her words, and that little bird-like tilt of his head like he has caught something in her speech. But whatever it was, Rin wasn’t going to find out until much later.
He finally turned back to her with a small, knowing smile. Darn. “But not you, it seems.”
Her attempt at distraction thwarted, she grumbled with a shrug, “It’ not like I don’t think Aman is a beautiful place.” But it isn’t my home. “Besides, it’s not just me. Ráva actually went back to the island, didn’t she?”
He was hesitant to react for a few seconds, his smile faltering a little. Said nís was Eärien’s late mother. It would later occur to Rin that he might’ve been a little surprised at how detached she was towards the subject.
“Yes, now that you mention it,” he conceded. “Your mother was an exception.”
“And what about you, my prince?” she asked.
“What about me?”
“You’re a Valinorian born and raised,” she clarified, “I bet you don’t get easily impressed by its beauty anymore. Since you see it everyday.”
He chuckled, “It is true that as a family, we have been to every corner of Aman,” his smile was a fond one as he no doubt recalled many a-breathtaking views. “But no matter how many times we revisit them, there’s always something new waiting for us. If the scenery is the same, then all you need to do is look for the tiniest of details, and thus you’ll see the changes.”
Rin smiled for the first time that day upon hearing his answer. This was indeed the same prince who would stop on his way to the Court to chat with cooks, artisans, and servants; remembering their names and even the occupations of their family members. He had remembered her too. Well, she amended, he remembered Eärien. But you get the gist.
Prince Nelyafinwë noticed her soft smile turn dull, “I don’t know why the Valar are unwilling to help you,” he said gently, “but I can take this matter to the Court, if you’d like.” When he saw her eyes widen in alarm, he added hurriedly, “Not to the entire Court or anything. But once I speak with Mother and Father, I could consult to the High King. Only three of them would know. Well,” he amended, a smirk appearing on his face, “then the Valar, I suppose. They cannot ignore the High King, after all.”
Rin could feel herself depleting as she gave out a tired sigh. She had hardly any reason to doubt the good-will in his offer, but something in Manwë’s gaze told her that it wouldn’t change anything. She also believed that if the matter escalated all the way up to the High King, people would eventually hear about it. Especially if he too is rejected. Then, things could get real messy, and she already had enough attention on herself as it was. In fact, she wished she could disappear altogether.
“I appreciate the offer,” she said slowly, careful so as to keep her voice from cracking. “But I don’t think it would make any difference. Manwë himself refused to see me. There’s no need to put the High King in between.” She looked away, forlorn, “If anything, it would make the matter more conspicuous than it already is. And I don’ want that.”
After a moment of heavy silence, the prince quietly acquiesced, “I understand. I must admit, it’s highly probable things would escalate if we pursue this further.” If the King of Arda, the highest authority there is, outright refused to see her, things could only get worse from here. “You’ve given me much to think about.”
“‘We’?” she asked a little haughtily. “Since when is this a problem ‘we’ need to solve?”
His reply came quick. With a raised brow, he said in a slightly firm voice, “Since you passed out at the gates and scared everyone.” His tone wasn’t accusatory, but it also left no room for argument. It was as if he was stating an undisputable fact. His face broke into a small smirk as he got up. “Besides, Mother would not let us hear the end of it if we leave things as they are.” Rin could do nothing but agree with him on that. It was a rare occasion, not looking forward to see the matriarch.
What he did next was going to leave Rin perplexed for the next three minutes. Prince Nelyafinwë, the grandson of the High King Finwë, the son of Fëanáro the genius inventor and Nerdanel the steadfast artist, the third in line for the throne, one of the most sought-after and respected princes of the Noldor, reached out and patted her head soothingly a few times before stepping away to make his way towards the door. “Rest now,” he called out as he opened the door. “Believe me when I say that you will need it for your future visitors.”
And with that, he was gone.
All was silent in the healer’s ward except for the soft steps of Winyavílë and his shuffling of medicinal herbs and bottles. In fact, he went on with his business as if nothing had happened, calm and soothing as always.
Rin blinked, looking around the room with a blank expression on her face. She could feel her cheeks burning, her elvish ears tingling. But this time, it wasn’t anything like the wave of fear and anxiety at the gates.
No, it wasn’t. But Rin would wager it was something that could be equally bad. Or even worse.
Groaning in frustration, she leaned back onto her pillow, and brought her hands to cover her face.