Faelwen’s Resolve

...And yet she knew if she were to survive tomorrow's battle, she mustn't let her head cloud with such songs as the ones her heartstrings played. She knew Thranduil well, and his was not a mind easily swayed or softened. Thus, she gathered herself resolutely into the grand, iridescent creature her noble lineage proclaimed, determined to stifle her fondness for the Elvenking.

Now, hers was the path of the encroaching Siege of Erebor, home to Thorin's Kingdom under the Mountain, for she must attend to the oath that bound her to her people, and assert their birthright.

Sleep laid no claim on her that eventide. Although her bed was constructed of strong Mirkwood oak, cushioned by the velvety silver-white leaves of "lamb's ear," enshrouded by coverlets wove of the finest flaxen crépon, she did not rue it, sleep, because fortunately, no Elf had need of the wasteful things Men and Dwarves required to preserve their strength.

In sooth, come daybreak, she sprung forth, having already resized her armor and polished her great, curved Ithildin sword, Naruthir, pushing all thoughts of Thranduil's reproach from her mind.

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