Third Age, 2600

Narylfiel sat on the edge of her small bed and hugged her stuffed rabbit to her chest. Thaliniel was so bossy. Just because she was the older sister, she thought she could make Narylfiel do whatever she wanted.

Go straight to bed, Narylfiel, she had told her. No more staying up late for you!

From her open window, Narylfiel could still hear laughter and songs being sung down in the pavilion. It just wasn't fair.

She crossed the room and climbed up onto the seat by her window, peering down to where she could see a jolly fire. Thaliniel was still there, of course, looking entranced as those dashing elves from Rivendell sang another song about a pair of brothers who went on an adventure.

Adventure.

Narylfiel had heard and read enough stories to know that the hero never had an exciting adventure by staying home and going to bed. No, adventures happened when you left! When you let your feet take you down a wandering road to who knows what kinds of exciting places.

Thaliniel just did not understand. Narylfiel knew her sister did not want to be tied to their father's vineyard forever; only she was too scared to do anything about it.

But Narylfiel was not scared.

Her eyes flicked to the sight of the fire, the elves singing merrily around it, and behind them, their large covered wagon. The Rivendell elves would be leaving in the morning, she had heard her sister say so to Locien, the messenger elf from the Elvenking.

Only...and Narylfiel smiled to herself...she knew that Locien was not really a mere messenger for the King. She had overheard him say so to those Rivendell elves. He was really a prince, Prince Legolas. And from what she had seen, Prince Legolas was even more in need of an adventure than she was!

Narylfiel sat on her little window seat for quite some time, her eyes fixed on the dark canvas of stars over the treetops of her father's home, the melodies of singing and harping blending into the background of the wind and the occasional cricket, but her mind drifted over thoughts of her sister, Prince Legolas, not to mention her hunch that Thaliniel was very taken with the prince, and herself. They could all benefit from a dose of adventure, she decided, but what could ever induce her staid older sister to get out of the house? What plan could Narylfiel devise that would let her have a little adventure of her own as well?

Narylfiel stood up and wandered over to her bed. Bun looked up at her, his tired button eyes challenging her to do something. Anything! She touched the edge of her nightgown, still folded on the bed, and then met Bun's eyes.

"You are right," she told her stuffed rabbit. "There's a whole big world waiting for me out there." Narylfiel chewed on her lip while she deliberated with Bun looking on impatiently. Then she turned from her bed, pulled her cloak off its hook, and headed for her bedroom door.

"Thaliniel needs all the help she can get," Narylfiel told Bun as she tied her cloak around her neck. "I am doing this for her."

But Bun, ever wise, knew that Narylfiel needed a little adventure of her own. He did not say so of course, but watched her go and smiled to himself.

- . - . -

March 7th, 3019

Narylfiel quickly penned a note to Almea, warning her to be careful; she worried that Almea, since her public display and grievance, might be an obvious next target. Narylfiel was almost certain that Filron had been chosen because he had not been very subtle with his disapproval. So far her enemy had targeted, well, her other enemies. She quickly folded the letter up, quite sure that Almea would wrinkle her nose at Narylfiel's slovenly penmanship. She smiled to herself as she melted the wax to seal the note. Better alive via sloppy writing than dead with none, she thought.

Well, that was something at least, Narylfiel decided as she stood up and pushed in the chair. She eyed Huredhiel's tea mixtures on her dresser like a poison. Her head felt marginally better, and she would rather suffer than take one of those horrid powders .

Her second order of business was to change out of the confines of her more queenly gown and puts on something more practical, less regal and more just plain Narylfiel. The circlet came off first-it quickly went back on its shelf. She loosened the ties on her dress, hung it up (even if Thranduil weren't here, she could at least try to maintain the perfection of his closet in his absence), and pulled on one of her old longer tunics and leggings. Narylfiel already felt more like herself. She tucked her pocket knife into her sash and pulled on her worn, comfortable boots. She grinned as she passed the mirror. Now this look was so much more her, and since she did have on her boots, Narylfiel took the liberty of slipping her hunting knife into her right boot. Just in case.

On her way to the door, she paused to look at Thranduil's drawings, and her heart turned over a little as she studied each one, noticed the care and time he surely must have spent on each one of these, alone in his chair by the fire. Oh, how she loved him. Her eyes drifted to a small portrait of a young Legolas, and Narylfiel could not help but imagine Thranduil sketching their baby. Baby Legolas was just so cute beyond words, and Narylfiel swallowed softly. In less than a year's time, she would be a mother. It was a little hard to take in, honestly.

Narylfiel swung open the door, and Melui straightened immediately.

"Your highness?" she asked, a gleam in her eye as she took in Narylfiel's more casual attire.

"I have a letter for Almea," Narylfiel told her. "And I have decided to visit Galadhor to see if I can assist with the household accounts."

"Ah, the stay-busy approach," Melui said assessingly. "We were wondering what your next move might be. Dorwil," she called, "the queen is going out. You lose.'

Narylfiel cleared her throat. "Were you...wagering what I was going to do?" She eyed her friend and then Dorwil who grinned sheepishly.

"Making predictions is a valuable skill for a guard to have," Dorwil said.

"Which you clearly need to develop," Melui teased. "You wagered that her majesty was going to take a nap."

Narylfiel shook her head. "No, no nap. I couldn't sleep right now."

Elfir came down from the long end of the hallway. "It might be wiser to stay in, your highness," he told her, "but I can understand your wish to stay active. You should be relatively safe going to see Galadhor. I will take your letter to Almea, and on my return, I shall stop and question Wilem about the particulars of the conversation he overheard in which threats were made concerning the queen."

"Thank you, Elfir," she told him. "I really am just going to see if I can help Galadhor with anything."

"It is good of you to think of him, your highness. I am sure Galadhor would appreciate the help. He's been doing everything on his own since Galion left," Elfir said as he turned to leave. "Stay out of trouble!" he warned them.

Narylfiel watched him turn the corner and then eyed her two remaining guards. "Elfir's gone. So which one of you wants to help me sneak out of the Halls?"

Melui visibly paled, and her eyes darted uncomfortably to Dorwil, whose mouth had dropped open.

"Well?" she said, looking at the pair of them.

"Erm, your highness," Melui started, "I really do not believe-"

"I am joking!" Narylfiel told them and laughed. "I just wanted to see what you would say. Of course, I am not going to leave the palace."

"That was a terrible joke," Melui said, narrowing her eyes. "Don't even think about it."

Dorwil did not say anything, but he looked noticeably relieved as he walked with the queen down the hall.

Narylfiel found the door to the king's chief-of-staff's office wide open. Galadhor stood at his desk, scowling as he sorted through a ledger.

She knocked on the door frame. "Hello," she said softly when he looked up.

"Well, if it isn't Queen Narylfiel!" he exclaimed and set down his papers. He ushered her into his room and cleared a stack of papers from a chair for her to sit down.

"How are you holding up, my dear?" he asked, his warm brown eyes looking her over concernedly.

"I am surviving," Narylfiel told him. "I saw you this morning in the Council Chambers. I appreciated you being there. Thank you."

Galadhor cleared his throat. "Well, technically, I am required to be there, Narylfiel. As the King's Chief-of-Staff my presence is required any time one of the court wishes to file a public grievance. I help keep the records, so there I was."

Narylfiel tried not to let her disappointment show. "Oh, yes, of course."

"But I would have been there regardless," he added quickly, "to support you, and I'll tell you right now that I was not the only one who was shocked that the House Tirisul had acted so boldly-putting forth a grievance? Against the queen?" He frowned. "Whatever you may have said to the public, it was not an honorable move on their part. They would never have considered such a move had the king been here. Many in the council and the court did not approve."

"Well, it seems to have been put to rest anyhow...for now. Thankfully," Narylfiel said.

Galadhor straightened a stack of correspondence on his desk. "I know it might not have felt that way this morning, but you have many who support you, who care about you," Galadhor said and smiled as he added, "Queen Narylfiel."

She felt her cheeks grow warm. "Galadhor, you used to carry me to bed when I fell asleep in front of the fire sometimes when I was an elfling. You know you can call me just Narylfiel."

"I know," he gently said, tilting his head a little as he studied her. "We all know, Narylfiel. I cannot tell you how many of the staff have come by today asking after you, telling me that they are worried for you, offering their help. Like myself, they have watched you grow up, and much like myself, feel protective of their young queen. We are all very proud of how you handled yourself today."

"Thank you, Galadhor," she said softly. "It is good to hear you say that. I am worried. Not just with the impending war and Thranduil being gone, but with Filron's death, those messages."

"I have started making quiet inquiries with the household staff to pay more attention to anything that seems to be amiss," he told her quietly. "Let us be on our guard."

"Exactly," agreed Narylfiel. "But I didn't just come down here to socialize," she told him, pointing to the chaotic trail of the household accounts strewn across his desk. "I thought I might help. I know with Galion gone, you're short-handed...and I really want to help out with something to take my mind off...the other issues."

"Bless you," Galadhor said. "I could really use the help. Don't tell this to Galion, but I really do rely on his assistance. We have a new shipment coming in from Dale, and I meant to go down there to collect the invoices and update our supply ledgers, but I am still revising the assignments for the household staff to make up for the shortages since more than half left with the army."

"I can go," volunteered Narylfiel. "I have helped Galion with that before he left, so I can finish fairly quickly and come back to help you revise the staff assignments."

"That would be wonderful," he said, picking up his pen from the inkwell and dabbing it on the blotter.

"I will return in no time," Naryfliel promised.

From there it was a brisk walk down to the cellar, where Narylfiel cheerily greeted Hebrion, one of the king's porters, who was busy talking to Wilem, while the healer tucked several parcels into one of the medium-sized tubs.

Hebrion respectufully dipped his head, and Wilem startled when he turned and saw Narylfiel there, standing behind him with her two guards.

"Your majesty," he exclaimed, "I did not expect to see you here! He secured the lid to the tub while Hebrion looked on and then came forward to greet her. "Have you given any more thought to what I said?" he asked quietly.

Narylfiel shook her head. "As much as I appreciate your gallant offer, Wilem, I fear it wouldn't be prudent for me to leave at this time."

He ducked his head and then smiled weakly. "As you say then, your highness. We will just have to stay vigilant." He fondly looked at the row of casks and tubs lined up along the cellar wall by the barrel drop. "I could always smuggle you out of here in a barrel, like in the old stories they tell back in Dale about the dwarves!"

Narylfiel laughed then, but Melui and Dorwil were hardly amused and even went so far as to exchange worried looks. "Let us hope it does not come to that!" she said, grinning.

"Very well then," Wilem said, bowing before he left. "I pray that you don't over-exert yourself down here," he told her. "Goodbye for now, your majesty, Melui, Dorwil."

"Decent seeming fellow," Hebrion remarked after Wilem left. "He's down here sometimes twice a week sending correspondence in the barrels going back to Dale."

Narylfiel looked up from the shipping log in her hand. "That often?" she remarked. "What does he usually send?"

"Oh, letters back home, I suppose," Hebrion hoisted one of the barrels into the return drop and headed to the door. "And occasionally a parcel, a package or two. Some of that medicine he'd been working on most likely." He paused at the door. "As soon as you finish, your majesty, I'll be back to get the rest of those casks cleared."

"Thank you, Hebrion. It shouldn't take too long, I hope!" Narylfiel tuned the page and waved farewell as he left.

"Optimist," said Melui, dubiously eyeing the rather lengthy list, "that will surely take at least a half hour."

Narylfiel sighed. "I know, but it's good, right? Staying busy."

Melui nodded sagely. "I think so. I'm going to be at the entrance to the cellar standing watch, and Dorwil is going to be at the end of the hallway." She took up her position by the door. "Let me know if you need anything, Narylfiel."

Narylfiel nodded, busily checking the copy of the supply invoice that Galadhor had provided to the log of the actual shipments to have arrived. She was halfway down the first page, when something unusual caught her eye. One of the tubs had been marked with a rather large black X on the side. Her eyes flicked to it curiously and then back to her work. She worried her lip for a second between her teeth as she stared at the line of numbers marching down the page.

Looking up, Narylfiel turned toward Melui in the doorway. "Do you think it odd that Wilem would be sending so many letters back to Dale?"

Melui shrugged. "Maybe he enjoys writing letters. Maybe," she said hopefully, "he has a lady friend."

"I don't know," Narylfiel said, glancing over at the tubs and barrels. "Just a feeling, I have. The king sends correspondence to Dale with a messenger, and I know Wilem has asked to send a report back to King Brand that way. So why use the barrels...and so often?" She sat her reports down on the nearest barrel and headed over to the piled up tubs.

Melui eyed her from the doorway. "What are you doing?" she asked, watching while the queen studied the tubs for a second and then picked up a slim pry bar hanging on a hook from the wall.

"I don't believe this tub is fastened properly," she told Melui, gesturing to the tub with the X marked on the side, the same tub in which Wilem had sealed his mail. "I am just going to open it to make sure it will not have any leaks and then close it again."

Melui grinned evilly. "And I thought I was the suspicious one," she said, looking on approvingly. "Go on then," she encouraged her.

Narylfiel angled the pry bar into the narrow lip of the tub and pushed. "Yes, definitely loose," she concluded. "I can tell that the whole lid will need to be removed—only for the interest of preserving this fine shipping container, of course." She leaned heavily onto the pry bar, and the lid popped up.

Her mouth drew into a straight line as she dipped her hand into the tub and retrieved a sealed packet. "There's no writing on this," she told Melui. "No directions or names. How would anybody at the docks know how to deliver it?" Narylfiel thought for a moment, the package heavy in her hand. "Unless, the recipient was waiting for a specific container to search..."

Melui narrowed her eyes. "Hold that thought," she told her queen. "Dorwil just left his post at the end of the hallway. I wonder if Elfir has returned. They should both see this." She motioned for Narylfiel to stay put and briskly turned to go fetch the other guards.

Waiting was never her strong suit. Neatly sliding a finger under the seal and break it, Narylfiel then pulled loose several pieces of parchment. She did not read them. She did not need to. Once glance told all.

The writing was the same style as the script on the messages she and Lord Filron had both received.

"Melui?" she called out, her voice grim. "Dorwil? Come see what I found."

While she waited, she impatiently scanned the top letter, drawing in her breath as she did so. Wilem knew she was with child...he made promises to deliver the queen from the Elvenking's halls...he gave a detailed account of the amount of guards left protecting the palace...and that was only the first page. "Melui?" she called again, her eyes drifting to the doorway.

Swallowing thickly, Narylfiel set the letters down. The torches in the hall had gone out...and where were her guards, her friends? Her ears pricked as she listened...and heard nothing. Had Wilem, fearing exposure, returned to make good on his promises in the letter? It was not like he could incapacitate several members of the Royal Guard on his own. Still, though...

His words, said jokingly at the time came back to her: I could always smuggle you out of here in a barrel, like in the old stories they tell back in Dale about the dwarves...

Pressing her lips together firmly, the queen decided that there was no way she was going to let him stuff her in a barrel. Narylfiel slid the knife from her boot and gripped it in her right hand; with her left, she picked up the pry bar.

She approached the black mouth of the open door from the side of the wall, edging out slowly as to peer down the hall without exposing her entire body. From the doorway, she could make out the end of the hall, a small pool of light at the far end...and an outstretched arm lying on the ground, being dragged haltingly out of view.

Narylfiel sucked in her breath. There was nobody else down here. Hebrion had left, Galadhor was much too far away in his office, and the usually busy loading drop was empty—most of the workers had left with the army. Keeping her weapons close, the pry bar and the knife, Narylfiel quickly moved to the other side of the room, extinguishing the torch light. Then, being mindful of the door and the sound of footsteps, she rushed to the opposite end of the room and put out the lights over there.

She was counting on the fact that Wilem was neither strong nor trained or skilled with a blade as she was. She moved into position to strike, depending on her keen elven eyes to help her see in the dark. She could easily take Wilem in a fight. Easily. His only hope of besting her lay in the element of surprise, and she was not going to be—

A sharp sting hit the side of her neck and she swatted at it; only her fingers grew fuzzy