Hello, and welcome. I absolutely have to admit that though I think it was one of the greatest pieces of literature ever created, I am not as knowledgeable about Tolkien's world as I would like to be. Therefore, if the facts aren't a hundred percent, I sincerely apologize and claim creative license. I mean, it is the wonderful and unlimited world of fanfiction...Nonetheless, enjoy and please review. And of course, I don't take ownership of any of Tolkien's characters or storylines, except for my own creations.

A dark haired she-elf muttered an Dwarven curse under her breath and hiked up the hem of her sage colored gown to stop it from making anymore attempts to trip her. She ignored the disapproving eyes a flaxen-haired Lorien maiden and bounded up the steps that spiraled around the colossal mallorn trunk in a haste that had never been seen before in the sanctuary of the Golden Woods. A silky, flowing wave of hair fluttered behind her like flag in a breeze as her slipper-clad feet silently pattered up the ancient stair.

With merely a glance, one could quickly determine that she was not of Lorien breeding. Her auburn hair that burned bright red in the sun, but faded into the shadows of the forest was not at all a common sight among the inhabitants. She was also of a much shorter stature and her skin glowed with a warmth and rosiness that set her apart from her moon insipid peers. The she-elf was a rare and easily noticed being in the muted hues of Lothlorien, a rare emerald in among a delicate string of pearls and diamonds.

She only slowed her pace when a she came upon two elves descending in her path. Like many of those who inhabited Caras Galadon, the two elves floated down the staircase with mystical grace, a skill she herself had, but only employed it when imperative. She bowed her head demurely in acknowledgement, and to shield her blood-brightened cheeks as they passed. The elves returned the gesture without a word and as their platinum heads disappeared, the she-elf immediately bound up three steps in a single leap and dashed up the stairs as fast as her attire would allow.

Why wasn't word sent? She kept asking in her head, hoping she was being heard. Why didn't you tell me?

She arrived upon a small flet on the lowest level of the Lady Galadriel's treetop domain and stopped before two statuesque guards. Though they wore no armor and their weapon were only short dirks and bows, they're presence was foreboding. However, she was known to every warden and Elven soldier in their realm and passed on through with nothing more than a glance. She continued her trek across a small bridge between the great boughs. Her green eyes caught a glance of the glowing structure high above her head that held the reason of her haste and distress.

Her jaunt seemed endless and with every step, her heart both soared and sank at the thought she was so close, yet fear's shadow grew inside her. Though she did not possess the gift and burden of foresight, she could feel it in her heart that something was amiss. But then again, the last few years had been full of uncertainty and unforeseeable dangers, exemplified by the arrival of an unordinary traveling party with an extraordinary mission a few months before in the Golden Wood.

The she-elf took one last leap up and her swift and nibble feet landed onto the silver and sacred flet of The White Lady. Her skirts dropped back to the leaf strewn platform, covering her slender calves. Her eyes had yet to take in the sights around her when a voice grabbed her attention.

"Niviryn."

The she-elf's errant eyes targeted the source of the lips that spoke her name like an arrow flying into an enemy's heart, but the face they belonged to was not her intended quarry.

Though the elf bore a striking resemblance, it was not whom she had hoped to see.

"Rύmil" she spoke with a hitch of disappointment, but she still ran to him and wrapped her arms around his weary shoulders like a mother would comfort a child.

He tenderly returned the embrace, though not without a thwarting grimace from being so doted on. As Niviryn drew back, she took stock of the mud splattered grey cloak, his scuffed and scratched armlets, and his mussed silver locks. She could smell the unseen stains of Orc and goblin blood and horse sweat.

The worry that had been mingling within her heart soared to the surface and spilled out her eyes that left the gaze of the elf before her. She searched the glowing platform again, but saw nothing that would have satisfied her fears.

"He's with the Lord and Lady." Rύmil answered her unspoken question. "And none too worse for the wear, dear sister."

A sigh of much needed relief escaped her chest and her hand fell over both her beating heart and a silver pendant on a chain that never left her body. The delicate jewelry was in its physicality as light as a petal from a lauram flower, but the last many weeks the memory and the promise it held weighed like the chains used to bind trolls in Moria. Her emerald eyes turned up the guarded steps of Galadriel's keep. Naught but a few were ever as privileged to be in such close confidence. However, she knew all privileges came with obligations that must be fulfilled.

She looked upon the gilded arches for a moment more until she turned back to the war-worn Silvian elf.

"What news from the North?" she asked with a determined gleam in her eye.

Rύmil had learned long ago that withholding any truths, no matter how displeasing to her ears, was far worse than telling a complete fabrication. He'd also learned it to be better to save such a precarious situation for those whom were more deserving. However, he knew his brother well.

"I fear the news will not settle your heart's discourse." He spoke softly with his eastern dialect. "Our enemies have been relentless on our borders. We have held back their invasion, but not without great peril. I fear an end has not yet to be seen and that darker days are to come."

Only a small intake of breath failed her resolve.

"Why then have you been summoned here when you and your leadership is surely needed on the borders?" she questioned.

"That," Rύmil paused, looking over her shoulder and to the figure descending the steps. "…is a question best answered by another."

Niviryn's heart leapt and turned her head to follow Rύmil's gaze. However, the sight she'd longed to see for ages and sooth her heartache only increased it.

"Haldir…" she whispered.

About 500 years earlier…

An elf maiden dangled her bare feet from the bows of a great oak. She reveled in the cool forest air between her toes and the uninterrupted melodies of the local song birds. Though elves, especially of her lineage, were known for their great courage and valor, this she-elf was hiding. She did not fear danger in the least. Though petite and fair, she had legs and a quick hand, especially when holding a sword. Her father, Oledon, was Master of the Forges of Imladris. He was known to all across Middle Earth for his craftsmanship and skill. All Elven steel, if not made by his hand, was fashioned after his designs. It had been that way for thousands of years.

However, the perils she hid from were not those posed by Orcs, unsavory men, or goblins. She would actually welcome a trouble such as those that could be easily solved with a blade. But alas, domestics were a greater doom for her than anything the great elf lords had ever faced in tales of days passed.

Niviryn sighed and leaned back against the mighty trunk. She knew she couldn't hide from her aunt forever and delaying would only lead to more suffering. Despite her trepidations of making beds and serving wine to banquet attendees, Niviryn was quite excited for the forthcoming guests of Rivendell. Galadriel and Celeborn were to arrive within the next day or two. Such an event had not occurred since the birth of the Lady Arwen. Niviryn had been just a small elfling and she'd only been able to catch a glimpse of the beautiful Lady of the Light. To this day, Niviryn regretted not getting the Lady's attention, not being able to look into her eyes.

The maiden looked longingly out onto the lush forests and glistening waterfalls that surrounded Rivendell. She took one last whiff of clean, crisp air and gathered the hindering skirts of her cream colored work gown. Lyrianin, her aunt and head Chambermaid of the House of Elrond, was probably fit to be tied for her niece's tardiness. There was much to do in preparation. The Lady brought with her a great company of court members and guards, all which needed places to eat, rest, and be entertained. Lyrianin, her father's sister, had served the family of Elrond ever since they settled in the valley. Her husband perished in the Siege of Baradur and now lay somewhere in the haunted waters of the Dead Marshes. They only birthed sons and they had inherited their father's love for horses and had taken to the stables. Being daughterless, their mother had taken Niviryn, not willingly, under her wing and had hoped to employ the she-elf with a useful and appropriate trade, rather than assisting her father in the dirty, hot forges. However, Niviryn knew she'd be gone from this world before she submitted to the life of a chambermaid.

Niviryn longed to see the world and all its peoples, both good and treacherous. Though she had the skill, it had never been truly tested. Sparing with her brothers and every willing elf in Rivendell was not like real combat. She longed to prove herself, to prove she was not weak anymore, prove that she could have saved them…

The she-elf easily dropped several feet out of the tree and landed with the gentleness of a floating leaf. Her bare feet sunk into the cool mat of leaves, soil and flora. She sat down onto a large root that made for a handy seat before it burrowed deep into the ground and slipped on her thin, suede work slippers. She sighed once more and made haste to return to her duties. She had much to do before the evening. She hoped that the young Lady Arwen wasn't too busy herself with preparations for her sparring lesson.

The Lady was much like Niviryn, much to both their fathers' dismay. Arwen had a strong mind and a stronger heart, like her mother. Even though Elrond wasn't fond of his only daughter wielding a weapon, knew it be a skill that would come to use and allowed the lessons to take place. Niviryn quite enjoyed teaching Galadriel's granddaughter and looked forward to every lesson. Arwen was like a younger sister, but still showing her tutor the upmost respect. Niviryn pushed Arwen while others coddled her, but Arwen pushed right back and was becoming quite accomplished. However, normal day-to-day routine hadn't been given much of any though with the forthcoming guests.

Niviryn glances once more around the lush forest and begrudgingly stepped forth back to Rivendell.

"Niviryn Drumindil!" a brown-haired she-elf wearing a simple, but well-made, light blue frock called out from behind a stack of folded bedding. "Do not assume for a moment you can slip by my keen ears with those strident feet of yours!"

Niviryn cringed and stopped mid-step behind a small statue. She'd hoped to slip by and merely join in on the happenings so when her aunt finally discovered her she couldn't accuse her of idleness. Thwarted those plans were indeed.

"Curse these open walls…" Niviryn mumbled in the Common Tongue. She turned and stepped into the mountain ranges of cream colored sheets with delicately embroidered leaves in gold and sepia thread.

"Where have you been?" Lyrianin asked sternly, her thin lips pressed together as she carefully smoothed an offending wrinkle from a pillowcase. "No," she suddenly held up her slender hand, halting the excuses about to pour from her niece's mouth. "I don't have the time to hear your great stories…here," she handed Niviryn a stack of fresh linens. "Take these to The Varrum House. The Lady's Guard will be taking up quarters there."

"I see. For how long shall we be tending to the great Wardens, legendary for their humor and overall merriment…" Niviryn's voice dripped with sarcasm as she took the soft sheets, softer than her own she noted, in her arms.

Lyrianin wagged a long finger at the redheaded she-elf.

"You best keep that sharp tongue of yours behind those teeth. The elves of Lorien do take kindly to such speak, especially the wardens. They take great care in their duties with such an important being residing so close to such evils of the East."

Niviryn listened dutifully, but not without a slight roll of the eye. Her brothers, who had traveled to the Golden Wood, had told their youngest sister of the stoic and impermeable nature of the March Wardens. However, Narin, her oldest and closest brother, spoke greatly of their abilities and honor. He had lived amongst them for nearly a century, learning their ways and serving the Lady. He was the most elated for the Lorien Elves arrival. He had word that friends were amongst the procession.

"My dear Aunt," the younger she-elf spoke sweetly. "I do not doubt their honor. Just the hour of which they expect me to awake each morning to attend their needs."

"And you shall attend to everything they shall ask of you…" The Chambermaid said, placing a firm hand upon her unwilling apprentice's shoulder. She reached forward with her other hand and plucked a small twig from her silken, auburn locks. She held it before Niviryn's eyes with a raised brow.

"Everything, dear Aunt?" the younger she-elf said with a wicked smirk upon her rosy lips as her eyes followed the stowaway twig leave Lyrianin's fingers and return to its natural habitat. "Seems as though you will me to be more than just a chambermaid…"

It took a moment for the cheeky she-elf's words comprehend into the scandalous implications she meant. Lyrianin's eyes suddenly bulged and abhorrence smeared across her regal face.

"Oh, you are incorrigible! Now, off you go…" Lyrianin shooed with a gentle shrug. "You have much to catch up! And do not loiter!"

Niviryn's suppressed a giggle and quickly hurried off to the Varrum House. It was situated near the stables and the armory, providing the most advantageous location for soldiers and overlooked the southern fork of the river and the high meadow that the horses grazed. It was also conveniently not far from her father's home, providing her with quick escape when needed.

Several hours later, Niviryn's feet descended a set of dark, smoke stained steps that led downwards to her father's workshop with hands tingling to wield something a bit more dangerous than towels and silverware. The heat of forges enveloped her like a warm embrace and the sharp smell of ground steel and hot embers smelled sweeter than any flower in the valley. She walked past the wall of tools and various weapons her father had created over the years. Oledon Drumindil was the son of Omin, one of the great elf-smiths of Eregion who was seduced by Sarumon. He unwittingly facilitated the forging of the rings of power as well as the One Ring. Shamed by his father's failings, Oledon took an oath and put his skill to that of good. Her brothers and uncles all took up arms with Elrond and Gil-gahad in the Alliance of Men and Elves.

Niviryn picked up a small dirk that her father had been repairing for an Elf lord. She balanced it between the hilt and blade, but found it to be heavy on the blade end.

"I hear you've been practicing the time honored art of elven obscurity." a deep, rich voice floated in from the door.

Niviryn flipped the dirk into the air and let it fall easily into her steady hand, despite the unbalanced nature of it. She turned and looked over at her father standing in the archway with his scorched leather apron over his chest. His auburn hair was pulled back into a thick braid and his callused hands polished a newly forged silver goblet. A thin eye brow peaked towards his hairline and a glimmer of reticent amusement, a look exclusively reserved for his daughter, shone in his blue eyes.

"Oh, Ada…" she shook her head. "I merely took a morning stroll. I was missed no more than an hour."

Oledon gave her yet another look and held the delicate goblet up for inspection. The polished silver reflected her auburn locks that glimmered like licks flames in the lamp light. Ever since the Dark Lord had diminished into shadows, the need for weapons to fit in elvish hands had drastically decreased. Oledon found his skills being tested and put to use in the finer, less lethal, arts of fabrication and ornamentation, especially since relations and commerce with the Dwarves had all but ceased. To receive a diadem or goblet made with Oledon's hands was much sought after honor.

"Even so," Niviryn continued while twirling the dirk back and forth in over the back of her hand unconsciously so. "Your sister commands her army quite well. Those feather pillows will never dare get a lump after her maidens' onslaught." Niviryn paused and flipped the dirk into a new postion and continued her graceful actions. "Moreover, I am quite certain the tasks are well attended to well beyond my aptitude. I only hinder the campaign."

Her father shook his head and let out a sigh as he pushed his body off the embellished door frame and went to the seat placed before his workbench.

"Little Sparrow," Niviryn cringed at the pet name her father used. "I know all too well that your heart does not find satisfaction in the way as your aunt does and I do not wish to force such onto you…"

Niviryn stopped twirling the dirk and her eyes shot to her father's back. A wash of relief cleansed her soul, feeling as though she was about to be set free from her prison of serving platters and laundry baskets. She opened her lips to begin gracing her father with thanks and praise…

"But I must ask of you a favor..." he turned to look at his daughter whose lips fell closed. "Please be at your aunt's assistance while our honored guests remain within our city."

Oledon watched his daughter's slight shoulders slump in disappointment. Though it was widely known his daughter was not the most obedient she-elf in the West, she always heeded the requests of her father, even though in her own interpretations of such. Niviryn's eye eyes stared into the gleaming steel of the dirk, into the face of nothing more than a common chambermaid, she lamented. A sneer suddenly mired her angular and flawless face and she replaced the blade to the work table with a less than lady-like gentleness. Her slender, yet strong forearms crossed over the light-suede vest that laced up her bodice and her chin turned towards the yonder falls of the South Fork.

"If you ask of me, I shall comply…" she replied monotonously. Her head suddenly turned back to her father with brows raised. "But I won't guarantee the quality of my services. My patience shares little fortitude for the crispness of folds and freshness of lavatories…" Niviryn proclaimed with her hands held in up premeditated innocence.

Oledon craned his neck and glanced her way.

"One would think for all the hours you can spend hunched over a scrap of parchment, recording every fine line and shadow of a floriven tree, your attention could be held by such simple tasks for more than a blink of an eye." He quipped.

A small smile quirked her rosy lips and Niviryn approached where he sat. He spoke truth, Niviryn could spend three hours with her drawing pad and quil in lap. Her other sought after skill was her artistic ability. Lord Elrond frequented her talent for illustrations of the tales and histories Middle Earth, of which he recorded into the many books of his vast library.

She leaned down and placed a firm, yet loving arm around his shoulder.

"And how long would the task of sitting in on the discussions of council peak your interests, dear Ada…" she slyly interjected.

Oledon again sighed and pressed his lips together, acknowledging his defeat in this particular spar with his talented daughter.

"I would rather find my thump between hammer and anvil…" he replied.

Niviryn smiled and bestowed a quick kiss on his sculpted cheekbone. Diplomacy and politics was the furthest from his liking or skill level. Though Lord Elrond and Master Oledon share a long time friendship founded in respect and brotherhood, neither could disagree more on such a subject. Oledon avoided the counsel patio like an Orc avoided sunlight and soap.

"Twas what I expected…" she affirmed with a touch of swagger in voice and straighten back up to her full height..

Oledon reached up and patted her hand that lay on his shoulder. He truly hated reigning back his daughter's strong and able will, but letting a spirited horse roam wild as it pleased was just as dangerous to it's being if hobbled and stockaded. If she'd been born a son, she'd be of the upmost regard amongst their people. Both able in her skill of combat and negotiation, she would have made a fine captain or emissary of Rivendell. However, the matter of her gender would not make a difference in her fate. His youngest child still would bear a heavy burden that both entitled and hampered her happiness.

"Please, do this for me…" he asked, looking into his daughter's green eyes, an action that always rendered him spellbound for a moment. Only one other person had eyes such as those of his daughter.

Niviryn sighed dejectedly, but she'd known from beginning of this conversation she would inevitably heed her father's request.

"Of course I will…but don't expect me to receive enjoyment from it…"