"You have gone too far this time, Isilwen," Erestor said as he dragged her down the corner by her elbow. He pulled her roughly, squeezing so hard that she thought she must be bruising.

"Erestor, you're hurting me," she said in a small voice, trying to keep up with his longer strides. Her brother was not much taller than her, certainly not as tall as most Elves, but he was quick in his anger.

"Be thankful that I do not beat you," Erestor said.

"You would not! You have never!" Isilwen protested.

"It is not too soon to start." He propelled her through the door of the rooms they shared, a luxurious suite which they had moved into when Erestor was promoted to Chief Advisor. "Isilwen, you are lucky indeed that Lord Elrond is the most kind and noble of Elves. I have never known another who would dismiss so lightly behavior such as you have exhibited. In our homeland a female would be executed without a second thought for such antics!"

Isilwen grew pale at his words. "Do we come from such a barbaric place then? You have never told me about it--"

"And I never will. We are of Rivendell now and you need know no more. We are lucky, Isilwen, lucky to be with Lord Elrond. And yet you would jeopardize that with your foolish crushes and inappropriate behavior!" Erestor was furious, his black eyes flashing as he spoke, his voice never raised, but his anger more than apparent in his tone.

Tears sprang to Isilwen's eyes. "I cannot help that I love Lord Elrond," she whispered, choking back a sob.

"You will help it. If you do not I will find you a husband."

"No! You cannot! I will not--"

Erestor seized her wrist and she gasped. "I have every right to do so, and Lord Elrond will support me in this, have no doubt."

"You always promised me I could marry for love," Isilwen said, tears streaming down her cheeks now.

Erestor softened slightly, letting go of her arm. "And I wish to keep that promise, Isilwen," he said. "But you cannot keep pulling these immature stunts."

"I am sorry, Erestor. Truly sorry. You know I would never purposely endanger your position as Chief Advisor."

"You have too much freedom, and you abuse it. You need looking after, and I have too many responsibilities to mind you as I should. Choose a husband soon, or I will do it for you."

"Oh…okay," Isilwen said, her mind racing. Choose a husband? The task seemed near impossible. The only two males Elves she ever spent time with were Haldir’s brothers... But, Oro and Rúmil loved each other -- she doubted that either would ever take a bride, even her, to save her from catastrophe.

Erestor nodded. "I think that you should spend the rest of this day in here, meditating on the possible consequences of your actions," he said shortly. "Now, I must go and greet the Hobbit party before Lord Elrond gets there before me."

"All right."

"I shall see you at dinner, as Lord Elrond is expecting us. There I expect you to be meek and mild and say nothing. Also, I wish you to end your association with Rúmil and Orophin of Lorien. They are troublemakers."

"They are my best friends!"

"Another example of your poor judgment. I will hear no more on it. I am leaving."

"May I go to the garden to pluck the herb for my face?" Isilwen lifted her hand to cut she had acquired falling through the ceiling.

Erestor stood for a long moment staring at her, then shook his head. "No. You are not to leave this chamber. You may clean it with water."

"But Elrond said it would scar!"

"Perhaps it will. Then you will have a permanent reminder of how not to behave."

"Erestor!"

He did not answer, only turned and left. Isilwen was mortified, absolutely mortified, but she dared not disobey and go out to get the herb for herself. She ran and threw herself onto her bed, crying into her pillow. Too quickly it was stained with blood and tears. After a few minutes she lifted her head, taking deep breaths to calm herself. She lifted her chin defiantly. Let it scar, then. Let everyone see how badly Erestor had treated her. So be it.

Isilwen found the pitcher of water they always kept in their rooms and did her best to clean off the cuts and scratches. They were minor, really, aside from the one across her cheek. Orophin and Rúmil were probably worse off than she was -- but then again they were probably allowed to use herbs to heal their wounds. She really wanted to sneak out and find Rúmil and Orophin, to make sure they had not been treated too harshly by Haldir. She had faith that Lord Elrond would not punish them too despicably. He was not the sort.

To never see them again! Isilwen could not bear the thought. Yet Erestor could not truly stop her from that. After all, they would be at the dinner tonight, without a doubt. Even if she followed Erestor's command, there would be no way of stopping them from talking to her. Often they sought her out, which was the reason she called them friend. No other Elves looked for her company.

After Erestor had left her alone, she had spent the afternoon remembering how kind Elrond had been, how he had helped her up, had brushed the glass off of her, had examined her face. It was almost as if he really might care about her in return. She could still see the concern on his face in her mind. It made her heart pound in her chest to think about it.

The only husband she wanted was Elrond, and he already had a wife. Even though Celebrian was gone to the Undying lands, they were still bound to one another. What had she been thinking in loving Elrond? The best she could ever hope for was to be his lover. That was what she wanted -- that which Erestor would never consent to. What would he do if Elrond took her to his bed? Would he force them to leave Rivendell? Isilwen knew no other home. Wanted no other home.

Yet she knew also that the time in Rivendell was ending. All of the Elves, including Elrond, would go soon to the Undying lands. Was that not why the Hobbits had come, to sail with Elrond? She knew that she and Erestor would sail with Elrond. What would she do when she saw him greet Celebrian on that distant shore?

The day crept by. She spent half of the afternoon trying to decide which dress to wear to dinner. It should not have been a difficult decision as she had not so many dresses to choose from, but it was all she had to occupy her mind. She changed her clothing, then sewed the holes that the glass had torn in the gown she had had on in the morning. She was an expert seamstress, mostly out of necessity. Isilwen always seemed to be ripping her garments, usually because she was somewhere she should not have been doing something she should not have been doing.

Finally Erestor arrived to escort her to the banquet hall. He looked to be in no better of a mood than he was when he had left her, so she said nothing to him. She saw his eyes slide over her cut face, but he did not comment on that. In icy silence they walked together down the corridor until they spotted the three Lorien Elves coming from the other direction. Immediately Rúmil and Orophin lit up, calling out her name down the hall.

Isilwen glanced at Erestor who was glaring at them. Haldir mirrored his look, and held up his arm to prevent his brothers from running down the hall to greet her. Isilwen smiled at them weakly, afraid to do more than that. She noted that they did not dare pass Haldir. She wished he would not hold them back. She wished they would run to her and take her away from Erestor and his sense of moral outrage.

“Haldir of Lorien,” Erestor said in a haughty tone. “I would that you keep your brothers away from my sister before they have corrupted her utterly.”

“I assure you, Erestor, that her corruption has little to do with them,” Haldir snarled back.

“You insult my sister.”

“You insult my brothers. Erestor, I have no quarrel with you. Let it remain that way.” In the Marchwarden’s tone there seemed to be a note of warning.

“Haldir!” said Orophin, but Haldir turned around and gave his brother a glare that might have turned a lesser Elf to stone.

“Let us not keep Lord Elrond from his dinner,” Haldir said, steering the two of them into the banquet hall.

“How can you do this?” Isilwen whispered angrily to Erestor. “I am not so rich in friends as to be able to afford to lose them. I see them seldom enough as it is.”

“You have seen them far more than I would like, of late,” Erestor said stiffly. “I would that Lord Elrond would send them back to Lothlorien. Surely Lady Galadriel needs her Marchwarden. You, on the other hand, do not need them.”

“You are wrong.”

“Do not argue this with me now,” Erestor said. “I agree very little with Haldir of Lorien, but on one count he is correct. We should not keep Lord Elrond from his dinner!”

He took her elbow again, and Isilwen could only be grateful that his grip was not so bruising this time as he steered her into the banquet hall. The hall was a huge room, and Isilwen could remember the days when it had been fair teeming with Elves. Elrond always gave wonderful parties. Now, the room seemed nearly empty, there were so few Elves left in Rivendell, and not many of them had come tonight. Still nearly a hundred bodies were present, including the large party that had arrived today from the Shire.

Isilwen looked over at them as Erestor led her to the far end of the large table where they always sat with Elrond. Lord Elrond was at the center of the table, as always. Next to him were Legolas Greenleaf, the Princess Ciendriel, Haldir, Orophin, and Rúmil. Erestor would sit to Rúmil’s left, and she next to Erestor. To the right of Elrond was the wizard Gandalf, whom Isilwen had seen many times, but never spoken to herself. She knew he was a dear friend to Elrond. Next to him was Gimli the Dwarf, then Bilbo Baggins, the oldest of the Hobbits, his nephew Frodo, and a passel of other Hobbits who Isilwen could not keep straight.

No, there were not so many, she realized as Erestor finally let go of her so she might sit down. There were two males, and if she thought hard enough she could recall their names. They were the ones Elrond had complained about last time they were here. She had never figured out exactly what they had done, but apparently it was something that embarrassed and pained Elrond profoundly. There were also two females, one who had been with them last time they were in Rivendell, and a new one. The four Hobbits seemed to be paired off.

Isilwen glanced jealously at Legolas, who had the prized seat next to Elrond. She could scarcely see him from her seat at the far end of the table, a calculated move on her brother’s part, no doubt. Legolas, however, seemed far more interested in his Princess, who seemed to be having an argument with Haldir. The Marchwarden appeared to be in a very foul mood, even moreso than when they had seen him in the hallway. Isilwen wished she could hear what they were talking about, but it was noisy in the hall, and the food and wine had just been served. She picked at her plate, not hungry. She had no one to talk to. Rúmil had turned once to say something to her, but a glance from Erestor had made him think better of it.

“I tell you, I do not have it!” Haldir said loudly, banging his fist on the table. Ciendriel looked as though she did not believe him. She turned away, giving him her back, to face Legolas. Isilwen’s curiosity grew stronger.

After the food and many, many bottles of wine were gone, Elrond called for music and dancing. One pair of the Hobbits took to the floor immediately -- the other two sat sulkily at the table, and Isilwen wondered if they had had a lovers’ quarrel. She had drunk only as much wine as Erestor would allow her to have, so she felt none of the effects by now. Erestor rarely, if ever, touched wine at all. Haldir asked the Princess to dance, but predictably, she spurned his request. Suddenly Isilwen had an idea.

“Erestor, why do you not ask the Princess to dance?”

“I do not think it is my place to do so,” Erestor said.

“But you are a wonderful dancer, and as the Chief Advisor to Elrond, surely it would make a good impression on both him and the visitors.”

“The Princess does not wish to dance. She has turned down Haldir.”

“Perhaps she simply does not like Haldir any better than we do.”

This brought a rare smile to Erestor’s face. He rose immediately from his chair and requested a dance from Ciendriel, nodding graciously to Legolas as he did. The moment Erestor’s back was turned, Isilwen slid over one seat so she could talk to Oro and Rúmil. If he was angry about it later, so be it, but she knew he would not abandon the Princess mid-dance.

“Are you all right, Isilwen?” Rúmil said with concern. He brought his hand to her cheek, his thumb gliding over the cut. It stung, but she would not have had him remove his hand for anything.

“Erestor is in a rage about what happened this morning,” said Isilwen. “He has forbidden me from seeing the both of you again.”

Orophin leaned over his brother to speak with her as well. “He cannot prevent it. Let him try.”

“You really should have tended to this mark better,” Rúmil said. “I fear it will scar.”

“Erestor would not let me,” Isilwen said. She felt ashamed admitting it. She saw anger flash in the eyes of both brothers.

“He is a bastard,” Orophin snarled.

“I think it is not too late,” said Rúmil. “There’s an herb I spotted out in Elrond’s garden that should relieve the pain and remove the mark.”

“It doesn’t hurt,” Isilwen lied.

“Rúmil doesn’t know Amordalis from Mortamoris,” Orophin said. “Do not trust him to pick the right herb.”

Rúmil elbowed his brother in the ribs, scowling at him, then he sighed. “All right, Orophin is correct. Herbs are not my strongest point. But Haldir will know which one it is.”

Haldir turned towards them, evidently having heard his name. Isilwen looked over at the Marchwarden. Apparently he had just been sitting there enjoying his own company, as Legolas Greenleaf was deep in conversation with Elrond. He arched his eyebrows slightly, adding to his haughty appearance. In that moment, Isilwen loathed him even more than she had before.

“Are you vain enough to come stroll with me in the garden?” he asked, his lips curving. A chill ran through Isilwen. He seemed to be insinuating something which she did not quite understand.

“Even if I were,” she replied firmly, “My brother would never permit it.”

Haldir laughed softly. “I do not think you will ask his permission. Meet me out by that garish statue that Elrond likes so well at midnight. I’ll tend to your face.”

Isilwen opened her mouth to reply, but before anything could come out, Erestor came stalking back over to the table, his dance with the Princess evidently over. She waited for him to yell at her for talking to the Lorien Elves, but he merely took her by the elbow yet again and led her off.