Yes, you heard that right! It's a continuation of my very first shipfic, which wound up being posted in 2017. This is the continuation, which seems to have been started in 2018, and has now expanded interestingly. (For historical context: Maedhros was originally Delta Juliette in this. She hasn't opted in this year, as of when I checked a few seconds ago, so I've left out her name this time.) And yes, you can absolutely blame hS for the sequel :P
*
It was a strange time in Middle-earth.
The beautiful half-Elf, half-Maia Tinuvion, otherwise Phobos by name, had come to steal a Silmaril from the crown which the Dread Kaitlyn had taken with her in her flight to the North.
The human Neshomeh, Phobos’ beloved, had previously escaped the Dread Kaitlin's dungeons with her life, if not her hand or the companion she had arrived there with.
Huinesoron, elven Lord of Netilardo, was dead. This was sad news for Neshomeh, who had called him from Netilardo in the first place. It was also sad news for the inhabitants of Netilardo, who began to chafe under the rule of the two of a certain well-formed Elf’s siblings, who had earlier turned their minds from Huinesoron.
It was wonderful news for the Dread Kaitlyn: after all, she had stolen Huinesoron away with her to the North, and was more than pleased to discover that there would, in fact, be no one attempting his rescue.
*
“Someone will come for me eventually,” Huinesoron said mildly. His hands were bound in front of him; of course, the Dread Kaitlyn's choice of binding had been a silk scarf, which might have influenced his state of mind. “You won’t be able to keep me here forever.”
“Forever and a day,” said the Dread Kaitlyn. The not-so-keen observer might have spotted a note of glee in her voice. The keener observer might have realized that it was far more than a note. “You see, I’ve had word. They think you dead.”
“I’m not dead, though,” Huinesoron said after a moment. He shifted, stretching his legs out on the...well, it couldn’t really be called anything other than a bed. Maybe a couch, if one had never seen a couch before. It had sheets and was actually fairly soft. “Someone will figure it out eventually.”
The Dread Kaitlyn leaned towards him, bending one knee upon the bed. “Not for a very, very long time. If ever. No, Huinesoron—you are mine.”
“Am I?”
The Dread Kaitlyn waved a hand. Her pointed look took in his bonds, and the general fact that she was the one in a position to look down at him.
“Hm,” said Huinesoron. “I suppose you have something of a point.”
“I am going to keep you here until the Last Age of Arda comes to an end,” the Dread Kaitlyn told him. The gleeful note grew stronger once more. “No one shall steal you from me even then.”
“I should think we might come to desire a change of scenery, in all that time,” the Elf pointed out. “Another room, perhaps, or a field…”
As if in answer, the room began to rumble.
The Dread Kaitlyn looked over her shoulder; Huinesoron glanced around, frowning.
“What—?”
The rumble paused, only to return, louder than before.
“What is this?” Huinesoron called, pitching his voice loud enough to be heard.
“I do not—aah!”
The floor shifted and buckled, sending the Dread Kaitlyn stumbling. Huinesoron pitched forward, cursing the scarf that bound his hands; the Dread Kaitlyn’s flailing hand found and latched onto his ankle. Together, they pulled her up.
“We ought to—” Huinesoron began, and the room...
...vanished.
*
When the blinding light faded, and their vision cleared, a new room came into view. It was small, with dingy white walls and a single window, through which could be seen—
Well, very little, really, considering it was night and there seemed to be a wall some small distance away.
“Where are we?” Huinesoron asked. His bright eyes examined their new location, and found much for the Elf to puzzle over. “What manner of place is this?”
The Dread Kaitlyn raised herself into a sitting position and frowned at the room. “I...have no idea.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Was it you who brought us here?”
Huinesoron laughed in her face. “I do not have that power. Was it you who brought us here?”
“It was not,” said the Dread Kaitlyn. Carefully, she tested the floor and then got off the bed. Soon after, she glanced over her shoulder, mischief glinting in her eyes. “There appears to be a door. Perhaps I should open it.”
Huinesoron raised his eyebrows. “If this is a new torment, it seems an ineffective one.”
The Dread Kaitlyn appeared to be keeping herself from rolling her eyes; then, she turned the plain metal knob and opened the painted door.
Beyond was a larger room, sporting some furniture and a mortal woman seated at a plain wooden table with her back to them. At the sound of the Dread Kaitlyn taking a step forward, she turned; the Dread Kaitlyn stiffened in place.
“Oh, hey, nice costume,” Neshomeh said, with every appearance of friendliness. “It’s a little early, though, isn’t it?”
“Early?” the Dread Kaitlyn repeated.
“Mm,” said Neshomeh. She turned further, revealing the presence of her second hand, wrapped around a spoon. Huinesoron leaned precariously to one side to stare. “Halloween isn’t for another few months. Still, it’s nice to iron out the details...early…” Her eyes caught on Huinesoron—or, more accurately, on Huinesoron’s hands. “Uh.” She cleared her throat. “Listen, if you two want to...be alone, I’m actually planning to go out soon—I could speed it up—?”
Huinesoron was trying very hard to come up with a response that did not simply point out the return of Neshomeh’s second hand (!) when another door opened.
--
A/N: This twist courtesy of roundabout inspiration from the "Elves don't get sick" exchange below. Onward to silliness! Or drama. One or the other. We shall see (hopefully sooner than 2022)!
