[Nerwen]

In another shadowy corner, a second cloaked figure shuddered at the sound of that belch.

Alatariel Moonflower relied on her delicate hearing nearly as much as on the special ability– a gift from the Valar, her grandmother had told her– which enabled her to feel the world around her even though her emerald eyes were sightless.

With the blare of coarse music and coarser voices assaulting her second-most important sense, she felt sick and disoriented. She was unused to mortals– her father would not let her associate even with the Dúnedain– and had never realised they were so uncouth.

"What am I doing here?" she whispered. Her long, slender hands clasped a mug of the sour-smelling drink the innkeeper had called "ale", but she had not yet summoned up the courage to take a sip. "I don't belong here... but then... where do I belong?"

Running away from home had seemed like such a good idea at the time, a way to prove to her father once and for all that she could take care of herself; a way to escape the barely-concealed contempt of other Elves; a way to forget... Glorfindel.

She had loved the Elf-lord ever since she could remember, loved him for his noble spirit and the sweet music of his voice– but she knew she was nothing to him. He might not despise her, as others did, for her handicap and her mongrel heritage, but to him she was merely Master Elrond's blind daughter– to be cared for and pitied, but never, never to be desired.

A choking sob escaped Moonflower's perfectly-sculpted lips, and from her beautiful, sightless eyes slid a single, shining tear.

It was just like a drop of quicksilver, only not poisonous.