Frost stretched luxuriously, popping her spine half a dozen times. This bed was very, very comfortable. She wondered, absently, what it must be like to sleep in a bed like this every night. Her home in Umbar, the Rookery, was nice, but this, this was royalty. She’d never felt sheets so soft. Actually, the more she thought, the more she realized that might not be completely true. The sheets on Sombelenë’s bed were utterly extravagant, like the woman herself. These were still very comfortable though. She laced up her corset, feeling the fabric hug her curved figure like a glove. It felt just as nice to be in her corset as out of it. She grinned and looked over at Zôr, who seemed very pleased with himself. And why shouldn’t he? She wasn’t sure what sort of boldness had gotten ahold of him here in Rivendell, but she hoped it lasted much, much longer. Speaking of lasting, “Darling, we should probably make our way back down to the party. There would be hell to pay if we’re going in these chambers.” She had had her fun, stolen a fair amount of valuable information, broken enough statues, revealed enough secrets, and messed about just enough. It was time to leave. She looked at Zôrzagar’s handiwork with the statues and nodded her approval. “Very nice dear. They look so much happier now. Don’t you think?” Frost had heard stories about the Lord of Imladris, unflattering tales about presence and it’s effect on the local feminine population. She learned a side of him tonight that put him in a much better light, in her mind. Consensual, healthy, and fun. It really was too bad Celebrían had famously sailed West. Frost was certain there were things she could have learned from the Elven Queen.
Oh well, she mused as she finished getting dressed. Likely, it was for the best. The more she looked around this room, the more she realized it was nothing but a façade covering a decaying, wasting landscape. Sure, the power of the Elves kept natural desolation at bay, but only just and only for so long. It would not be long before this pretty little house and these prissy little people were swallowed up by the unrelenting march of time. Númenóreans such as herself understood what time was and what it did. Elves though, elves were as oblivious to the true ravages of time as the worms are to the politics of the birds that eat them. Umbar was an ugly city, it was brutal and harsh and unfriendly, it only allowed the strongest people to thrive, but at least it was real. The foundations of the city and the harbor would last another three thousand years. Rivendell was a pretty, colorful masque on decaying corpse, a wen on the arse of Middle-Earth, a feculent Eden. She sneered. The more she thought, the more she realized she hated this room and all it stood for. It wasn’t a room where a real person could live, this was a living tomb. She spat angrily, her mood soured.
“Come now, my darling Fire Sword. It is high time we leave this hell pit to the star spawn that it… entertains.” She could not help herself but smile at little as she looked around once more. There would be no question that someone knew a very particular secret. Still she wanted to burn the entire manor to the ground. Fire, though, wasn’t really Frost’s style. It was too quick, too impulsive. She touched the walls and doors as she left. Cobwebs and tiny black widow spiders spilled out of her and became to cover the elaborately decorated walls the way the cold covers the glass on a cold night. The patterns were a beauty only to her and the children she’d set loose in the room. They would hide soon, waiting and watching for their opportunity. She was content with that, for now. She knew there would be more to come. She would be patient. Soon, everything was going to get caught in her web and nothing in the world could be done without her consent or her forethought. Control. Manipulation. Traps. They were all hers, gifts from The Hidden Machination.
She exited the chambers and stalked her way back through the mazelike manse. Zôr was behind her, she could feel his presence close to her, so close. She fancied she could still feel his heart beat against her skin. This really had turned into a decadently advantageous journey. She pitied the fool she’d drowned in the fountain in the White City, he would have been so awed by the culture surrounding her. Almost. He hadn’t deserved this honor, that was meant for her and her partner, the future king of Umbar. She looked back once to look at him, framed in wispy, pale moonlight. She looked at the moon for a moment. It seemed different as it hung in the sky tonight. Almost like it was empty or something. She chided herself and chuckled. What a strange idea.
They re-entered the courtyard to thunderous applause. Far from embarrassed, Frost took Zôr by her side and whispered in his ear, “Apparently I’m not the only one that thinks you did a wonderful job.” She giggled, an odd girlish sound from the tall woman. She took in the applause for a moment, then realized it was, in fact for her. The ARPYs, as it turned out, were some sort of award presentation ceremony. Her name had been called out just before they entered and then again just a moment ago. Two awards? A malevolent grin spread over her face. She waved at her fans (who knew she’d have fans in the heart of elvendom) with a queen like dignity. She watched all their faces as they watched her, enraptured by the statuesque figure. She saw the Lord himself, cloistered far from the action. Poor man. She threw him a wink. Whether he saw it or not was not her concern. She had far more interesting things to think about and maneuver than one old elfling.
She ascended the stairs of the dais, ever inch the queen of black stars. She looked over at the musicians and it was as if there was a psychic connection between them. They began to play a militaristic entrance song that perfect matched the feral majesty on display. She accepted the awards, she hadn’t heard what they were for but the “why” was never important. The statues were heavy, metallic things. Beautifully carved and proportioned. She had no idea what she’d be doing with them once the night was over (perhaps there was an underground market she could tap for elven award paraphernalia). She accepted the second award, looked the presenter up and down for a moment, then noticed the entourage that seemed to hang on her every word. She winked. There would be time for that sort of thing later. Now, she needed to give a speech.
“My dear gathered friends and confidantes,” she began, “I am humbled by your interest and your belief in me. These awards mean more to me than I can articulately put into words. I am truly alight with the foundational brightness of creation. I never dreamed in all my years that such awards could one day be mine. Thank you. Thank you so much. These awards, I see, are a request from you to me, to continue in the work that I have been so diligent at, the continue the mechanizing and moving and shaking. I will not let you down. With the most artful words I can express to you, faithful watchers and listeners, I promise that I shall not let you down. Not even for an instant. With the empty spaces between the stars as my witness, I will endeavor to bring the darkness and create a world we can all be a little more at ease in. Thank you again. Thank you from the bottom of my black heart. We will pillage the stars, and make their vengeance our own!”
