silmaril-pityafinwe:
Pityafinwë made her way up spiralling stairs and corridors until she came to the bed chamber of the mistress. She knocked and waited for an enter before going in.
“Ah, Pityafinwë. I’m glad you could come. I would like you to go to the forest and pick some berries. Very special berries that our cooks need.”
Pitya looked at the elleth and nodded, “Yes, my lady. Can anyone come with me? I am not armed.”
The mistress looked at the door and nodded. “The huntsman will escort you.” She had a sly smile on her face, knowing she had ordered him prior to kill Pityafinwë in the forest. “Now run along, dear and be back in time for dinner.”
It was too late in the afternoon to travel back to Alqualondë, so Arvo took the longer route through the woods to his Tirion residence, musing over what he had learnt. Fëanor had been in a predictably bad mood – though he was knew his brother was perfectly affable when Nolofinwë wasn’t the topic of conversation – but Pityafinwë’s comment on his mistress was worrying. The familiar sensation of dread that accompanied a premonition settled over him. Something wasn’t right. Maybe the answer would come to him after he got home had a nap.
Pitya had got her basket and was being closely followed by the hunter, who seemed to watch her every move. Eventually, she settled down beside a bush and began to carefully pick the berries, making sure not to squeeze them. She looked behind at the right time, seeing the elf brandishing his sword to her.
“Why?” Was all Pitya could say.
The hunter sighed, bringing his sword down. “She wants you dead.” His voice shaky. “Better me than you. Now run!”
Pitya quickly scrambled to her feet, abandoned her basket and ran into the forest as quick as her legs would go. She only had one place in mind to go to for help.
