Gift Exchange

Many mettarë's worth of presents stored away: fur-lined cloaks with embroidered facings; delicate-stemmed crystal goblets; aged Dorthonian wine; a chest carved of aromatic woods; more.

Arwen cradled the rusty scrap of linen and carefully peeled back the corners. "He is well?"

The young Ranger swayed with exhaustion and nodded. "The blood is not his, Lady."

The tiny flower within had been carved with a belt knife and polished with a drop of cooking oil. Opened further, one leaf and two petals fell away.

"Tell him I cherish it."

Arwen turned and fled the Hall so none would see her tears.

(100 words)