[Nimavel Mynendil]

With lithe Calairiel wrapped in his arms, the Heru Mynendil breathed a little easier. It was true that he had never imagined himself as an adoptive father, but that moment had come anyway. And he had never believed that he would be a true father either, but it was imminent nonetheless. The assassin’s life was changing, albeit expectedly, and he was in for a most wild ride.

Running his slender digits through her beautiful silver hair, the assassin rested his right hand at Calairiel’s waist and the other upon her hip. He treasured moments like these, those rare occasions in which his emotions were oftentimes sublimated through his actions, and Calairiel was the sole recipient of them.

She would always be.

“The children will be excited…”

Nimavel said softly, brushing a light kiss across Calairiel’s lips. Resting his forehead against hers, the assassin’s pointed nose touched hers gently.

“And we have much to do before the baby arrives…”

A trace of a smile appeared upon the elf lord’s face, though it was only short-lived as was customary. Aside the obvious meaning behind the statement, there was more to it than Nimavel’s mundane choice of words conveyed. The Conclave of Shadows had not yet expanded to its pinnacle of influence, and there was indeed much work to be done, cities to be controlled, and enemies to be felled.

In time, though. For now the assassin would earnestly relish in the prospective joy to come. He had Calairiel, and she, along with the children, were all that mattered in the elf lord’s life. Business could wait for now, and even if it couldn’t, it could be carried on by those who Nimavel had come to trust as his right hand elves.

“I worry for Alassiel…”

Nimavel later said, pointedly meeting Calairiel’s gaze.