She owes a debt for which she cannot pay. A debt through a man she'd met in passing perhaps seven times, a man who was more stranger to her than father. A debt by which dealings were made before she was even born. She owes this debt now since her father met his end fighting a battle alongside men. It is a debt to a king she'd only ever heard stories of. She cannot pay this debt, she works in service to the king until it is deemed fulfill.
Her blood is of man and elf, such as her father's was, such was the only trait they shared. A being mixed of races was hardly ever taken well, even if she proved to be more elf than man. Striking elegant features that far surpassed the appearance of women and men, but not nearly as perfect as those of full blooded elves. She was not light of step or graceful like the elves, but she did not age so drastically as men. She was a blight among both races, never belonging anywhere... until her place was found... in the King's bed.
.
It was tradition. No one thought ill of the practice. In fact, some were quite inspired by it; anxious and enthusiastic, leading their lives by it. Every quarter of a century the youthful of the wood elves, maiden and suitor alike, were all gathered to stand in the grand hall of the throne room for the King's choosing. It did not matter the status of the elf, as long as one was within the preferred age range they stood before the King, putting themselves forth in offering.
She did not know of these ways, of this practice among the wood elves, having lived amongst men with her mother, and still after her mother. She had assumed her debt would slowly be paid by way of servitude as one of the many kitchen maids, nothing more; but here she found herself, standing in a line among lines of many female and male elves far superior than her in height, beauty and elegance.
The past proved that the King generally chose between one and five elves, never favouring one gender over the other, and of course, choosing ones he believed the most exquisite of the assemblage.
She had no worries, then. Though she stuck out of the assortment like a worm amidst eagles. All the elves around her were dressed in their very bests, ranging from the finest linens to ceremonial armour. Some were even scantily clad in just a strip of silk, leaving little to the imagination, but a more honest advertising of what they offered. It made a blush rise from her chest, painting her neck and all the way to the pointed tips of her ears, not only in the lack of modesty but because of her own state of dress. Even the less wealthy of the proffered elves dressed leagues better than her. But she was just a lowly kitchen maid, made so by a debt her father had failed to complete repayment before he died. Her dress was made of the coarsest, cheapest fabric, thinking of it now, had she been warned, she would've changed into the dress her mother had made her thirty years ago, the material was no better than what she wore now, but it fit better, it would've seemed like a better attempt. Her maid's apron lay over the top, stained by food and wine and splashed by soapy water. Fingernails dried out, cracked and chipped, her hands twiddled together restlessly in front of her navel. Hair nearly dark as coal, thick but soft, not as effortlessly neat and straight as most elves, managed into something workable; two small plaits, running from either side of her temples to just behind her earlobes, clipped by brass beads, the bulky remainder of her hair and the plaits hauled together with a short length of string, hanging from the center of the back of her skull looking akin to the tail of a pony. Her hair was a hard thing to keep clean and tidy, and this day was no different.
In the forefront of her mind she knew there was no way she would be chosen and that was a great relief; she would simply stand here until the so-called lucky few were picked and the ceremony ended. So she let her thoughts wander, and more often than not when she let her thoughts wander she found herself wondering just what it was that her father had made an accord over with the Elven King, what could it have possibly been that not even a century of repayment had even breached the half way mark.
The King entered the hall when all were settled in, quiet, standing, waiting. His statuesque form gliding through the masses, his steward trailing behind him, just as, but still not nearly, as elegant as his majesty.
He stood before them, in front of the steps of his grand throne and simply gazed upon them. Some of them shying their eyes away immediately, others, in show of strength or a tantalizing act rebellion, only relenting when his silvery blue study lingered upon them until they finally bowed their heads in respect or fear, he didn't care which it was. For a long while he simply combed over the proffered mass from where he stood, already cutting down his pick to twenty from the probable hundred elves. Thranduil strode forward finally, stepping delicately and easily through the rows, stopping before possible prospects, running his fingers through soft hair, a finger tip against silken skin, leaning into inhale a scent. Most he would continue on from, three he nodded shortly for.
It was when he stopped before her that a new type of silence hung over the crowd. For all she seemed to have her head in the clouds with the King stood right in front of her, she didn't seem to notice his presence, her eyes holding a far away look, the corner of a dry, chapped lip held captive between her teeth. She looked the very image of disturbed in a sea of elegance and grace. So far away was she that she only heard the tail end of a question, and far too slowly she realised it was directed at her. She startled out of her reverie upon seeing the King and his steward stood before her, chancing a sharp glance around her, she saw the other elves were staring fiercely, some in envy, some in shock, and most in revulsion. She looked back to the King but couldn't manage to meet his shimmering gaze, instead she looked to his steward, the elf who had received her and assigned her work placement.
"- consent?" was the word she had heard from the King's deep, rich tone, the first she'd ever heard of his voice, and it shook her to her very foundations.
Consent was implied by simply standing in attendance, but she assumed they all forgot about the little detail that said 'required presence'. She couldn't manage a word, couldn't even utter a syllable. It was her duty to agree as a citizen of the Greenwood, but her mind was screaming, no, no, no, she refused to be a doll for an ancient king to play with, to do with as he pleased. Her lips had parted in an attempt to reply, and that was as far as she managed.
The steward rolled his eyes briefly before he said, "She consents, my Lord."
"I would prefer it if she spoke on her own behalf." The King, the steward, the whole hall of elven youths looked on and waited for her answer. The steward's eyes narrowed on her in an unspoken threat and she shrank away from it, eyes downcast as she struggled to steady her pulse thundering in her ears.
She herself just barely heard her whimpered answer, "Y-Yes." Her glance rose just in time to see a slight smirk stretch the left corner of the King's lips before he turned sharply on his heel and swiftly took his leave.
When his presence was no longer in the hall the crowd erupted with quiet murmurings. Some immediately left to tend to their duties, some to their homes to change, and some stayed, eyes on the selected four; two silver haired elf maidens, one brunette suitor, and her. Most of the mutterings centered around her, though they daren't question the King's choice in consort, they could not believe it. She had not been in the Greenwood for longer than a season and she was blessed enough to be chosen. Not even full blooded, rather common, not presentable in the slightest, perhaps a bath and she would appear decent; these comments and much more were said, but she did not hear a single one.
Her breath had left her in a gust the instant the King left, as if she had been holding it in the entirety of the ceremony. Her pulse was still thumping loud and hard in her chest and her ears, everything muffled, and slightly blurry, she thought she would have passed out had it not been for one of the other chosen, the suitor, touching her arm, saying something and guiding her toward the other two where they stood with the king's steward and another she-elf of the court.
She held a scroll of parchment before her, her eyes set on in but not moving along with the words she read, like she'd read it so many times before she knew it like a song rather than an official document.
"As bedmate to the King you will be called on at any hour of the day or night. Once called upon you will stop whatever you are occupied with, you will first be escorted to the bath adjoining his majesty's chambers, briefly washed down and dressed in a shift or nothing at all, depending on specifications. From there you will be delivered to his majesty's chambers and you will tend to his needs as he requires. As a chatelaine to our King Thranduil of the Great Greenwood of the Woodland Realm should you accept his seed and carry his child you will be relieved from all duties and waited on in the healing rooms until the child is born. Producing an heir will not allot you divine right in the kingdom, but you will be given special arrangements within the royal halls and reassigned your duties when you are able."
The she-elf continued, but her voice was just a distant rumbling in her ears. Her stomach had dropped, and her fingers linked together clenched and unclenched in an infrequent spastic pattern. To accept the King's seed and carry his child to term, how had she not factored that thought in. Well, she hadn't because she knew she would not have been selected. Yet here she stood, among the three other chosen; the three others who didn't look scared in the slightest. The suitor seemed in well enough spirits, in elven terms, which didn't afford much, and the other two maidens, they looked nearly as superior and regal as the King himself. She felt horribly out of place, and startled back into her place when the she-elf locked her eyes on her, catching the latter half of her final words to the selected, "-will not speak unless spoke to, move unless acknowledged, or depart until given direction by the King."
The other three offered a slight inclination of their heads in way of accepting and understanding these terms. Too fearful to ask for reiteration of what she might have missed, she followed their example, and tried to lessened the tremble in her fiddling fingers. The she-elf rolled up her parchment and stepped aside, the steward taking the place where she had stood.
A sudden thought presented itself in her head then, the steward, her debt, her oath - she wondered if this might lessen it, or perhaps it might repay the debt quicker. She would have to inquire, but in much more formal a way than that.
"Later on you will bathed and dressed for tonight's festivities - a celebration of the King's new chosen consorts. You will be escorted and presented before court and kingdom. The King many request one, two, three or all of you when he chooses to retire for the night. You will comply."
That last bit was undoubtedly meant just for her, only because of how he had looked directly at her as he said it; that threatening look in his eyes that was meant to scare her into submission seemed to, at the same moment, dare her to step just a toe out of line so he could incur his wrath upon her.
"For now you will be shown to your new accommodations. You have my felicitations, and welcome to the palace. Until tonight..." the steward as cordial and professional as ever, gave a short bow and dismissed himself. Clearly her query would have to wait. The she-elf stood before them again and encouraged them to follow her. Through wide gallant halls and elegant stone stair ways they were delivered to the King's hall, his chambers were in the east end of the hall, theirs in the west. Simple enough, the she-elf explained, and deposited each of them to their own arrangements.
The youngest of the chosen elves stood in her room; a room that was most likely three times the size of the homestead she was born and raised in. The bed was enormous and offered such a comfort that she had no idea was possible of existing. The wardrobe was huge, but empty, but there was a promise that it would soon be full with many gowns. The longer she explored her new room, the more her heart lifted from its gloomy, fearful depths. And as she lie on her new bed, the impossibly soft mattress and linens cradling her body, she sighed, contented. This was a life she could endure.
She'd drifted off, she wasn't sure how long, but all too soon it seemed, she was startled awake by three raps on her chamber door. New to this and unsure of how to proceed, she stuttered out for whoever it was to enter, the door pushed open and in strode in two hand maidens, claiming it was time for her to be bathed and dressed before the celebration.
And the gravity of the situation hit her all over again. She was not a guest here, she had not suddenly come into a respectable title and was finally receiving her deserved compensation. She was the King's consort, a chosen lover. She couldn't do this, she could not endure.
.
.
.
Note: Mind that I had written this a couple months or so prior to viewing The Desolation of Smaug, so the kingdom I created is not accurate to the kingdom displayed in DOS. I imagine mine is much safe; no skinny path ways held aloft an endless abyss. I mean! Even Erebor is like that! Shit's not regulation safe! How many people have been hella drunk and tipped off the edge never to be seen again?! Dwarves and Elves need to get their shit together and invest in constructing some goddamn hand rails. Anyway... Where was I going with this. Uhh! This is probably gonna be a three parter deal. Can we expect smut? Hmmmm, in tastefully written small doses, perhaps... so expect the rating to go up, or I'll just rate it M at the start.
And the title is sort of working, but at the same time, it can be taken in many different forms, so I think I'll keep it.
