And it begins! This story is set in the Halfblood Chronicles (Elvenbane series) by Mercedes Lackey and Andre Norton. It doesn't seem like anybody else in this category is writing about these books, so I hope you like. ^_^U (If anybody else does have a fanfic about this series let me know, huh? ^_^)

Disclaimer: This Halblood Chronicle's storyline does not belong to me. Cwen Leaf, Shaen, and any other original characters do.

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Cwen Leaf tossed her hair at her reflection in the mirror. Its dark length fluttered down around her shoulders, and for a moment she peered out from beneath a few artfully misplaced strands, her green eyes glinting with anticipation. They were not the piercing, crystalline green of her Elven Lord's slanting eyes; but rather, dark and blended with gold highlights and brown-black shadows.

Forest eyes, He called them.

She shivered deliciously, remembering times He had used that phrase. Running one last look along the length of her reflection, she stepped away from the mirror, and slipped into the silk of her dress. It was gorgeous black affair, cut with the perfect slits and flowing lengths for dancing— the seamstresses must have slaved for days—but she barely spared it a glance. She felt happy and bubbly—positively sparkling—as she sashayed along the hallways, passing briefly through the hum of the Curtain as she went.

She felt this swelling of giddiness when called into His presence, thrilled anew each time by the reaffirmation of His interest in her. Outside high arch of the doorway, she paused momentarily to collect herself, not wanting to seem too much the giddy child before Him. He liked that about her, she knew, that she could be clever, and changeable, and entertaining; bright and dancing like a flame.

Not like the fragile, elven milksops that occasionally came to call; swooning about the manor, and staring with frightened doe-eyes at her Lord Shaen. Not a timid, if celestially beautiful, creature of glass, suitable only to admire from its place on a shelf. Better. He liked her better.

A final, cursory check of her appearance, a brief flip of her hair, and she entered. dropping immediately into a deep, graceful curtsy. She lingered in the elegant pose of submission, the back of her neck tingling with the feel of His eyes on her.

"Ah, Cwen Leaf." Lord Shaen's low voice was warmed by amusement as he acknowledged her, and she raised her eyes, eagerly drinking in the sight of his inhumanly beautiful form. There was another elf in the room, another Lord, no doubt, and she inclined her body smoothly in his direction, as befitted one of her Lord's guests. Lord Shaen far outshone him, she thought, though the other Lord's delicately wrought clothing and many beryl ornaments bespoke a large power.

"This is the one I've been telling you about," Shaen addressed his fellow, gesturing Cwen towards Him, and she beamed inwardly to be mention so.

She recognized the specific direction, and crossed the room smoothly to sit at His feet, leaning back against His chair to gaze up at Him. "My Lord." He was at His most civil; the perfect, congenial host today. This other Lord must be His equal at least, most likely higher in status, if not in power as well. Shaen never bothered to put on this much of a show with His inferiors. Beneath his suave and gracious demeanor her practiced eye could just make out the tension in his posture. Very well, she would be stunningly impressive, a perfect living representation of the heights of her Lord's achievements.

Closing her eyes and letting her head fall against His knee, Cwen focused her attention to humming a soothing melody as the two Lords talked. She kept the volume soft, so quiet she could barely make out the notes herself, but she new their elven ears would be aware of it, a calm, lulling presence in the background of their conversation. This was a trick she often performed for her Lord when he had guests, and over the years she had perfected it into an art form of its own. Shaen threaded absent fingers through her hair, and she felt a glow of pleasure at being able to please Him.

Finally the conversation slowed, and he turned towards her. "Let's have one of your dances, Leaflet." He glanced at His companion. "Something fast."

Cwen let a grin blossom on her face. Fast, hm? From her sitting position, she leapt to her feet in one fluid movement. In another rapid motion she leaned forward to brush a kiss across His lips, before darting quickly back to balance lightly on her toes, laughing. The familiar almost-smile touched his face, and she made a decision.

Stepping back one more time to give herself room, she assumed a pose. This was a new dance, one she'd been practicing secretly for months to surprise Him. It was an old dance, and not one she'd ever seen performed elsewhere—she had discovered her instructor among the slaves, and old but still strong laundry matron, who had claimed that the dance dated back to before the elves. That was absurd of course, but Cwen Leaf was fascinated anyway, and had used all her wits and small influence to secure a private practice time with the woman. Embroidery training, she'd called it, for the woman had some skill in that department, while Cwen had none.

Now she threw herself into the dance with practiced ease. It was fierce, primal, and almost violent, but infinitely controlled. Her teacher had described it as a silken harness on an Alicorn, and the dance truly did have all the wild beauty of one of those creatures.

As she danced, she lost herself in the ebb and flow of the movements, until she felt as if her body was moving by itself, gyrating alone in a void. The speed and intensity escalated as she reached the climax, the momentum of each movement seeming to carry her into the next, until the dance seemed to be pulling her along of its own accord, and her feet barely seemed to touch the ground.

The dance finished abruptly as it had started, and Cwen dropped out of the air to condense into solid shape, kneeling at her Lord's feet. She held the final pose for a moment, then looked up into His face, her own almost shining with exhilaration.

He remained unreadable. Still, she thought she could pick out traces of approval on His face. "I have not seen that one before."

It was not a question, but she responded anyway. "I desired to surprise my Lord. Did it please my Lord?"

He glanced at the other Lord and the half-smiled graced his lips again. "A lovely gesture, Cwen. Very entertaining, was it not?" Another glance. "You dance anything beautifully, but I think I prefer your others. Such fierceness does not suit my leaflet."

A brief flash of discontent was overridden by a wave of distress at His words. Still she felt some small comfort—he was pleased at least by her initiative. Silently, she moved gracefully to her feet. "Please, allow me to serve."

And she danced again, a different, more sensual dance.

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It was late in the evening before He dismissed her from His presence. Cwen's muscles were aching from the exertion of her dances, and she could sympathize with the strain she saw in Lord Shaen at continually putting on a show for the other lord. Her stomach ached, and she felt a littly dizzy, as she had only had the few sweets Shaen had offered her off His dinner plate.

Still she was buoyed by a sense of elation as she left the room, curtsying her exit. Her second dance had been received much more receptively, and her third still more. He was proud of her; she could tell.

Outside the door she stopped long enough to examine her dress. It truly was a masterpiece, designed to allow the utmost freedom of movement and enhance the effect of every motion. Towards the end a length of its green silk had torn loose, and sassessed now she examined the hastily knotted fabric. Not enough to ruin the dress, luckily, or even render it indecent, and fixable easily enough. She turned to start on her way, when the sound of her name made the voices beyond the archway suddenly leap to the forefront of her attention.

"-Cwen Leaf's dance," she heard Lord Shaen finishing.

"Interesting that last one. Rather primitive but… exotic."

"Yes it was, wasn't it? My Leaflet's always been a creative one." At His words, Cwen felt a flush of pleasure.

"Hm." The other lord sounded non-committal. "Perhaps too creative? That sort of thing can get out of hand you know."

"Nonsense! She's just one human girl. Besides, she very loyal. I trust her completely." Cwen closed her eyes, reveling in the inner glow his words of praise afforded her. Her mind racing with delight she missed the next few comments.

"Well then, how about a wager?" The other lord sounded amused. "My twins for your dancing leaflet?"

Her Lord chuckled. "Name your terms."

Cwen felt as if her heart had turned to sharp shards of ice in her chest. No! she thought. She tried frantically to assure herself that He was only playing the host, that He did not really mean it, that He could not avoid it.

His voice! "Make it that little red-headed vixen I saw the last time I visited your estate and you can have her.

No! she thought again. Cwen caught herself against the wall, turning to lean into it. Why did it feel like her world was coming apart? No! I am not a toy to be bargained with! Reeling blindly, she fled.

I am not a toy.


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So, you like? Yes? No? Let me know PLEASE!! *big puppy eyes.* Its not much now, but if I get 5 reviews or so, I'll promise to get the next chapter up in a week. Hmmmm?
-Li