Chapter 1
Ruler. Leader. Emperor. Highness. Majesty. King.
These words, bitter to the tongue; dutiful, demanding, dictating. They mean no difference to that of a royal who wanted no part of royalties.
The throne; a torture chair designed to look inviting. Like a mouse trap, waiting to snap it's pray.
The crown; a muzzle of responsibilities. It constricts the mind, fogs the brain; only thoughts of duty may one who wears it think.
Who should long for such a prison? Do the confines of politics look so tempting?
Though.. when put in this position, why not take advantage of it?
Thranduil sat, no, perched upon his regal throne, legs crossed lazily in a bafflingly poised way. His arms stretched along the length of their designated rests, fingers thrumming absentmindedly on the ends. He was the literal epitome of regality; after all, he aimed for that. Many hours he spent, only sitting and doing nothing in particular. What was a king to do? "Whatever I want." he mused. No, he knew otherwise. A king stays where he may be found, should trouble arise. Certainly traveling outside of his duties was out of the question. "Those leisures are not permissable." he thought. Then a bored sigh and the switching of his crossed leg.
Perhaps a trip to the shooting range, he considered. Then he waved that notion away. How many times had he visited out of sheer boredom? Too many to count at least. There comes a point when archery becomes less of a challenge and more of a bore.
What else? He though. The healing ward? No, Many things could the king handle, but he had seen much war; many wounds and countless plagues. Why would he wish to needlessly witness more?
"Your Majesty," a voice made him glance up, moving no more than his eyes. Upon realizing that one of his young guards stood before him, he lifted his head from his hand. "Orcs have been spotted along the eastern boarder." the young elf explained, working to hide his anxiety. Thranduil stood, casting off his outer robe and descending the stairs. "This is likely to be a small trifle." he thought as he left towards the trouble. He felt no need to fit into his armor, for the young guard seemed to have come in haste and no thought. "Yes I'd wager they will have slain them all by the time I arrive." he thought. He was correct in his assumption. Very few survived the wrath of the forest guard; the wreaking stench of orc blood wafted throughout the breeze.
"I trust that this has been dealt with?" he asked his captain, voice as smooth as silk. The elf nodded, but before the King could turn to leave, the captain spoke again.
"My King, there is an elleth. She arrived just before the orcs, warning us of their imminent attack. I fear.. if she had not come, the outcome would have been different." he explained. Thranduil's expression remained unchanged, save for the quirk of his eyebrow.
"I wish to speak with her." he said simply. The King was confused, though he would not admit it, not fully. Perhaps his day would prove more interesting than he originally anticipated.
As he sat atop his throne, legs crossed as usual, Thranduil wondered what this elleth might be like. Why did she go out of her way to warn the forest guard? Or was it out of her way? How did she know of the orcs? Could she be an ally? Many questions swirled in his mind, forming a concoction of impatience and anxiety. "Be patient." he chided himself. His answers would come soon enough.
The Elvenking's keen eyes soon caught sight of two guards escorting his guest up the walkway to his throne. The clink of the guard's armor and weaponry was harsh against the soundless padding of her footsteps. The smoothness with which she walked nearly rivaled his own grace. Her nearly ankle length, caramelized blonde hair caught light as it bounced in time with her stride. If the king were not who he was, he may have admitted to being rather taken by her appearance.
"My King." she dipped her head reverently. Her voice flowed sweetly, easily filling the open space around his seat. In every sense, she carried herself like royalty. Who was this elleth that behaved like so? Thranduil asked exactly that.
"Where do you come from? Why are you here?" he asked, attempting to hide his utter curiosity. His gaze was attentive as she parted her lips to speak. In confident elvish, she replied,
"I am Amaniel. I claim no home, for I have traveled many years, and be cast from countless towns." she began. The King's ears perked at the fluent native tongue she spoke. In truth, it was to intent to display her frequent involvement in elvish culture. She was no outcast. "I came to warn your guard of the band of orcs. They performed admirably on such short notice."
"Do not flatter me; it will not lessen your punishment should you cross me." Thranduil waved her off easily.
"That was not my intent, My Lord. I ask you simply let me pass through. I mean no harm." she asked, her tone of voice falling.
"What reason do I have to trust an elleth who foretold an orc ambush? You give me more to be suspicious of." his eyes narrowed as he stood, beginning a steady stride down the stairs. Her blue gaze followed him the entire way down. "You say you do not settle? Remain here in my land. I would not send you off so easily." his smooth words filled the elleth with dread, her stomach twisting into knots.
"That may not be wise, good King. Trouble seems to follow in my steps." she frowned, meeting his eyes.
"And that, Lady Amaniel, is why I do not trust you." Thranduil half smirked, looking to one guard. "Give her living quarters near my hall. She will be our guest."
Amaniel's head spun with worry and regret as she followed the guards back down the walkway. She should not have come to Mirkwood. Taking advantage of the Forest Guard's skill and numbers was in no way noble. Yet here she was, lying to the Elvenking of the woodland realm, pretending to be of worthy conquest. "I'm only guilty of selfishness." she though, vainly trying to justify her decisions to herself. Even that thought made her guiltier. She settled into her nicely made room, dropping her satchel onto a chair with an ungraceful thud. Every inch of her lither form ached with fatigue. Her long blonde hair was knotted and frayed; it easily caught onto branches in the forest. The elleth sighed, finding a brush on the dresser against one wall. She gathered her long tresses in one hand, carefully brushing them, working her way up as she went. A steady rap on her door made her pause.
"Yes?" she asked, craning her neck in a cautious guard.
"I am Lanairen. The King sent me to wait on you." a soft voice answered from beyond the wooden door. She gave her mission to enter, smiling softly as the young she-elf slid in and dipped her head.
"You needn't be so shy. Whatever the King has made of me is likely an exaggeration." Amaniel grinned, turning back to the mirror.
"Allow me then, My Lady." the servant quickly took over her task, carefully pulling through the long locks. The Elvenking's guest watched her reflection, wandering in the confines of her thoughts. "It seems he is keeping me a well treated prisoner." she mused, carefully examining Lanairen.
"You are of the Forest Guard, correct?"
The young elleth's eyes snapped up to meet her's in the mirror.
"Were you trying to keep it from me?" Amaniel snickered. "I noticed your archer's callouses as soon as you took the brush from my hand." she explained. Lanairen sighed, averting her intent gaze.
"You are not wrong." she admitted.
"So he wants me guarded? I would've been much happier had he simply sent an elfling sitter"
Lanairen watched the elder elleth intently, secretly impressed by her observance. That was not a skill taught in guard training; it seemed very enticing and useful to her now.
"If you don't mind my asking, where did you learn such a skill?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her tongue.
"I spent a good many years in the company of Hobbits. Such tedious creatures they are; miniscule details mean more than one might think." she explained.
"Hobbits? Of all races to commune with?" Lanairen repulsed at her words. The more elves that seemed to meet Amaniel, the more many of them perplexed at her. She spoke of many different varying creatures, of many different lands. Could she never find rest? They all wondered.
"Of what value is rest when you can adventure?"
These words, optimistic and cheery; Amaniel liked to think she lived by them. The rush of running, the thrill of a hit mark; the fear of never knowing your journey's end. And could she know of what she sought? No place she saw, nor creature she met seemed to draw her in near enough. Like an elfling receiving a toy for Yule, only to grow bored of it the first of the new year.
Insatiable was the only word that suited to her, and she would not deny it.