A/N: Hey this is my first Fanfiction so please take mercy on my soul (I'm new to this). I'm going to apologise in advance for any grammar and spelling issues, I do check my work but sometimes it slips past me. I will also apologise for any layout issues, I can just about get my head around this websites interface. So without further a-do, thank you and I hope you like it.
The thrum of her heartbeat echoed through her chest as she clung to the high bows of the great oak beneath her. Some way down on the crisp bracken and air-dried leaves, a lone orc crashed about gracelessly. It muttered to itself in guttural tones as if the words it spoke had nowhere to rest silently within its small mind. The foul creature threatened and cursed her. It was unaware that she still haunted him from the tall, lush canopy above. She had been chasing the same orc pack for over a month. Gradually, as if savouring the task, she had picked each one off; one by one. The last of the foul pod, the one shuffling beneath her, had drawn her into the ever-darkening sickness that was the Mirkwood realm. Admittedly, she had no taste for the dark gloom of this particular woodland. She had visited sparingly, as when her work drew her under its mangled limbs. The last occurrence to her recollection was at least a year before now, where she had met the frightfully large spiders that nested in dense areas. She shivered at the thought. Silently she slipped to lower branches, her eyes never left its grossly misshapen form. Although, she remained weary to the idea of the materialising capabilities of the elven natives. She had no patience for the woodland elves as much as she had none for any other creature.
Growing restless she crept further across the thinning veins as the creature bumbled, unwittingly, very close to a well-trodden path. Almost immediately the touch of its boot on the trampled earth awakened the sound of thumping hooves. Rushed to act with the taste of coin quickly fading from her reach, she prepared to end the orcs life and then scarper from the trees. Preoccupied, the beast tittered. With her chance deliciously set before her she fell from the gnarled arms that had held her. Then with one, strong and swift motion she let a well-polished short-sword fly. Its clean destination, the back of its exposed neck. It was then, before she had even began to move to collect proof of her hunt that a flash of long platinum hair swung into her shot. Between her and her kill. Time appeared to still, the world holding its breath as the huntress placed the elf before her. His crown of summer flowers sat proud apron his head. He seemed to have approached the orc in a manner that suggested peace. But with little time to act she heard herself cry out in warning.
"Watch out!" The words passed her lips loud and hastily, although no emotion flowed through them. Whether it had alerted the elf or not, she could not have been certain, but he dodged the weapon and watched soundlessly as it decapitated its mark. With little assurance of what was to occur next she used her nimble speed to round the looming figure and tear a scrap of stinking fabric from the orc. She was about to leap up and away, to hasten into the surrounding thicket but she had underestimated the swiftness of the Mirkwood guard. A well sharpened arrow-head nestled against the nape of her bent neck. The cool metal nipped at the sensitive flesh beneath. She gritted her teeth as a flash of a sour expression passed her features. She stuffed the memento of leather into a pouch at her waist and then relinquished her arms to the view of all and stood cautiously. The arrow disappeared in its intimacy, but it would have taken a fool to expect that it was not still aimed at her. The silence tore on for an agonising length of time, roughed by the unsettling ambiance of the ill wood and the strong trembling of the decapitated corpse. It was only after the body had settled into its still death that a cold voice spoke out.
"Yet another wander finds themselves in my midst. Tell me assassin, who sent you here?" For lack of collective thought, and the humour of the predicament nothing but a bubble of sarcastic laughter entered in her defence. A strong, bejewelled grip placed itself upon her neck as the looming owner of the voice weighed down on her. His icy gaze bore into hers. "Speak" He commanded, his choke-hold only lightened enough to allow coherent speech.
"I was killing the Orc and you found your way into my path, so if you will excuse me" His grip regained as he spoke.
"You dare challenge me you sorry little creature?" His words slipped venomously as if to unnerve her soul. Unfazed she eyed the King of Mirkwood, unapologetically her pale green eyes, as frozen and luminous as his own looked back. An unspoken battle for dominance, of which transcended the physical, played out between them both as she denied his power over her. She refused to enter into discussion as she feared that, under the impression that she had nearly beheaded the King, it would be for nought. In realisation that out on the road he would not be privy to any answer he turned to his guard, in a semi-bored and languid nature. "Incarcerate her" were his final words on the matter, yet still she had her own opinion of what was to happen next. As he relinquished his hold on her throat, pale white for the handling, two of his armoured following stepped up. Patiently she waited for his return to his enormous stag and factored it with the arms reaching to grab her. She let her nerves out in an inaudible sigh and inhaled her re-rising adrenaline. With some pain she accepted that with her next move she submitted herself to the wrath of the woodland enforcement.
In one fell swoop she escaped the closing grips about her and sprinted into the thicket. She was glad she was closer to the tree line bordering the fields as she watched the archers fly overhead. She sprinted effortlessly, content that at least she had finished her task. With little ability to waste time on a plan, she spent the trail to the exit evading fallen logs and the sharp fingers of trees and bushes that would otherwise grab at her cloak. It never ceased to be unsettling, the way a full chase was unfolding, yet no sound disturbed the if-natural stillness of the woods.
Through the thick vegetation the girl could just about make out the waning beams of sunlight, ebbing from the outside world. The restless chattering of her horse consoled her greatly. She continued to dance through, over and under in her attempt to flee. The idea of her horse's well-worn and sun-heated saddle had never seemed so inviting.
An arctic bolt of fear froze her blood and dragged her from her mild pining when an arrow splintered by her side. It was most certainly a warning. One of which she was helpless to ignore.
Instead she quickened her footfalls as she began to breach the hairline of Mirkwood. A large ditch proved the last defence against her escape, but she leapt bravely at the cusp of the earthy fall. And she would have made the other side with relative ease; yet she stumbled. Tumbled roughly over tough roots and sharp rock she then landed in the stagnant mud of the trough. A soft groan escaped her at first, as the air pushed out of her lungs. Quickly enough it morphed into a muffled cry as she noticed the arrow that was buried deep within her upper thigh. The cause to her clipped flight. In sheer detestation she growled and crawled defiantly up the other side of the rise. She knew that the mere seconds had drawn significantly at the gap between herself and her assailants. Her stallion came to her need and aided her as it could to place her into its saddle. Her heartbeat battered in her ears and chest and the pain in her thigh seemed to pulse in its rhythm. For fear of unnecessary further damage the arrow remained anchored in her flesh as she fled. The hot red of her lifeblood cascaded her leather attire and had made her hands slippery upon her reins.
The fierce patter of arrows rained down about her.
She leant into her beast's neck to hide her face and stabilise her weakened form. She bit down on her gloved knuckles to suppress sounds of pain.
On a normal day, she surmised, the Mirkwood guard would have stopped at the border of their lands. The threat would have been considered past. But due to the nature of her transgression, whether accidental or not, she predicted that she had until nightfall until a loyal pursuit began.
Once over the first great plain of land her steed slowed in its relentless pace. The girl relaxed as well as she could and steered in the only direction sensible enough to strive for; north, up along the skirt of the river running to Esgaroth. She remained a cloaked wander there who had papers to pass and go as she pleased. She kept her face shrouded and her words quiet and they would in turn leave her be. Her only fear was that the Elves would also know she had no other option. As the river running flowed parallel to the borders of Mirkwood and the two grew closer the nearer to Esgaroth she was concerned that they could cut out in front of her at any given time. In her unfortunate encounter with the Elven King she had been truly blessed that her face had remained as concealed as it had. It gave her an edge against her own bounty.
She could ill afford, however, to continue to sport the Elven shaft in her thigh. Without ceremony she sucked in a deep breath and felt, through gingerly displacing the arrow, that the head was not barbed. Then with a gruff resolve that closely resembled a dwarf she yanked the bolt from her wound. She hissed and immediately cast the accursed object from her into the river and bound the wound in tight strips of her own rags. She would stitch it personally once she had earned time to rest. She rode swiftly and it was only as the last traces of sunlight yielded to the oncoming night that she reached the lake town. Embraced by the dark she found her slightness grow in its strength. She boarded an inbound vessel, both she and her horse. The summer air did nothing but accentuate the rank odours of the small human settlement. The water veins which drew through the wooden streets doubled as their sewage system. The girl tucked her nose into the scarf about her mouth and made for the small pawn shop that slept within the market centre. She made certain to make her presence known, to wrap herself in the gossip of the local fish-wives before she entered the familiar residence. Once inside she dropped her pouch of orc-rags onto the countertop alongside a drawn bounty contract. She did not need to say a word and the receiver of her attention did not offer into conversation either as she checked the contents. Happy with the authenticity of the strips of cloth the woman took the bounty contract and the ribbons of leather and in their stead placed a heavy bag of coins. The girl wasted no time attaching her spoils to her person before she limped out back into the stuffy night air.
To avoid wasting anymore time her next action was to board an outgoing vessel in the quietest part of the north side of the city. Once back on solid ground she meant to ride onwards to the ruins of the city of Dale and loose herself in its echo of desolation. As the small merchant boat glided out into the artery of the lake, the girls keen sense told her somewhere in the now departed town elven soldiers had arrived. She was sure that she had more than enough time before they worked out that she had moved on and indeed was not licking her wounds somewhere within the Human's company. Back on the edge of the river and back on her horse she inhaled ravenously the fresh air. Fear still pressed upon her heart however, and she galloped on towards the grey rubble in the distance. Her spiritual awareness pricked at her conscious as the old stone whispered its story. She had never been one to feel for the past, instead she revelled in its forsaken beauty as the wind caressed tendrils of her hair and rushes of tall grass alike. Armoured with her recovered confidence she rode across the crumbling sun-bleached bridge and under the looming arches of the city walls.
It was neither eerie nor inviting as night calls sung sweetly in the air. Reassurance, she thought, against the dark corners of buildings that even her fair sight could not penetrate. Stealing away she let her mount roam inside a large hall that had been reclaimed by nature, so that it could graze. Then she scaled the broken outer walls to a tall bell tower that was bathed in moon and starlight. She felt its ethereal glow charge her very core with its wisdom and impartial strength. Gently she slipped to the floor, covered enough against a wall as that an oncoming Elven rider would not see her, yet enough for her to see them. She then unbound her swelling thigh to examine the angry wound. From her pack she drew a pouch of medicinal herbs she had purposefully brought for an occasion such as this. She also set a soft ball of silken thread and a fine embroidery needle by its side. First she bathed the exposed flesh with the clear liquid from her water-skin while she chewed on the therapeutic herbs. The action it itself and the familiar taste of dried plants soothed her immensely. Next she smoothed the green pulp over the affliction and pressed down upon it with a clean damp handkerchief. This sting assured her that it was indeed working and she went about washing away the odd graze and cut she had sustained in falling into the ditch. Tranquillity washed over her as she took advantage of her borrowed time. She did not linger sourly on what could have been, instead she resolved that until the first sign of the Mirkwood guard upon the stretch to Dale she would relax. Once she was certain the combined benefits of the herbs had sunken into the open wound she removed the cloth and began to delicately stitch the separated edges back together. It was uncomfortable at best but she could already see the inflammation in her calf muscles beginning to deflate. To finish her dabbling in healing she infused the damp cloth once again with cool water with the remaining herby mulch and rebound her wound once more.
She sighed a pleased relief and went about exploring the depths of her saddle pack for other comforting luxuries. She then sipped at her dwindling supply of water and nipped at the corner of some lembas bread. The sweetness mingled with the residual herbs to create an earthy and satisfying aftertaste that washed the bitterness from her mouth. She even felt her eyelids begin to droop until the presence of another passed across her. She had heard not horses or felt the determination of any soldier, yet the presence was unmistakably of the woodland realm. In the moon glow below she watched a train of embroidered silk slip behind a building. Not in haste but as if beckoning her to join it's wearer at a location of their choice. Without cause to ignore such a sign she swept effortlessly back down to ground level and crept silently in response. Her fingers flittered restlessly against the hilt of the knife at her belt and she passed the corner of the bone-white pillar of stone.
Rich green robes filled a small portion of the natural courtyard. A pin-straight waterfall of hair, silver-white in the basking appraisal of the nights light prompted the girl to whom she stood behind. He turned gracefully as if the ground had pivoted around the anchor of his feet and not the other way around. His face was stern yet relaxed as if nothing had elicited a warm expression in many seasons. She would have been lying if she had said, that under her cold exterior, a lurch of attraction had not washed over her. Nervously her eyes danced about the dark nooks surrounding them before they laid to rest on the eyes before her. They were a crystalline grey, more noticeable now out of the gloom of the forest. They seemed to understand her agitation as his pale lips spoke for her thoughts.
"None of my guards have followed me here, they wait patiently elsewhere in the city" His voice was languid yet powerful. It was a soft as the night breeze that fluttered about them yet not diminished at all for the lack of volume. "I would invite you to remove your cowl, so that I may speak with you on more enlightened terms." He gestured out of his elongated sleeves with a jewel-laden hand. Out of good will she removed the head piece from her hair and face and a cascade of longer but kin to the colour of his own spilled out around her. Her pointed ears peaked from between sections of her un-braided hair and her pale green eyes became fully illuminated in the power of their ferocity.
"A king-slaying elf? Although I must say you do not bear much resemblance to the Noldor of old." He stated, a look of curiosity graced his fine features. Unabashed under his ebbing control of the air about them, she spoke freely.
"That is because I am neither a king-slayer, nor of Noldor decent" She corrected in an even tone. At once he slowly drew closer and circled her to fully examine the creature that stood before him.
"I will admit that there are not many High Elves in this world that I do not know of. My question next will be to that of your name." He asked flippantly as if it did not concern him either way. To retain an inflammatory state the girl clarified.
"Faervel" The name floated softly between them. His gaze danced across her own for a moment in an attempt to cajole a second name. "That is my only name, my house is long since dead" She opened barely enough to respond to his quizzical stare. He did not press the matter as he resumed his circling.
"Then tell me, Faervel, what possessed you today in the woods to make an attempt on my life?" His words, although spoken with the up most care, appeared rough at the seams; as if he already had a form of her response in mind. She sighed and brushed a few tendrils of hair from her face as she collected her thoughts. He was most certainly patient as he stood to rest in front of her. His arms were crossed against his chest as he looked down on her.
"I am both a wander and a sell-sword, I find work where I can. For the past month I had been tracking an orc pack responsible for harming farmers and remote settlers on their own land. Human folk, you understand. The last orc drew me into the shallows of Mirkwood and I was rushed to act, lest I lose my claim to the bounty. I know it seems utterly convenient, but I had thrown my sword to decapitate the foul beast. As soon as it had left my hand, you appeared between my blade and my target. I ran because even now, it is a story that seems particularly far-fetched. Especially when considering I did indeed, accidentally may I add, nearly slay a King." She paused a moment to provide the receipt and her pay-purse from her belt. He took it casually and his eyes skimmed over the details there within. "I also realised that either way, I would have been considered an unwelcome intruder."
"You were indeed" He offered bluntly as he passed her effects back to her. "This document cannot however speak for your underlying motives. There are many orcs in my land, how can I be sure that this was not just any orc and not the one you say you were hunting, if you had not killed it already?" He was dubious at best, but she had an inkling of a feeling that he had an ulterior motive to his questioning. Irritation began to settle upon her brow as her distaste for social interaction began to surface.
"What do you want from me?" Her words were sharp and free of emotion. A smirk lifted his features and brightened his eyes. He stooped down to her height to meet her face to face and dead in the eye. She imagined it could have been a stark repeat of the staring contest they had partook in earlier that day, but then he spoke. He seemed also to grow weary of the pointless dressing of the subject. "I am willing to clear you of any wrong doing in my kingdom, a pardon if you will. But you will have to do something for me first."
"And what would that be?" Her growl of impatience was barely supressed and he noted it favourably.
"I need someone to retrieve something for me. Until this time I had no rush to peruse it, but now I fear it has become a race against a company of filthy Dwarves."
"Treasure, I assume" She responded in a clipped manner.
"Heirlooms in fact, that lie beneath the belly of the sleeping dragon referred to as Smaug the Golden." She watched him with a sarcastic look of humour.
"I hope you are not about to trade me my freedom so that I can be roasted by dragon fire." His smirk only increased as he continued to breach the space between them, she could feel his warm breath on her skin but she refused to back down.
The stillness of the stone courtyard became, once again, evidently apparent as they watched each other. If Faevrel was to be completely honest with herself she would have said the whole exchange was very strange. If not some form of awkward perversion of power. With their noses a hairs-breadth form touching she responded.
"What if I refuse?" She hummed, ignoring the erratic spiral of thoughts within her mind. On the outside she was entirely collected, her pulse was perhaps on the slower side, but there was no indication to suggest that she was either threatened or scared. She could tell it vexed the king greatly. On the instant her provocative statement had uttered from her, he had reared up. In the proximity she found herself staring at his embroidered chest. She found herself in a quandary when deciding how to maintain her passive-aggressive body language. If she stepped back she was surrendering to his power, but if she remained she would have to crane her neck back awkwardly and acknowledge that he looked down on her. Instead she attempted a more radical third approach. With a small exhale, crafted to sound like a mocking giggle, she turned her back to him to observe the darkness that had lain behind her. She barely made out an archer creeping in the shadows of a nearby building. To adjust to the situation the king stooped once more, to lower himself to her ear. His soft hair spilled over her shoulder to rest with her own as he spoke confidently.
"It matters not to me, either way you will be coming to the palace. I will eagerly await your change of mind, but until then you will just have to reflect on your attitudes." A handful of guards sprung from the darkness and this time she had no option but to surrender. With them they had brought fourth her horse who was whining in protest. She called to it softly in her elvish tongue to sooth its nerves and with the unnecessary help of a guard she mounted it. The armoured guard then bound her wrists to her saddle and then bound the reins to his own horse. She was paraded through the small band of soldiers who looked more than just a little smug. In that moment she realised that in trying to outwit them she had made herself look entirely gullible. They must have split into two groups, the smaller one would have been riding behind her to force her to leave Esgaroth and attempt refuge in Dale, while the stronger force would lie in wait for her. Perhaps she should have attempted riding down and through Mirkwood at the eastern blight…
On arrival at the King's Palace she finally realised that there would be no escaping. She was escorted roughly through the great halls deeper and deeper until she was standing in a courtyard of prison cells. There she was met once again by her captor, who had since unburdened himself of his crown and outer robes.
"Leave us" He commanded sternly and the room emptied of any life but their own. From there he pulled a chair up into the centre of the floor and lounged across it in silence. Faervel watched blankly, so calm in her resolve that she noticed the grand figure before her twitching irritability. "I must confess, I thought the sight of these cells may have convinced you of a more favourable answer." He watched with dull curiosity at the golden wine that rippled in the glass in his hand. She took to pacing like a cornered feline in his line of sight, her almost vicious pale eyes bore over him. "I'm a sell-sword, not a weak recipient of threats" she uttered as the sensation of illness loomed against her inner light. His smirk attempted to strip her of her confidence.
"Come now, I have no reason to treat a high elleth poorly, if she has true reason to be here. I promise that if you allow this exchange of favours to proceed that you will be treated with the upmost respect. You have my word." He may have stated it, but she would have sooner believed a serpent more trustworthy than his word.
"I do not need respect, and beside the point, if I were to partake in this sick excuse of a pardon, what makes you think I would be able to enter a Dwarven city that even a dwarf does not know how to enter?" The King felt that he was beginning to crack her resistance.
"You will wait for a dwarf to open it of course. It may be months or years, but eventually Thorin Oakensheild's company will take my offer of freedom. Then once the stronghold is open all you will have to do is retrieve the jewels. Then, fully pardoned you may leave my lands and never return." Unconsciously she had drifted closer to his form in her agitated wandering. Now she looked down on his coy features as he pressed her with a look of innocence.
"Say then, this company takes years to leave these dungeons, what am I supposed to do until then?" She ground her teeth. His face brightened as he had won the argument.
"Well that entirely depends on what you choose. You may live under my watch in my halls until such a time arrives. You will be free to do as you please, all except leave that is. Or you may sit in one of these cells in isolation." He held his newly acquired power over her with a strange sense of mirth. He watched as she mentally swayed between her stubbornness and reason. Then she turned to him with a polite expression as nearly deceptive as his own.
"I would be happy to assist you in your mission, my King" She refused to bow but he raised himself to his full height and took her gloved hand in a courtly fashion.
"It is a pleasure to receive you in my halls, Faervel Wander-lost" He then used her hand in his firm grip to lead her back to the upper levels of his palace, away from the depressive cloud of emotion in the dungeons. "It will be seen to that you are well looked after, my lady" The looks they exchanged had a kind of charm that suggested to the outside world that they had shared in a private joke. "I will have the servants appoint you a hand-maid in the morning. Please do not attempt an escape between now and then, it will only end in poor tastes for you." He finished as he swept her further into the heart of the colossal structure. The area seemed particularly well-furnished and he stopped outside two magnificently large doors. "This will be your chamber, breakfast will be served to you in your room at a more sociable hour." He allowed her to refuge behind the door before he parted ways. "It would be a shame if one of my guards shot you in an escape attempt" he uttered as he left down the way he came.
"It would be a shame if you tripped on your dress, you woodland sprite" She sung in return as she pulled the door shut. She looked around disdainfully at the regal abode she had been assigned and sighed deeply. With little other option she pulled off her filthy coat and boots and limped to the large bed by the balcony windows. She slipped through the canopy of soft translucent fabric and bunkered down into the plush covers. Her thigh still ebbed its cooling tantrum but a new sensation settled over her. Tucked into a protective ball she felt her body tremble. It was only in the peace of the chamber that the true gravity of the days events came crashing down on her.