Chapter 1
A man threw bread into my cell. It hit the floor with an audible clunk and skittered across the damp stone towards me. I picked it up with a sigh; it was rock hard. I thought I would be able to seduce my way out of the dungeons, but the men seemed prepared for that sort of conduct this time. It usually took no longer than a day.
The darkness was growing stronger. There were strong urges; they happened in pulses lasting minutes at a time.
A man clanged on the bars. "Are you ready to confess and be punished?" They never failed to visit
"Yes," I feigned a weak voice and stood feebly. I would not be punished. The penance for my crimes was far too severe for my liking. I leaned against the bars and stroked the hilt of the blade hidden by my breast. The pompous, devout man looked satisfied. He believed himself to be a servant of the Creator, yet his hands were covered in the blood of prisoners.
"Tell me your offenses."
"Killing a man. A good man." I wrapped my hand around the hilt.
His eyes widened. "You are making an admission to murder along with your crimes of temptation?"
"I have not committed them yet, my lord." He stared at me stupidly. "But I am imagining how I would do it now," I whispered innocently. I smirked, grabbed his cloak, and slammed him against the bars, holding my dagger to his neck. "Open the doors and you will not be the man I kill."
He pulled his keys out with a strangled groan and twisted the lock open. I kept my knife at him as I stepped past the door. I pushed him towards the cell next to mine. The man I was attending to before I was arrested was sitting inside.
"Open it," I commanded.
He unlocked it shakily. The man stood with apprehension, staring at me warily.
"Thank you, my lord." I smiled maliciously. I snatched his keys and swiped my blade fluidly across his throat. Blood poured down his cloak. I pushed him back, being careful not to touch the blood. I took the knife and plunged it into my own thigh, forcing a blood-curdling scream out of my own throat and attracting the other guards. I then ripped it out and threw it into the man's cell.
"He killed him!" I screamed as they neared us. I clutched at the wound with a painful groan.
Predictably, the guards shouted and invaded the man's cell. They would take their time; they would want him to suffer. A younger guard, one I had not seen before, turned me towards him. I fixed my face from slight entertainment back to feigned horror before he looked at me.
"Did he attack you?" he asked.
I nodded whimpering.
"I will take you to fix that wound." He led me to the steps. "How did a beautiful woman find herself in the dungeons?"
"Unfortunate place at an unfortunate time," I said as we stepped into the daylight.
The darkness grew stronger. It was the stronger than it had ever been in the thousands of years after the war. I groaned as a wave of dark impulses ran over me. The cold began at my heart and trickled to the tips of my fingers and down to my feet. Then, the cold seized every muscle and replaced itself with scorching rage. I resisted the urge to grab the man's knife and plunge it in his throat. Instead, I punched him in the face, knocking him out and sending him rolling down the steps back down into the dungeon.
I ducked my head and walked towards the upper levels. It was not high. The more decadent citizens tended to reside in the lower levels. I walked into the alley that led to the black door. I knocked twice in a row, waited a beat, and knocked five more times, pausing between the last two. The door opened. A scraggy, old man by the name of Orgron stood behind it.
"Where have you been?" he asked in a low whisper, growing louder after the door shut.
"The dungeons again," I replied, "They are beginning to learn my face."
I pushed past him and made my way to my room. Girls sat throughout the main area; it was close to nightfall; they were readying for their shifts. Few shady men walked past me and exited the house; they were special clients. I was a special dealer, so I obtained my own room.
I opened drawers and found my darkest clothes. I ripped my night clothes off and put on my best riding gear. I knew where I had to go. There were whisperings of the rising power in the east, but I was never certain it became a real threat until now. I knew He was still alive. I had never returned to the person I was before the war, and I knew I would not until He was dead.
The girl I shared a room with, Elfwyn, stared at me curiously. I reached behind my bed and found the smooth wooden bow. I pulled it out with a grunt. I took my knives and quill from their hidden place in a drawer and handed them to her. "I need you to stand ready on the main road with these."
"I do not understand," she whispered.
"You will," I said. "Just do this for me, please."
"Anything," she replied. She believed we became good friends, but I felt nothing towards her.
I nodded. "Thank you." I brushed through my hair and braided two strands down the side, exposing the tip of my ears.
She gaped at me. "You are an–"
"Shh," I interrupted her and pulled on a cloak that covered my ears when I pulled the hood over my head.
The old man walked into my room. "There have been reports of the Nine passing. It is probably just the words of crazy men, but all your work should be done inside the city."
I nearly dropped the pack in my hands. "The Nine?" I asked. The rise of the darkness became clear. He nodded.
"I am leaving."
"Leaving?" he sneered. "You still owe me for the space I have given you." He grabbed my arm as I walked past.
I pulled my arm easily from his weak grip. Men may have found him strong; but I was not a man. I pushed him to the side and carried my pack out of the house, looking back at the dark door one last time.
I rushed up the levels towards the stables. Only the noblest guardsmen kept their horses there; others kept them on the first level. I kept my hood up. The inhabitants carried on their normal days, but I felt them pass: the Nazgûl. I felt them, even with the long distance they kept from the city. I had not sensed their darkness in ages, but I knew it.
I made it to the sixth level and neared the stable doors when they flung open. Boromir, the steward's son, looked down at me with a sneer. "I thought you were detained."
"I confessed my sins," I said. I ran a finger down the rough fabric covering his chest. "I need to borrow a horse."
"I do not accept your kind of payment," he said. "Try my men. They have only just returned from a long journey, and I am sure they would be happy to find a horse for you."
I slipped into the closed doors of the stables. Boromir's men looked up at me. I leaned against the wall seductively. "May I please borrow a horse, my lord?"
A blond man with a pinched face spoke first, "As if I would lend a horse to a common whore." The other men laughed along with him.
"Not even if I paid for it?" I lifted my shirt up and pulled down the front of my trousers. "I assure my payment would be satisfactory."
"This is the lewd behavior that got you punished." A dark-haired, prudish man spoke. I recognized him as one of the men that detained me.
"They call me the wild woman for a reason," I answered.
A dark-haired man with dark eyes stepped forward. "I'll let her use my horse." His eyes dragged up and down my body.
"You will never get that horse back." Another man laughed.
"He's getting old and weak. I had the stableman train another horse for me." He replied.
"Do what you wish, but I am completing my work," the man concerned about the willing man's horse said.
The willing man pushed me against the wall. The others left the stables with a grumble, all but the working man and the prudish man. A dark desire came over my body; for a moment, I believed it was the desire for the man standing before me, but it grew stronger. I did not want him; I wanted to cut his throat. As the urge passed I realized the man's lips were on my neck, and my hand was on the hidden knife in the fabric covering my breast.
"There is no time," I answered. I pulled my knife and held it at his throat. He nearly fell backwards in shock. "Give me your fastest horse."
He glared at me, sputtering with anger, his pants around his ankles. "I will have men chase you down."
"I am not a common whore, you imbecile." I allowed my hood to fall back, revealing the point of my ear. "I could best ten of your greatest men. The only reason you managed to put me in that dungeon was that you had twenty men. I only count three in this room."
He attempted to grab the knife from my hand. "That was a mistake." I sighed, using his own weight to force my knife into the side of his neck, right below the jaw. Blood spurted across my jacket. "That is disgusting," I sighed, pushing him away and inspecting the blood on my dark shirt. It was not noticeable.
The prudish man picked up his sword and lunged at me with a yell as I did this. I slipped out of the aim of his blade. It lodged in the wooden wall of the stable. I punched him as he attempted to pull it out of the wall. He fell to the ground whimpering.
"I will make it quick," I said straddling his waist.
"They will chase you down," he seethed. His eyes burned with rage and hatred.
I plunged my knife into the same spot in his neck. Blood pumped out around the silver. "I am counting on it."
I pulled the blade out after I was far enough away from the blood splatter. The working man stared at me with silent fear. He inched towards his sword, which was leaned against a stable. "Do not worry, I will not kill you. I always leave someone alive to take the fall." I advanced towards him. He backed against the nearest wall fearfully. I threw a strong punch at his nose. He dropped like a rock. I found a dagger on a small table, tested its sharpness, dipped it in the blood of one of the men, and tossed it in the unconscious man's lap. I let out a girlish shriek for good measure. I was not willing to leave my own dagger.
I threw open the stable doors and pulled my hood back over my head to disguise myself. I found the largest horse in the stables. He was a fierce, black stallion; he did not shy away from me with the blood on my hands. I took his reins and jumped onto his back. I galloped out of the stables, attracting the attention of the other men, who were making their way to the stables to find the reason for my scream.
I made it down two levels before they noticed the bodies. I wound around two more times until I saw the golden hair of Elfwyn glimmering in the setting sun. She looked at me in shock, but held up the weapons as I curved around to her. My hood fell, revealing my white hair and the points of my ears. I was unmistakably an elf to these people now. I took the bow and quill from her hands and threw them over my shoulders.
I made it down two more levels before they got the word to shut the gates. The doors skimmed the stallion's tail as we passed through the tiny crack and made it out to the open lands. The doors opened just as quickly, letting out nearly ten men, one on every horse in the stable.
I pushed the stallion to a gallop, yet careful not to lose the men chasing me. The Nine would not chase me with so many men on my tail. They chased me for hours; none even came close to catching me. I lost sight of them when the moon was centered in the sky; the men were nearly as tired as the horses. I did not feel the urge again, but I was always watchful.
The stallion was tireless. I only stopped for a few hours in the brightest of daytime. I was too easily spotted on the bronze terrain. It was only my last day of riding when I was caught.
An orc pack caught me on the open plain. The hid themselves behind boulders and shot at my horse as I rode by. The giant stallion nearly crushed me. Instead, as he fell to the side, he pinned a leg to the ground. I struggled to pull myself out as the yelling of orcs neared. I finally slipped my leg loose as the shadow of an orc fell over me. I managed to shoot an arrow in his direction before I sprinted. Black arrows fell around me, lodging in the dirt.
I ran for miles. My entire body ached, the soles of my boots wore out and my clothes began ripping apart; all I could do now was make it into the forests and hope that Thranduil's guard would protect me. I had run around the forest, toward the northeast side, where the guards would most likely be stationed.
"She's heading into the forest!" One of the orcs grunted.
"Stop her! The Master needs her!" Their leader commanded.
I cursed silently. I ran into the brush, the branches cut at my legs and tangled around my ankles, slowing me down. I ran harder, hoping a guard would see me, or hear the loud grunts of the orcs behind me. I took a sharp turn, hoping to lose them in the trees. A small ledge made of rocks was near. I jumped off it and hid behind a tree nearby. I heaved myself up the tree and onto a strong branch and leaned against the trunk, attempting to disguise myself in the leaves and branches.
"Find her!" The leader commanded.
He was near me, standing upon the ledge I had just jumped from, searching the trees. He was an Uruk-hai, larger in stature and stronger than his companions, but wearing no armor, and only possessing a bow. They are breeding uruks. They are preparing for a war.
It was likely that this was just a small orc pack that was making their journey east, but unluckily enough for me I had been recognized by their Master's descriptions. I drew an arrow from my quiver and placed it on my bow, aiming it directly at his forehead.
This is for my horse. He saw me then, his eyes catching my silver hair peaking from the branches. He let out a growl, cut short as I fired; his body fell forward off the ledge and onto a rock with a thunk. I silently cursed, hearing the footsteps of the other orcs running towards the scene. I jumped from the branch, plummeted through the sticky cobwebs, and landed on the ground in a crouch.
"There she is!" A small, lanky orc yelled. He was malnourished and possessed no weapons. I fired an arrow through his eye, killing him with ease.
I drew my dual long knives as the other two jumped over the ledge, running towards me. They were both Uruk-hai, armed with swords. The first orc raised his sword, he lowered it upon me and I blocked him with the knife in my left hand, stabbing him in his gut with the other. I immediately jerked my sword from his body and he fell to the ground clutching his wound. As I turned to face the other orc an arrow flew past my ear and into his forehead. I dropped my knives and drew my bow, facing the new threat.
"Lower your weapon, human. You are surrounded." A blonde elf stood before me, his bow drawn. My bow was pointed directly at him as well.
"Human?" I scoffed, pulling the arrow back further at the insult.
At the time it was almost impossible to tell that I was an elf, my hair was ratty, sticking out in random directions and covering the tips of my ears. Blood and dirt from past orc attacks covered my pale skin and my clothes. My dark green cloak was ripping in places and my shirt that was once a cream color was now brown and red. The belt of my pants was breaking and it barely held them up anymore. My light blue eyes were red from the little sleep I had gotten from constantly running from orcs.
"I'm no human." At least twenty elves surrounded me, perched in the trees and upon rocks, all pointing their bows.
"Istodh peded edhellen?" (do you speak elvish) he stared at me apprehensively.
I furrowed my brows. The Silvan dialect was more difficult to understand than most. "Yes," I answered simply, wishing to speak in Westron rather than decipher the odd speech of Silvan elves. "Men don't fight like I do," I assured him.
"Drop your bow," he commanded.
"You first."
"Do not be reckless." He glanced back at my quiver. "You only have one arrow; you will not win this fight."
"I could have shot you then. It is not wise to take your eyes off your opponent." I smirked. "I was willing to fight ten orcs at once, do you really believe I fear you?"
"Tauriel, are the other orcs dead?" the elf asked.
A female guard answered him, "Uma, tolto yrch." (Yes, eight orcs.)
"Eleven orcs," I corrected myself with a smirk. "I killed two others, and you killed one – even though I had him."
His eyes narrowed at me. "If you kill me, the others will slaughter you."
"Then Thranduil would have the others lashed." I responded. "Besides, I'm sure I could get through a few of them before they got me."
"He would be grateful to those who killed his son's murderer," he snapped. "How do you suppose to know the king?"
"You could say we're old friends. You said that you are Thranduil's heir? I chose the right guardsman to hold hostage, then." I smirked.
"What is the meaning of 'old friends'?" he asked. "I would hardly call this a hostage situation."
"It depends on which one of us you ask." I deterred. "Look at us; if this isn't a hostage situation, then what would you call it?" Out of the corner of my eye I saw that some of the elves had lowered their bows, obviously not sure if they were dealing with something dangerous or ridiculous.
"Ama lle cu," he commanded. (raise your weapons)
I smirked. On the left side of me I saw the female guard aiming carefully at me – no, slightly in front of me. "Even if – Tauriel, I presume? – shoots my bow out of my hand as she is planning, I'll take you down before you shoot me. I haven't had a good fight in a while."
"It would hardly be a fight." He scoffed. "I've been trained by the finest fighters in Middle-Earth."
"And I was trained by my brother, it does not make a difference. Do you fight like your mother? You look like her."
"Is that supposed to be an insult?" He snapped.
"No." I laughed. To that day, I wouldn't have dared face his mother in battle. "I will drop my bow, if you drop yours."
He dropped his bow; I dropped mine.
"Search her." He motioned at the others. "You bring orcs with you. Why were they following you?" The elf asked, dropping his bow. I stared at him, recognizing his blonde hair, donning two braids at his temples, running behind his ears. He had familiar light blue-gray eyes and a strong jaw, accompanied by his defined cheekbones.
"For a meal," I lied.
A guard grabbed my hands and tied them behind my back. Other guards confiscated my long knives and my bow. I grimaced, I felt extremely vulnerable being so weaponless. Only the dagger hidden in my jacket gave me comfort. They ushered me forward onto a brick path which led to the kingdom.
I strolled with them leisurely – I could tell it irritated the prince for me to be so casual. I was finally able to study the woods that I had once seen long ago. The trees that were once so bright and beautiful were now dark; cobwebs stretched from branch to branch, allowing little light to touch the forest floor.
"You are not from these parts. Who are you? What is your business here?" He asked, moving us along.
"My name is Rhava; I am from Lindon. The number of orcs in these parts are growing and I was seeking shelter in the Elvenking's Halls. I would like to see your father." I stated.
"My father doesn't see just anybody." He looked at me curiously.
"I'm not just anybody." I answered dryly.
"He has ordered that any wanderers in the woods be taken to the dungeons. No exceptions."
"You're no fun." I laughed, smiling at him boldly. He glared at me and roughly grabbed my arm, yanking me further down the path.
"The days are growing darker," he stated.
So, even Thranduil, cooped up in his kingdom, has noticed the darkness rising.
We were nearing the palace; I could see the great white arches that surrounded the entrance. Above the arches were carvings of vines in the stone. Though the forest was in darkness, it did not affect the beauty of the palace. I had only been in this forest once – long ago before darkness had fallen over the Greenwood.
The great, white, arched stone doors of the palace opened in front of us, the guards stationed at the entrance stood attentively, waiting for orders from their prince.
"Close the doors." He ordered as we passed inside.
"This way," he grabbed my arm. He led me over paths surrounded by moss covered rocks. Large stone pillars were scattered through the palace, the bottoms of which were carved to look like the trunks of trees. Streams ran under the paths and around the boulders, making small waterfalls in scattered places and creating a constant sound of running water. Warm light flooded in from arch-like windows and lanterns hung from the ceiling over the raised paths. It was more beautiful than I imagined. I could understand Thranduil's love for the woodland elves.
The prince departed, passing me off to another guard who escorted me to the dungeons. He shoved me in the cell roughly and left me to rot. It was not all unpleasant – I'd been in worse dungeons. The dungeons of Osgiliath? Horrendous. Constantly under siege. I would not recommend it.
I took the dagger from my jacket and tossed it in my hand impatiently, waiting for Thranduil to find out I was here. Otherwise, I'd have to escape and find him myself – and that sounded like quite a lot of work.
"I found her killing an orc pack in the forest; she says she wishes to see you." The prince's voice drifted through the halls.
He reached the doors first and glared at the dagger in my hand.
"I am the King of the Woodland Realm, many people wish to see me. I have told you, any strange wanderers in our forest must be put into the dungeons; we cannot afford to allow spies past our borders. I do not wish to see anyone right now." Thranduil said, though his voice was nearing my cell. His voice was like the low tones of a woodwind instrument – but distant and cold.
"If you want it so bad, here," I handed him the dagger. "Oh, you do not wish to see anybody at all, Thranduil? I am insulted." I yelled loudly as his footsteps neared my cell.
"Who would dar-" his words were cut short as he looked into my cell.
"It's been a long time, Thranduil." I smiled audaciously.
"You're dead," he whispered. His stern face had fallen to shock. His eyes were older and wiser than last I saw him – also colder.
"I get that quite a lot these days," I said, stalling him from further questions. "Would you mind getting your son to let me out of here?"
"Legolas!" he looked at his son with scorn that would freeze a man.
I stood and leaned against the bars. Thranduil's hair nearly fell down to his waist now – though it was straight as a board, as usual. He stared at me with wide eyes – no speaking, only staring.
Legolas squeezed between his father and the door to unlock it. As the door opened, Thranduil stepped through the gap and grasped my face between his hands, studying every detail to assure that I was me. I nearly thought he would kiss me until I felt the cold, golden ring on his right index finger touching my face – and his son staring at us. He instead laid a gentle kiss on my forehead and wrapped his arms around my shoulders in a tight embrace.
"What happened?" he whispered in my ear. "Why didn't you tell me you were alive?"
"I think you know why," I whispered, glancing at his son, who was staring at us as if his father would burst into flames for being this close to another woman. "You saw what happened in the Battle of Dagorlad."
"We will speak later," he whispered. He shuddered slightly and parted from me with a faked smile. "You're filthy."
"You always knew how to make me swoon."
He looked to his son with an apologetic smile. "Legolas, this is Lady Rhava of Lindon."
Legolas's eyes widened at 'lady' and he bowed low with a hand over his heart, "My apologies, I did not know."
I raised my eyebrows and turned to Legolas. "Don't wound yourself."
Edited: 8/13/15; 1/12/2016