Pictor Ignotus

Chapter Two—Damn You, Tolkien

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A/N: Sorry for the wait, my friends. But this week was homecoming week, I had about two days where I was pretty much banned from the comp. Oh! And, not to mention, at times I just didn't feel like writing anything because my computer likes to restart itself randomly while I'm writing. That always makes me a happy person. Anyway, thanks for all the reviews people!

Fiona McKinnon- Thank you for the compliment, dearie! And, of course, I'm trying to hurry on the story.

Crecy- I'm glad this is at the least: interesting. And now you get to see what'll happen.

Rythmic Blot-Aw, not you. Oy vey. Thanks for the review anyway, though. Just kidding'. I love ya, Taylor. Oh, and it actually isn't anything like your property in my mind, oddly enough. I just had this predetermined picture in my mind and this is how it came out.

The Lady Romance- -blushes- You are far too kind, my lady. Oh, and you must update too, fiend!!

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As soon as I woke up, I immediately found myself wishing I hadn't. The room was dark except for a small bit of light coming out of the bathroom where I'd left the door open and the light on. It was very warm, and my quilt was slightly twisted in my legs from kicking in my sleep. All of this would have been fine had it not been for the serrated kitchen knife pressed up against my jugular. Resisting the urge to gulp or even scream, I turned my head to the right slightly and was paralyzed by the determined and extremely dangerous blue orbs that gazed back at me in the dark of the early morning. Aw, shit. Hired hand, my ass!

Mentally kicking myself for being so foolish the night before, I watched quietly as Eros pressed the kitchen utensil a bit closer. "Where am I?" he said stiffly, "I demand to know."

He had an odd accent and I was hard-put to place it, but I quickly sorted out my priorities when he gave an irritated hiss at my hesitation and edged the knife ever-so-slowly across my throat, pricking highly sensitive nerves.

"Etoile," I gasped, new fear seeping into my consciousness, nearly suffocating me with its potency.

He frowned at that, but only pressed onward with more questions. "Who are you, and how did I come by this place?"

Such a strange accent….

Despite my fear, I found myself eying him oddly when he ended his question. No, he wouldn't remember how he got in here, now would he? "I found you in the barn. You were unconscious and I brought you here to let you sleep." I replied generically, hoping he would forget his first question which had unnerved me.

He frowned again. "You evaded my first question. Who are you?" He asked again in a stern voice that made me all the more nervous. Knowing that telling this man my name had to be folly of the worst kind, I quickly came up with some girl's name I vaguely remembered from back in high school.

"It's Kate…. Kate Henderson."

He didn't fall for it. He immediately picked up the falseness in my voice. I realized instantly that this was not a man to be fooled with.

"You lie," he seethed, with a new anger in his voice. "How can I know anything you say to me is not such?"

"With all due respect, my Lord," I scoffed, "You are holding a knife to my throat. I don't think I've really got much of a choice."

"How can I know this?"

His question confused me, but after a moment I realized what it was he was saying. How could he know if I was helpless or not? There could be others nearby and I was just waiting for them, or perhaps I had some other complex, duplicitous plan in mind. As long as I knew he wasn't going to slice me, I had opportunities to deceive him.

Or, at least, that was what I thought he meant.

Trying not to gulp against the uncomfortable blade, I fought against the dread that was filling inside of me, looking up the white ceiling of the bunkhouse in desperation. I was going to die. I was going to die and all because I was a softy when it came to helpless beings! I was such a worthless and weak woman at times.

I looked back into his stare and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of intimidation. That look undressed my interior like no person could ever hope to; not even my father had been able to pull off this look. But then again, I was quite terrified of the knife that was suddenly my deciding factor between life and death.

"I would not normally be so threatening to a woman," he looked slightly remorseful, but at the moment I could have really cared less. "But my circumstances have changed. I have no idea where I am, how I came to be here, or how to return to my home. And the only person I can find who has any feasible correlation to all of these unfortunate events is you. Now tell me, Kate," he placed enough emphasis on the name that I knew he didn't believe in it in the least, "what can you say to me now that I could possibly find any truth to?"

I actually gulped now. "I don't understand what's going on. I just thought you were a hand working for my grandfather or something. You were hurt, I brought you in. Of course, now I'm rather sorry I did. Perhaps I should have left you out there in the barn with that knot on your head."

I was getting very desperate by now. But it only took me a moment before I realized that there was little more need to worry. His cold blue eyes, so full of anger, fear, and determined will just moments before began to dim into something lighter; something more trusting. He was receding slightly and I wasn't sure what I'd done to warrant it.

"Please," I whispered, "You have to believe me when I say that I have no idea how you got here or why. I only wanted to help."

The knife didn't move, but Eros closed his eyes as though in pain and breathed out a long, slow breath. He seemed to be debating inside himself, and I let him have his time to think. Not long after, his eyes reopened and the kitchen knife slid off my skin along with a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. Placing the knife on the table in between the couch and the cot, he turned back to me, looking decidedly chastised somehow.

"I believe you." He said quietly. All I could do was breathe a thank you.

He stood up and turned towards the bunkhouse door, while I sat up on the cot, silently wrapping the blanket around my form.

"I suppose I should take my leave," he said resolutely, but I could tell he had no wish to do so. He looked like a lost child, with his face so sad and fearful all the sudden.

"Well…wait." I said, a new suspicion rising in me. He couldn't just leave after trespassing on my grandparents' property and threatening me in a very illegal manner. What did he think he was doing? Just because he was supposedly sorry didn't mean he could just go gallivanting off to heaven only knew where!

"Who are you? What were you doing in the barn last night?" Simple enough.

Here he was. I'd tried to help him (and against mine, or anybody's, better judgment, might I add), he'd threatened me with a knife, questioned my honesty when it was I who should have been questioning him, and after all this, he suddenly wanted to go running off? Now that I knew the danger was gone, I was feeling a good bit more bold. I wanted answers, and I wanted them now.

"It is Legolas." His face, which had previously been on the floor in thought, whipped up suddenly, "My name is Legolas Thranduilion."

The situation suddenly felt absolutely ridiculous. Me sitting there on the cot in my pajamas, him standing all proudly with his strange clothes and even stranger dialect, telling me that fictional character name like as though it meant something. At first, I wasn't sure how to feel. I kind of wanted to laugh, but that was quickly overridden by anger when I realized what kind of fool this man had to mistake me for. What, did he think I'd never read the books? Was this his idea of fun? Falling out of barns, scaring the hell out of defenseless women, and then claiming he was some fictitious character created by a long-dead British novelist?

"What?!" I blurted out angrily, "Oh, for the love of God. How stupid do you think I am?! Legolas?! Legolas, the fuckin' prince of Mirkwood, member of the Fellowship of the Ring? You're really a piece of work, you know that? Who in the hell tries to pass themselves off as a fictional elf? Was that seriously the first thing you could think of? I mean, hell, you could have used any number of names. There are probably fewer people who know who John Bonham is for Christ's sakes! And his name actually sounds like it could be from this hemisphere!"

Legolas frowned. Despite my tirade, he appeared more confused than anything. There was none of the shame I was expecting at having been caught in the act or even any anger. He just looked extremely confused.

I ignored him as I stood up, intently heading for the door. I should have told grandpa about this guy last night. I'd already wasted too much time as it was. He was very obviously a lunatic, and I needed to get away from him and tell my grandparents so they could get him off our property.

I'd barely moved past him when a vice-like grip caught my arm and stopped me from heading toward the door. "Get off me, you--"

Eros didn't heed the anger in my voice, only pulled back his hair, walked into the bathroom light and revealed to me a pair of perfectly pointed ears.

Hardly daring to believe my eyes, I searched the ears over, looking for some sign of them being fake. Legolas gazed levelly at me, allowing me to look the ears over in the light coming out of the bathroom.

"I know not why I should be required to prove this to you, but I am of the Eldar," he stated, looking not at all unsure of himself as I gaped at him, "The blood of my father, King Thranduil of Eryn Lasgalen, runs in my veins. And I wish some explanation of you, Kate Henderson."

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A/N: Okay, so it's rather pathetic and short right now. But I just felt this was a good place to end off the chapter. PLEASE REVIEW, PEOPLE! I see all these people putting me on their favs but then I get so few reviews. Reviews are what keep me going! So thank you to those who were kind enough to leave them. Have an awesome weekend everybody!

--MusicalCharlatan