The 'leader' of this band of pretty men sheathed his sword with a sharp sound that pleased Meara's ears. "You will come with us."
Meara raised a brow, never breaking eye contact with the man, "Is that a command or a request?"
He bowed slightly, breaking the eye contact, "A request, of course, my lady."
Meara tried to fight the smug smile that wanted to grow on her face—mainly because she could hear the laughter in the man's voice and also because he had, unknowingly, diverted a challenging gaze with fluidity. Meara thought about that for a moment and wondered if she should be smug about that or not. None the less she followed the band of pretty men, each glowing with the touch of the gods, and hoped they didn't plan on killing her. It turns out, the leader, wasn't the leader, but the co-leader of the band as his replica was his twin brother. They were exactly alike in everything including their clothing and speech pattern, much to the disdain of everyone in the band. She knew their names—Elrohir and Elladan—but now she had to tack names onto their specific scents (they smelled completely different from each other even if they wore the same scented lotion).
They walked for ages, though she wasn't tired from walking; she was incredibly bored and while yes she knew she was probably going to some sort of jail or maybe even to her torture and death, she was still fantastically bored. These pretty boys had started speaking to each other in another language, to which they would glance at her and quickly look away when she raised a sarcastic brow at them.
"We'll stop to rest here," Elladan said.
"So you can catch your breath." Elrohir continued where Elladan left off, looking slightly annoyed that they had to stop when the sun was still high.
"I don't need to catch my breath, Elrohir. Let's keep going." She continued to walk, snickering at the stunned look on his face. She had figured it out a while ago, as they spoke to each other, pointing to each as she stated their names. Of course, a mischievous look had crossed their faces and as soon as she nodded, walked off, zig-zagging in between the other elves who were rolling their eyes and had slightly amused smirks on their face. Of course it didn't matter how many times they mixed her up—she could still smell their scents. Elrohir smelled like rich earth with a slight tropical undertone to it and Elladan smelled like a fresh spring with water lilies on its surface.
They walked the whole day, and half the night before they came upon an open road leading under an archway and to a beautifully constructed city. They entered in a formation, Elladan and Elrohir in front, Meara behind them, alone and the other six elves paired in two's trailing behind her. Three women, excuse her, two men and a woman stood on the grand stairs that seemed to have been the focus of the city. Meara figured the man in the center was the Lord of this city, and of course she had figured she'd been right about sticking out due to her clothing, as she'd received several disgusted looks from the elves behind her, but seeing this Lord, and what, his scribe of some-sort and…his wife, no—not his wife, but a relation of some sort, as she appeared to have features from the man. Maybe his daughter. Anyways they seemed to be dressed in beautifully handmade (something she hasn't seen in nearly 80 years) clothes.
"Father, we found this woman—"
"After finding dead orcs and a warg—"
"Do not start that again," Meara interrupted, completely forgetting that maybe she should have kept quiet. The twins gave her scathing looks and she had to fight the urge to give them a lopsided grin and hold her hands up in a placating nature.
She quirked a brow instead, coughing to cover up the laugh she let out. Meara smoothed her face over seeing that her interruption was—though amusing, not appreciated. She decided that maybe she should be a little more wary of exactly what these people were going to do with her as they began to speak in their own language. As they spoke, Meara allowed herself to think about why she'd been sent to this realm. Her father had slightly been starting to become unreasonable, going as far as to banish her from the territory—which is why she'd been in Alaska, shopping with one of her mortal friends before this unfortunate incident. Then again, she was banished from the territory for allowing a human to go free who had information—though it was very scarce—of werewolves. Of course that didn't explain why her father banished her from the realm it's not like she was consorting with Vampires or plotting against him with other wolf packs. He had asked her what she had done. It didn't matter how much she tried thinking about it though, she couldn't figure it out at all, and then he had looked at her with such fear and shock as she'd disappeared into this one. Almost as if he hadn't realized exactly what he was doing. Meara huffed, hoping to the gods that her father did not accidently ship her off to another realm because he was slightly insane in the head at the moment.
"Your name, My Lady?" The Lord of the beautiful city asked.
"Meara, daughter of Conan," She supplied automatically, bowing her head slightly. It was so easy to revert back to the times of old, the medieval times. She had been born in the early 13th century, living in a kingdom hidden away in the moors of what is now called Ireland. Her father, his name being Conan then up until the middle of the 14th century, was known as The Wolf King—ironically, because he kept the wild wolves away from their lands, allowing the small village to have plenty of foods. And then there was the Romans. Meara was only 15 when they discovered her fathers' mini kingdom. He wouldn't risk war—especially since there were so few werewolves in the area, and since their foe had some weapons of silver. Meara remembered fire from that time and water—crushing water—but that was it. She did remember training with weapons. Oh how she loved it. She had been a blood thirsty thing. A wry grin appeared on her face—she still is—though it has lessened of late. Meara straightened, looking at this man coolly. He was young looking but she could tell he's seen many years, possibly more than she has if she included the times of her realm jumps. She wondered how long she would be staying in this one. And how many days, if not, hours would pass before she figures out how to get back. That was one thing that always irritated her foes—she always managed to come back not two minutes after they send her off—of course in her point of view it took years and years which she happily left out.
"You have the bearings of a human, yet I sense something more from you than any human I've come to know." He spoke, watching her with a sort of curiosity and wariness in his eyes.
"You and your people have the glow of one blessed by the gods, and yet…" Meara paused trying to figure out the best way to word it, "you seem so normal."
This made the two twins chuckle, "Well, there's a first."
The Lord allowed a small smile to cross his lips, "Indeed, as we elves are considered to be otherworldly to mortal eyes."
Meara fought a smirk, oh how wrong this lord was. Wait. Elves? Now she just had to smack herself, of course their elves. These people were eerily beautiful with the glow of the gods on them, there was no other creature—besides the gods themselves that could be comparable. Well maybe Nymphs, but she's never heard of male Nymphs before. She already knew they weren't the Fae because they lacked the malice those greedy little monsters had in their features. Plus they did look normal.
The Elf Lord motioned to himself, "I am Lord Elrond," he then motioned to the twins, "You have met my sons, Elladan and Elrohir," Then he motioned to the wom—elf-maiden beside him, "This is our Evenstar, my daughter, Lady Arwen."
Meara figured that being the Evenstar was a big deal, so she bowed respectfully to the woman. She was quite pretty, Meara decided, much the opposite of her, anyways. Her long midnight brown hair fell in graceful waves and her skin was pale which made her blue eyes stand out all the more.
"There is much I would like to discuss with you Meara, but first I believe you have earned yourself some rest and a meal." He motioned to the man beside him, "Erestor will take you to your rooms, and a meal will be brought to you. After you have freshened yourself, Erestor will guide you to my study where we can speak in private."
Meara nodded, bowing slightly before following the male elf, Erestor. He had dark hair that reached just below his shoulders, just like his Lord and his two sons, though as Meara looked around noting the differences between the male and female elves, the male elves had slightly beyond the shoulders length hair and the females hair went well down their backs, some even passed the back of their knees. She wrinkled her nose, even her hair wasn't that long. When the thick coils were drenched and straightened out from the weight of water, the ends just reached her lower back. Dried, the curling tendrils reached her mid-back. Meara turned her attention to the winding halls, glad that she at least had her scent to follow so she wouldn't get lost.
"These are your rooms," Erestor spoke in a slightly curt tone. She wondered if he didn't take well to strangers, or mortals as they seemed to think her to be. None the less, she smiled gratefully to the elf, and gave a breathy, "Thank you."
One thing Meara noted as soon as the door closed behind her, there were no windows. Oh no, there were windows, but there were no sheets of glass to keep cool air in and warm air out or vice versa. She shook her head, alright go back at least 200 years girl and you got this. A dress was laid out on the bed with dainty looking slippers set on the floor beside them. Meara hasn't worn anything like that since…well since the 16th century. It was similar in design but the closer she looked at it, the more she realized that it was entirely different. For starters, there was no corset—thank the stars—and there seemed to be a lack of petticoats—praise all things holy—and there really only seemed to be two layers of fabric. The only thing that really bothered her now was its complete frilly-ness. It was a deep pink, though muted, and had a square neckline with sleeves that flared.
Turning away from the dress, Meara walked to a curtained off section of the room and found a washroom. Oh god they had plumbing! That was one thing about the 21st century that Meara adored, beautiful plumbing and no one throwing their shit out a window and into the streets! Heh, those pretty umbrellas some of the women carried in those portraits were not just accessories.
Sadly though, as she looked at the bronze tub, she realized she would have to take a bath, as it seemed showers have not been invented yet. She turned a nob and realized once again, that it would be a cold bath as it seems heating has yet to be invented. She sighed, wishing werewolves had the gift of using magic so she could warm her water. With a defeated sigh, she undressed herself and in a quick motion, forced herself into the slightly cold water. Not that the cold really bothered her—all werewolves had internal heating, she practically radiated it—hence why she was in Alaska with nothing but a cable knit sweater on in the fall. It certainly came in handy. There were bottles of soaps and lotions placed beside the tub on a table, to which she opened each and was careful in choosing a scent. She went with the honey and…what was that, sugar? No, maybe some sort of flower? Whatever the scent was, it was light and sweet and poured a small glob of the golden liquid into the tub and began to soap up her skin and hair.
By the time her hair dried, and she was dressed in the ridiculous rosy pink dress—she completely denied the slippers—the sun was rising and a tray of veggies and wine was waiting for her on the bed. She downed the liquid, her metabolism too quick for her to get anywhere close to drunk. She ate the salad, wishing that they'd thought to give her some meat, but she figured if these elves were similar to the Germanic stories of the Elves from her realm, they would be vegetarians. At least there was bread. With the food wolfed down, she went to the door, and opened it, not at all surprised to find Erestor waiting patiently.
I want to give readers a warning, this story does start 15 years before the "incident with the dragon" and lasts all the way through to about a good few years after the War of the Ring. Through all this time, there is going to be a lot of going through Meara's memories, so while yes Meara does get involved with events, it's more about her, and focuses on...things. I don't want to give anything away XD So I hope you enjoy it and review, I love to hear what people think of my stories, and I also enjoy positive criticism. (please take notice of the word Positive before criticism)
Thanks again, guys!
