Thranduil threw open the carved door to Erulastiel's chambers and released her roughly inside, slamming the wooden entryway behind him as he stalked into the room. Erulastiel stumbled slightly, taken aback by his action, then regained composure. She glanced down at her wrist and rubbed it absentmindedly. He had gripped so tightly that she'd doubtless have a bruise come morning – one she would most certainly attempt to hide from her parents.
"Where do you keep your wine?" came Thranduil's rumbling voice as he searched her chambers for some vintage.
Erulastiel now studied the Elvenking more closely. He was tall, taller than her father and Lord Elrond, to be sure. Golden-white hair, shimmering like her mother's locks, flowed softly down his shoulders and back, held away from his pale face by a polished crown of branches and red berries. His clothes were stately, shimmering with gems and jewels; very much unlike the practical robes she had seen other ruling elves wear. Everything about Thranduil seemed disturbing to Erulastiel – his love of earthly pleasures, his arrogant manner of speech and step, his need for complete control – and his temper, she thought, grimacing as she continued to rub her sore wrist.
"Did you not hear me, little one, or are you simply choosing to be so impertinent in an attempt to force me from your chambers so you might remove those unseemly clothes you choose to wear?" Thranduil's voice broke through her thoughts.
Erulastiel sighed to herself. She knew what she looked like in comparison to the great Elvenking's splendor. Her hair, golden like her mothers yet matted with dirt and tangles from her ranging, was pulled back sharply from her face and dotted with messy braids. Her face itself was tanned and stained from days in the sunlight, and her hands calloused from use of bow and arrow in defense of her kingdom. Her clothing doubtless displeased Thranduil – she wore the high boots, leather pants and heavy tunics and cloaks of the guardian elves at their borders, not the fine silks and jewels that bedecked other elven women of noble birth.
It was in that moment that Erulastiel knew that Thranduil should be marrying another, and she would do all her power to make that happen. She turned to him and tilted her head slightly, providing him with a soft smile that did not reach her annoyed eyes.
"I keep no wine in my chambers, King Thranduil," she responded, "I choose to refrain from the drink."
Thranduil's eyes widened, his thick eyebrows shot into his forehead. For a moment, he stood staring incredulously at her. Then a laugh escaped his lips.
"Well, I suppose we'll have to address that once you enter my kingdom," he said, smiling to himself as though enjoying a private joke. "You are aware that the vineyards of the Woodland Realm provide the best wines of the land?"
Erulastiel shrugged.
"I have heard, yes," she retorted. "But if your kingdom's claim to power lies in your production of a mere drink, what does that say of the integrity of your lands?"
Thranduil's smile dropped, his eyes became hard and guarded. At last abandoning his futile search for wine, he clasped long fingers behind his back – a gesture, Erulastiel understood, he made when attempting to control his anger – and began circling her as a predator encloses its prey. His eyes bore into her as his circles became ever tighter, and Erulastiel at last flinched away from his gaze as he rounded tightly behind her back, coming to rest in front of her face. She held his intense gaze for as long as possible before dropping her eyes to the floor of her chambers. Keeping her eyes on her scuffed boots, she prayed that Thranduil would leave, prayed even for a respite from his presence until the morning. Cold fingers underneath her chin meant her prayers had gone unanswered. She allowed them to guide her eyes to the Elvenking's face once more. It was unreadable. She gazed into his eyes, attempting to read some information, but found them barred against her stare. Fingers tightened painfully on her jaw.
"You will cease the use of that gift once we enter my kingdom," Thranduil said harshly. "Is that understood?"
Her eyes furrowed at his command. So this was to be their marriage – he, a demanding and controlling tyrant with no moral code or connection to the spirituality and lives of the elves of Lothlorien, she, a free spirit who refused to be tamed by his demands. One of them would break eventually, and it would not be her.
"I am to be your wife, not your slave, not your child, not your ward," Erulastiel responded, keeping her voice even despite her discomfort. "We will rule equally, I will do as I please, so long as it brings to harm to our kingdoms."
Thranduil's fingers tightened even further briefly, then he released her face, pushing it aside as he did so. Erulastiel stepped back, breathing slightly ragged, gripping her jaw where the soreness still lingered.
"You will not continue this vendetta against my control," came Thranduil's voice, soft and dangerous.
Erulastiel already understood that voice to be the most threatening of Thranduil's speech, but she refused to back away. Her life would not be relinquished so swiftly.
"Pray tell, why will I cease my actions? Why should I willingly relinquish my freedoms?" she responded.
Thranduil gazed at her, his eyes a mixture of emotions that she could read only slightly, as his guard had dropped during their confrontation. Pain, again, overwhelming pain, was the only emotion to reach her mind. It vanished as the Elvenking turned from her, ignoring her previous question and reaching for the handle of her door. He said nothing as he lifted the latch and exited, his grand robes sweeping behind him before the door again slammed harshly closed.
Erulastiel let out a harsh breath, one she had been holding as Thranduil slowly left her chambers. She took several moments to regain control, and then found her bed and threw herself upon its surface. She did not even bother to remove her leather pants and ranging tunic, she could not muster the strength to pull the harsh braids from her hair, before falling into a deep and restless slumber, her dreams haunted by deep eyes filled with pain.
