Author's Note: I do not own Tolkien's universe. Any names and locations you recognize are not owned by me. This is not the final chapter, and you'll notice more Grelvish/Sindarin phrases, which HAVE A SURPRISE MEANING! I'm SO sorry that it's taken me such a long time to update, I've just been so overwhelmed recently! Please keep the reviews, likes, and follows coming, they mean the world to me!

When the World Trembles

I would have been content to remain nestled within my world of raven and ivory, had it not been for the timid cry of a servant hailing me to the evening meal. My mind, lost and numbed, had shut out the descending of the sun, neglecting to notice how quickly the day had swept by. I had secluded myself in my chamber, barring the door to the world that passed hour after hour. But I could not return to that world. In that world, lovely princes gave doting smiles, and young maidens returned private whispers with trepidation. I rebuffed that world, gratified in my sanctuary of words where castles of paper eagerly resided.

I was alarmingly aware of the reality that, should I attend supper, I would be forced to see him again. And while the most suppressed faction of me whooped with happiness to know that he may perhaps indulge me with conversation, I could not deny that it submerged me entirely in some bizarre fright. What if he once again dismissed me to prattle on with my siblings? What if I no longer was the object of his degree of attention? I certainly held none of the seductive eloquence of my sister, Anira, nor the fierce intellect of Narylfiel, so what purpose had he to commit himself to such an engagement?

When the resounding beckoning grew louder, I was forced out of my deep contemplation. I ran trembling hands over my wrinkled sheath, rising. For a moment, a blinding pain seared through my skull, and I could do little but to give a soft cry, the pain simply too severe in that moment. I reached for something, something that tethered me to where I stood, so the horrid sensation did not steal me completely. In the moment when my mind reeled, I recalled a similar moment from my childhood years, when my mother permitted me a bitter scowl as she procured a blaming remark on my constant reading. For years, I had resented that fading memory, and now it was my tether. What a silly notion – my books hurting me? They were my only companions.

This notion now stoking some great fire within my demeanor, I tore myself from the room, my strides brisk as my tapered legs led me to the Great Hall where the court would be dining with our guest. I could hear the rouge-cheeked laughter of drunkenness and the sober rebuttals that was the music of my home. Slurred, drawled phrases swung from the rafters, With a patient nod towards the sentinel astride the door, I permitted myself respite as I closed my leaden eyelids and released a soothing exhale.

The gilded doors parted, and for a moment that slipped by in a languid instance, I pictured the elvish guest standing as my feet cautiously crossed the threshold, his steps hurriedly approaching me, an unspoken, thrilled glow a halo around him as he extended a slender hand to mine, then the room darkening, wheeling, spinning... the gleaming marble kissing my cheek and body, crudely spilled to the ground.

Voices reached a cacophonous hysteria as they swirled around me, ghost hands lifting me with trepidation, manic questions and hushed responses flung back and forth, battling for indulgence. The sweet caressing of a passing breeze blanketed me, and for a moment I had wondered where my dulcet fantasy ended and my brutal reality began. My sight was limited to milky light when my eyes fluttered open even to some degree, and a pressure on my body declared that I was cradled by some tender grasp. Such a warmth was so dizzyingly foreign, my mind was a flurry of reeling thoughts, pondering who possibly was holding me as a babe, and why. I could hardly recall a day, even in the days of my youth, when even my father would cup my slight form in his arms and bear me to the gargantuan creature of downy sheets and monstrous pillows. I often walked amongst hallways ghosted with shadow, where curtains of inky blackness were mounted as if death itself had touched the palace.

The very sensation I had craved for innumerable years, the feeling of a ginger placement upon an eager bed, now overwhelmed me. I took some delight in knowing that, although it felt many years delayed, some rite of passage had now been performed. I could not revel in this moment, however, as the frenzied squawks of panic reached a deafening crescendo. Faces swam, blurred by a sea of light before me, their features now distorted, unrecognizable – even frightening. I could detect no voice – except for that of a roaring baritone, commanding the room be cleared.

Was I ill? I wondered, querying whether or not this was all an elaborate, fevered fantasy. This controversial reverie was shattered as a pressure on the bed beside me alerted me to a presence. A sweet, musky scent that permeated my lungs, and subtly identified my companion. The prince now took a place abreast, his lithe fingers whispering across my forehead and down to the length of my willowy neck. My eyes lolled for a moment before focusing with unyielding strain on his pale visage. My mouth felt as if I had swallowed sand, grains trailed down my throat, grit stole the moisture from my lips, and the words came as the cry of an infant.

"Man?" I whimpered softly. "What… what has happened?" A weakness now paralyzed me, and the frantic cloud that settled over the room infected my spirit. My body could hardly afford to move, but I gave a grunt as I perched on my crooked elbows. A frighteningly somber expression resided among his features as his languid voice illustrated a scene in which my eyes shut and I had fallen down the alabaster stairs of the dining hall.

"And… you have brought me back to my chamber?" My eyebrows cocked faintly, and the smile that bloomed informed me that he had detected the curiosity intertwined in my inquiry. I could not help but to feel the soft surge of alien desire as his pale smile illuminated his features silently.

"Thand." He murmured, his eyes glowing with the same grin that stained his lips. It was a lovely aura around him that aroused from me further interrogation. The nearly seductive juxtaposition of his cool, genuine collectiveness paired with my frantic confusion gave me some reason to relent my grasp on hysteria.

"Am man theled?" I demanded demurely, eyes lost on his beauteous visage. In the fluid moment between my the escape of my question and his choked response, his body drew a mere breath closer, and his gaze now swallowed me whole. My cheeks stung as I recognized this, but I was a helpless victim to the power of his icy eyes. I little desired reasoning, as I could not deny that it planted within me some nameless joy, however, speaking to him granted me another kind of happiness – the sort that gave way to a fluttering heart, restless, like the wings of birds.

"Orthach 'uren ir tirach enni," he reasoned slowly, his resonating bass growing husky, strained, as if he were forcing the words in lieu of some taboo action. His voice dripped with something covert, something he would not disclose to me. Those petty moments I spent considering the secrets buried within his tone, I had been blindly ignorant of what he had revealed to me. In his native tongue, he had confessed some pure, soaring adoration of me. And as a fire within me rouged my cheeks, his hands clasped over mine.

" Cund Legolas…"