Chapter 4

You spend the rest of the day curled up in the corner of your chambers attempting to read a book in elvish. You knew a little from the tales your father had told you, but being in an angry state, you give up. Having barely said a word to Elora all day, she is wary to avoid you and goes off to complete other chores elsewhere. Upon her return, you realise it must be getting late, and that means it's almost time for the Ball.

After a lengthy amount of time being groomed, you were ready.

"My Lady…"

Elora takes a step back, admiring her work.

"…you look truly beautiful."

"Thank you Elora, and…I'm sorry for ignoring you for most of the day, I just.."

"It's ok, there's really no need to explain m'lady." she says grinning.

Dressed in a silver gown to match King Thranduil's attire, you stared at your reflection not quite believing you look so…classy. As you smooth out your dress, you try to forget about Tarron, hoping that he doesn't show up at the Ball.

Your make-up is minimal, but your eyes stand out and this time, your hair is up in a high bun with a few messy curls hanging down; Elora thought it might be nice to have your hair up, making it contrast to all the other elven women who would most likely have their hair down – desperate to please Thranduil. You feel like a real princess, giggling at the cliché, you smile. All you needed now was the King.

You wait patiently as Elora nervously fetches you a small glass of water from the bathroom. As she passes it to you, it begins to shake, her hands are trembling as she slides it into your palm.

"Elora, what's wrong?"

Avoiding your eye, she fidgets uncomfortably.

"Nothing, my Lady. I'm fine. I just tend to get a bit nervous when these fancy occasions happen."

You go to offer her reassurance, not entirely sure why it's her that needs it, when you hear the door. This is it. Feeling slightly overwhelmed, you hold on to the bookcase by your bed as Elora rushes to get the door.

"My Lady…"

It's Elbereth. Both disappointed and relieved, you sigh.

"..his royal highness, King Thranduil, has informed me to tell you that he will join you once you are present at the Ball. He apologises for the delay and sends you this.."

Uncurling his hand, he holds out a golden leaf-shaped box.

"Oh! My Lady!" squeals Elora.

As he places it into the middle of your hand, your heart beats fast. Your eyes widen. Opening it carefully, you see an emerald pendant on a silver chain, it is the mirror image of Thranduil's brooch.

"I.."

"Shall I put it on for you, m'lady?" she says, peering into the box,

You nod, as Elbereth disappears, Elora carefully picks up the necklace. She unhooks the clasp and places it delicately around your neck. Fastening it, she releases a small squeal of excitement.

"The King must really like to give you such a gift!"

You don't quite know what to say and seeing this, Elora takes your hand away from the bookcase and gives it a squeeze. Leading you out the door, she stops to give you a hug. Her kindness towards you never ceases to amaze you and having only known her for five days, she was like younger sister to you. Forgetting that elves age differently, you had assumed that she was nearly as old as you, perhaps slightly younger, despite being at least half a foot taller as she bends down into the hug; she was still nowhere as tall as the King.

"Would you like me to walk you there?"

"No thanks…I'll be fine" You lie.

"Ok then, m'lady. Carry on down the corridor and turn right, then take the second left to the Ballroom."

You gulp. Turning to walk off, you have no idea what will await you.

"Have fun!" she waves at you as you glance back showcasing your best fake smile.

Upon reaching the first turn you recognise where you are. Tarron's chambers are to your left, shaking your head, you continue forward as you begin to take in short breaths. Passing by door after door, you begin to smell the scent of lavender and wild roses; you know it isn't far to go. Eventually you take the second left and stop dead in front of a vast open doorway, brimming with tall, elegant bodies inside, this must be it.

As soon as you enter the room, you feel dazed. Speechless in awe of the flamboyant décor, you almost lose your footing down the stairs at the entrance. Luckily, the elves appear to give you enough room to walk down without anyone getting in your way; it's then that you notice they aren't deliberately helping you, they're staring at you.

A hush breaks out as you descend. All heads are turned as you make your way down, step by step, you see fingers pointing and female elves whispering to each other. This is beyond awkward. Keeping your eyes down, you avoid their glares as you reach the bottom of the stairs. The noise suddenly begins to grow and feeling unwelcome, you stick to the outskirts of the room.

An orchestra of elves begins to play and at the same time, you realise you're being pushed further and further into the middle of the Ball. You frantically spin your head, trying to find someone you recognise, but it's hopeless. You can barely see as you're promptly swamped by a crowd of male elves – it doesn't help that you only come up to some of their waists.

Bowing, they all stampede towards you, reaching out to grab your hand. You try as best you can to politely refuse their offers to dance, as your attention turns to two older elves standing not far from you. Overhearing them, the mood grows darker,

"I say, she is far more impressive in person. So young, so-"

"I agree! I have never seen a human so….tempting."

Their words make you feel sick. Your thoughts come in to play again - Who are they? And how do they even know me? More to the point, where the bloody hell is Thranduil!?

Stumbling to find your balance, as you feel yourself being tossed from elf to elf, an arm intervenes, wrapping itself around yours. As you're pulled from the mass, you look up to find your saviour. Legolas.

"My Lady, you'll have to forgive my friends – they don't bear the same manners as I. They're just intrigued, we rarely get company; especially human."

"Oh, er, it's fine…my Prince, and thank you."

"Please, call me Legolas. And you're welcome, but shouldn't you have arrived with my father?"

"Ah, well yes...but he didn't fetch me and now I can't seem to find him."

Not that you could even see above the height of the elves anyway.

"Perhaps he is waiting to make a grand entrance, he does like to make a show."

You giggle as he nudges you, feeling slightly at ease now that you've found a friendly face.

"Here, let me introduce you to my friends…there's Adamar, Beluar, Edyrm, Wyrran and my closest friend of all, Nym."

You hear an uproar of mock complaints as he exposes his favourite. In turn, they all take your hand, gushing with apologies for their earlier behaviour.

"I'm pleased to meet you all."

You address them, surprised at how confident you sound and feeling the heat on your cheeks grow, you take in the elven men who stand before you. Their hair is finer than silk, their complexions pale yet healthy with long limbs and gleaming white teeth. You'd never seen a better line up of men.

Standing not too far from them, are a group of rather envious looking female elves. They glare at you as their partners shower you with attention. Legolas sees you looking away from them.

"Don't mind them, they're just jealous of my good looks. It comes with the burden of being a Prince…" He grins.

"…they'll leave after the Ball is over, no ladies are to be present at the conference."

You smile at his humour and take the hint, acknowledging the fact that you won't be allowed in either.

"If I could have your attention please…"

All heads turn to the doorway as a deathly silence prevails.

"…I present to you, his Royal Highness, King Thranduil."

At the top of the stairs stands a figure dressed in the finest silver tunic you have ever seen.

His legs are clothed in a tight fitting pair of black trousers and his knee high boots accentuate his seven foot tall stature. His berry crown draws attention to his shining hair, and his bold eyebrows contrast with the sparkling blue of his eyes.

You thought he was close before, but this…this is perfection.

Fully aware of this, he strolls proudly to the foot of the stairs. The male elves bow low, whilst the females curtsey. Legolas tugs lightly on your dress, reminding you to follow suit. Spotting this, Thranduil's trademark smirk makes an appearance. He looks menacing, but you can't deny, he is gorgeous.

Embarrassed by your thoughts, you focus back on Legolas, loosing track of the King's whereabouts as he delves into the sea of elves.

"He certainly made his entrance." You mumble under your breath, still slightly annoyed at being left to enter alone. Legolas hears you.

"Hahaa! You had better get used to it my Lady, my father likes doing things his own way."

Winking, he wanders off into the crowd as his friends break up. You tiptoe, jumping slightly to find the King. Giving up, you spot someone else: Tarron. He notices you too, but instead of returning your friendly smile, he shoots you a cold stare. He's not alone either. Tauriel is stood by his side and the conversation looks serious, so you keep away. Why-how can he still be mad?

Fed up of battling against the stronger bodies, you turn around to head over towards the far right corner, the least crowded of the four. All you see now are legs as you wind through various limbs. Your dress is getting tighter as you feel yourself drowning, your heart strains as you gasp for air. The crowd seems to get thicker and despite your weak attempts to make them move, no-one lets you pass. Panicked, you feel faint.

With your eyes rolling into the back of your head, your body gives way, but before you hit the floor, a huge pair of arms snake around your waist pulling you into them tightly. Leaning against someone's chest, you slowly open your heavy eyelids to see Thranduil gazing down at you.

He looks concerned, but after registering you are unharmed, his head dips down to your ear as he whispers,

"It wouldn't be a Ball without a bit of drama, would it now? My Lady."

You go to move, but his arms are firm, forcing you to stay in place. Oddly enough, you find his hold pleasant, it makes you feel secure…but you know that this isn't your place. He's an elven King and you are a human.

"P..Please my King, I would like to-"

"Dance? Oh, but of course."

He releases you, but quickly takes hold of your hand as the music swells. Feeling calmer, you settle into position, he places one hand on yours, and the other back on your waist. It's hard to keep your head up and it hurts your neck trying to keep eye contact due to his height, so you look across his arm at the rest of the elves.

You didn't realise it was just you two dancing.

"Are you enjoying the evening so far, my Lady?"

"I...yes, my King."

"Good. It seems I have a talent for picking out the best dresses for you, don't you think?…"

Lowering his voice, it deepens,

"…you look stunning."

Blushing a deep red, you look to the floor. After several more turns, he takes his hand off your waist and just as he is about to speak, a less appealing elf strikes up conversation. Waving his hand, Thranduil cuts him off. Taking your hand in his, he lets his lips graze the back of your skin, creating a tickling sensation that makes you smile. You try to hide it.

"I'm afraid, my darling, that I must speak with Lord Elrond. I shall be with you later."

Curtseying as he departs, you feel flustered, but content. Walking off to find Legolas, you are tapped on the shoulder. Spinning round, you see a familiar face. It's Nym.

"My Lady, would you do me the honour of having the next dance?"

You glance over to Thranduil, assuming he won't mind as he continues to talk with what looks like another Royal elf.

"I would love to."

Swaying round the room, you're actually having fun. The colours blur as you waltz around the other couples. Nym is a surprisingly competent dancer, but not quite as good as Thranduil. He isn't bad looking either – but you doubt there's even such a thing as a bad looking elf. He has darker hair than most of the elves, but he is no less handsome.

Wondering what qualities make him Legolas' best friend, you are taken from your thoughts. You yelp as you're unexpectedly dragged from your partner to face an enraged elven King, you shrink as he towers over you.

His fingers dig into your shoulders. His nostrils flaring as he grits his teeth.

"Outside. Now."