Truth: Chapter 6
**Here I tender my apology, for I am probably about to slaughter Sindarin in many many ways. And I'm also going to leave you all waiting to find out what happens next. Yes this is a short installment, but, truly, this is where it needs to stop for the moment. Cliffhangers R Us, lol.**
"Why?" The voice was smooth and cold as it washed over her. Breeze froze in place, raising her eyes once more to her reflection. She was no longer alone in the mirror. "Why would you wish to save me?"
Breeze stared into the mirror, her mind and body freezing into immobility. The figure reflected there, just behind her captured her attention. Tall, very tall her mind supplied; lean but not thin. The tailored tux, appropriate for the venue, emphasized his physique; its stark lines drawing the eyes. She let her eyes linger on the breadth of his shoulders, reluctant to look at the face that had haunted her grandfather.
He spoke again, voice still as chill as a winter wind. "Why would you wish to save me?"
Breeze swallowed, forcing herself to turn to face him, eyes still on the center of his chest. She clutched at the counter behind, using it to keep her knees from collapsing. She started to speak but her voice wouldn't obey; so she paused, formulating the courage to answer.
"Because," she whispered. "Because someone has to." Her words caused every line of his body to stiffen. She forced her eyes up to his face, breath catching. Grandfather, for once your words weren't adequate, she thought. His face was lean, high cheekbones the defining characteristic. It reminded her faintly of a cat's face, vaguely triangular but not quite. His mouth was full; stern as if he'd long since forgotten how to smile. His hair, still worn long was pulled back, covering the tell-tale tips of his ears in an artful swoop; its color somewhere between golden sunlight and moonlit silver.
Legolas felt the hate rising up in him as the small human faced him. Her soft words, whispered in that broken voice, woke the beast within; fueling the rage that created it. His control over the beast was tenuous at best. When she at last looked at him though, the beast within recoiled; icy shock flooding his veins and forcing it back into submission for the nonce. Aragorn's eyes stared at him, eyes that had haunted him for centuries. Their green depths showing the same pain that had tortured his brother as he spoke the words confirming his damnation. Her face was Aragorn's, softened by her gender, but his nonetheless. From brow to chin, she was Aragorn reborn. Yet, as he stared at her, there were differences; a smattering of freckles artfully hidden from human eyes across her nose, the tilt of her head, her stance- subtle differences. He focused on those differences, shutting out the pain of recognition; using them to remind himself that she was not, in fact, could not be Aragorn. Ruthlessly he prodded his beast, allowing its anger to fuel his words and shut out the pain.
"Because someone has to?" he snarled.
Breeze flinched inwardly at the tone, his rage making her cringe. Quelling the urge to scream or flee, she raised her chin, meeting his eyes for the first time. "Yes, someone has to."
The beast roared within and he flowed forward until he was almost on top of her, unable or unwilling to stop the beast. "How dare you!" he spat. "How dare you to presume that I would need your help."
This time her flinch could not be hidden. She shrank back from the waves of pure hatred that flowed over her; the words of caution, written by her grandfather echoing in her mind. 'I fear the Prince of the Greenwood is no longer sane…' From somewhere deep inside her, she found the courage to stand her ground, though she truly longed to run. She tilted her head back, meeting the insanity in his gaze with a calmness that she truly did not possess.
"Yes, I can see that you don't need my help. It's fairly obvious that you choose to remain here of your own free will," she snarked back at him. Inside she cringed at her audacity but the something that made her stand her ground, also had taken control of her tongue. "Leithia-ruith, Legolas, gwanûr nín."
The sound of his language, spoken rather poorly, only added to his anger. "Do not, human, tell me to put aside my anger. You do not have that right, nor do you have the claim of kinship that your ancestor held." He leaned even closer to her, looming over her, to whisper in her ear. "Do you not think, that in all this time, I have not found a way to end my suffering?" His breath stirred the fine hairs of her neck; his voice caressed her. The blade of his knife pressed against her throat. "I could end it now. Easily. Here in this room." He paused, smelling the fear that rolled off her now; taking perverse pleasure in it. "Your. Death. It would end my torment, and," he savored her terror like a fine wine. "There is no one here to protect you."
Breeze stayed perfectly still, unable to breathe; her heart stuttering. But then, her fear left; a deep calm, like nothing she'd ever experienced before, filled her. Slowly she lifted her head until their eyes met. The madness in his strengthening her calm. One hand raised, as if possessed, touching his cheek lightly, then falling to the hand holding the knife.
"If by my death, you are freed," she said softly, without tremor or fear, "then I embrace it willingly." She pressed against the blade. "Free yourself, my Prince."