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She could not sleep, if her body was tired, it did not seemed not to inform her other organs, which insisted in keeping her up. She stood, near the bed, her dress somewhere, placed by servants in some unknown and hidden region of the room. She wore a white silvery gown, a light lilac undergrown clung to her curves while the flowy exterior made her feel whimsical. Mourena rapped her fingers on her arm, it had been hours since she had been sent back to her room. A little feeling told her a certain someone had been watching the whole episode in the weapons room. The King had just appeared, asked very very politely why the 'guest' was not in her room and then walked away. No sense of meanness, no sudden outbursts, just calm and collected. Which meant that there was something very wrong, or he had an identical brother who wandered the halls and acted like a very nice elf. Mourena scoffed, Chances of that are slim.
On the other hand, she wanted to go back outside, the thought of moonlight was soothing. She was testing her courage, to find her way in the dark. Were the chances of success worth being under an orb she could not see, but merely feel with all her might? She nodded, making her decision to go, and started fumbling around for something to place on her shoulders. Finding a robe, or what she thought was one, she placed it around her torso. Opening her door, without a sound which pleased her greatly, she stepped out closing her eyes to try and remember the direction. They had taken a million turns and halls, pathways and other things her brain was swimming to remember. Left. Right. Two rights? She muttered under her breath, standing there like a frozen doll. "Perfection, blind as bat, chances of walking off a hallway-" She sighed, "-high."
She moved slowly, retracing her steps as best she could while taking slow steady breaths. She could tell she was near the edge, feeling the fear of falling kicking in. She moved to the right, feeling much more stable as she made her way along. The terror of falling was nothing to the thrill and relief of making it safely to the other side. She sighed, leaning against the wall like she had flown down from clouds. Touching the wall, she didn't know this was meant she was to go left or right, but she nodded to herself and started walking to the next hallway.
Mourena walked for what felt like forever, trying to prevent falling the majority of the time. As she made her way, somewhere, direction at this point came from any perspective and was lost on her utter backwards and frontwards choice of movement; circles had better chances of ended at their destinations. As she walked she got used to the high feeling, the sound of her bare feet on the floor made it less frightening. Using her toes to gauge her edges, she walked a tad faster, gaining confidence from the desire to see the moon.
She was in the middle of a hall, she knew, the slight upwards slope peaked for a few steps before descending back down. She enjoyed this part, the evidence of her journeys in some small way, going up only to go down once more. Not profound by any means, but it made a small part of her feel accomplished to have gotten so far on her own, so soon after adjusting to her blindness. Taking her step, she placed her foot down and the air beneath her spun, her judgement misguided, the darkness surrounding her with gentle and warm embrace. That feeling of falling, whereby your ankle becomes transfixed, like a mark upon a steady surface, while the rest of the body disconnects, toppling to the side and backwards, arms going backwards to break the fall, however fruitless. It was this feeling, that wretched slow motion surrounding every muscle in the dark that Mourena felt, her own stupidity screaming in her mind as she closed her eyes, embracing the thought of only one person.
It was then, like a flash, a hand took hold upon her arm, pulling up, her whole body suddenly surrounded by warmth, the flow of robes and strength all encompassing. There was a long pause, a period of adjustment when she could feel within her heart of hearts that she was; not dreaming and, alas, not dead. Her heart raced like a frightened deer, her breathe ragged as she pondered what, or whom had saved her from such a fate. Taking a deep breath, Mourena relaxed into his body, allowing his senses to disguise her own. The familiar smell brought calm to her panicked heart, and she was aware of her face, buried within the nap of a neck, the smells all too strong and amiable. Her hands had found their way to his arms, her own trembling, on the muscles that had just now pulled her from the depths. His arms had tightly fastened around her, his robe protecting and embracing the girl.
He said nothing, bending down and lifting the girl off her feet, swiftly moving from the place in which they stood. Something in her told her to protest, to talk rationally and explain, but words seemed to fall short of an explanation. Opening a door with one hand, she was not entirely aware of which room it was, a blessing and a curse in her mind's eye. He must have kicked the door shut with his foot, it still made no sound. The path to the bed was long by Mourena's standards, and she found herself in a position of having to let go, but not wanting to for an instant. She felt her feet touch the ground, and she felt his hand on her back, touching her waist lightly, the other on her hair, an almost soothing motion. She shivered, moving her nose further into his neck and taking in the scent, and she could feel him backing away.
Her fingers clasped around his arms, stepping into his body, placing her nose into the crook of his neck with gentle touch. Her heart was so bold, so daring, while her mind recoiled with fear of the unknown. She moved her hands, removing the left one from his arm and slowly placing it on his neck, the ends of her fingers on his jaw line. Her right hand moved like it was detached from her body, coming to rest upon the small of his back, fingers spread to try and encompass the area without seeming so small and insignificant. She felt the rest her body against him, her mind blaring that this was severely improper and wanting in behaviour, but she cared not. This moment vanquished an inner storm, a raging gale that his touch alone could help her weather.
Mourena took a breath, trying not to lose her courage now, just as it gained the momentum. The shock of the moment leaving, a momentary paused in her actions, her body letting all semblance of control fade, rending her touch almost ghost like. His arms steadied her, his hand seemed to encase her, not like a child, but as a creature whose hurt matched his own. Her lips slighting parting in a fleeting whisper. "Thranduil."