Chapter 9
"Wake up!"
The voice was getting harder and harder to ignore, as the owner of it was not only speaking rather loudly but jumping on his bed as well.
"Wake up, Legolas, wake up!"
He knew that it was useless to keep pretending to be asleep, for he was almost positive that Lainfea knew he was only pretending, and that she had already decided she would be as annoying as was physically possible.
But he didn't want to surrender to her just yet. He wouldn't yield.
The young elf tried to turn is head away from the noise, in a way that was realistic enough for him to still appear asleep.
"Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake UP!"
Somewhere deep down, in some obscure hidden place that wasn't completely annoyed, he had to admit he admired his little sister's stamina. He knew that, had he been the one pounding on the bed, he'd have given up a long time before now.
Then, suddenly the shouting, as well as the jumping on the bed stopped, and an ominous silence filled the room.
Legolas had longed for that silence ever since his youngest sibling had sneaked into his bedroom almost two hours ago.
But the abruptness of it was unnerving.
It was as if his sister had disappeared suddenly, as if she had been snatched out of existence. For the last two hours Legolas had wished repeatedly that Lainfea had never been born, but he had not truly wanted his request granted.
What had happened? Where had Lainfea gone?
He had not heard her leave.
Slowly, ever so slowly he blinked one time to clear his vision and moved his eyes.
For as far as he could see, the room was empty.
King Thranduil stared at the blank paper him front of him, still prolonging the moment he had to pick up his quill and write his defeat.
Or not just his defeat, but the defeat of all Silvan healers, as well as the admittance that his forest that had once been Greenwood the Magnificent was now nothing more than Mirkwood, a dark name for a dark place, and that he, the elvenking, had been to weak to reverse this process.
Had it been his own life at stake, he would never have written these words.
But it was not his life that was threatened, but that of one of the four more dear to him than all other lives of the world combined together, so he dipped his pen into the ink and began to write.
'Lord-'
The first word, though only four letters, was the hardest he had ever written. It was almost as if his quill itself resisted the strokes he tried to make with it. When he looked at the word, Thranduil was actually surprised
that the result of his writing was legible.
'Lord Elrond,
You were right.
My child is dying.
We shall submit to your care.
Thranduil.'
The elvenking doubted that the letter was even remotely polite or useful to the Lord of Imladris, but he just didn't know what else to say. It was as if every word he wrote cut a hole into his soul and he wanted to keep the damage down to a minimum.
Mirkwood's ruler bound his downfall to the leg of one of the messenger birds and sighed.
"Just get this to Rivendell," he mumbled softly. "And fast."
Limloeth stared at the closet in front of her, trying to start packing.
Trying to select, out of all the items she had, those special useful items that she could not be without on this journey.
The only trouble was, that in the years she had spent in Mordor, she had learned two things.
The first was that every item could be useful.
The second was that you could do without almost anything.
She sighed and closed the door of the closet. In spite if the fact that she was a healer in nature, there was only one thing she could think of that was really and truly necessary.
Weapons.
Lots and lots of weapons.
Legolas strained to hear any sound in the room, hoping to hear the breathing of his little sister, so he would know she was still alive, without giving away that he was actually awake.
But there were no soft footsteps to be heard, nor quiet breathing.
The room was as quiet at he had wished it to be not too long ago.
"Lainfea?" he asked softly, giving up pretending.
There was no answer.
"Lainfea!" he said again, much louder now, but still his call was met by only silence.
For a few seconds he feared that the Valar had granted his request, and that he was now forever without the sister he had loved.
"LAINFEA!" It was a cry more than a call this time as the despair of his heart slipped into his voice, quickly followed by a cry of physical pain as something landed, with it's full weight, on his chest.
TBC
Rutu.. for more info on the teitho chalange.. check http/teithoDOTwakingvisionDOTcom