We Are Unseen

by Athelise

In a land descending to darkness, four beings have the power to shake the foundations of cultures long frozen in tradition, and strike evil down at its greatest. In Past, Future, Life, and Death does this power lie. Or will those friends who go through theirs lives with unbridled passion be Middle Earth's downfall? Rated M for graphic content and violence. Currently in Hobbit Arc.

10. Will

Hi, guys! How was ya'lls' Christmas/Yule/Kwanzaa/New years? Good? I got a couple of Amanda Palmer vinyls, a Lana Del Rey CD and a turntable. Twas AWESOME! Speaking of Music, I'm gonna put a link on my page for when Chyann is in her cell with a certain SOMEONE some old viewers might recognize and appreciate ;) (It is not the first scene, I promise). I asked FacelessShadows for permission, and she gave me her utmost blessing. Goddess, I love that chick. ANYWAYS, yeah, the song is called "Candles" by Daughter, and it really suits the atmosphere I'm going for. And also

I do not own the works of Professor Tolkien or Peter Jackson

R&E

The Healer

"What the hell?!" A shout.

"I know."

"What the hell."

A sigh. "I know."

"WHAT THE HELL, CHYANN? How did you manage to get yourself arrested?"

"I already told you, Chardonnay," her voice rose, "I thought he was a threat."

"To who?! Why on Earth would you just jump on someone like that?!" She crossed her jacketed arms and looked at her younger sister through the bars of the cold iron cell. Behind Chardonnay, she heard the hissing of Sindarin lilting all about her, but she ignored it and flopped down to sit before the bars. The light was dim in the prison cellar, candles only; situated low enough to be right by the wine cellar, which held Thranduil King's fondest treasures. Honestly, the guy had a bit of drinking problem. Almost every time she saw him he had a cup in his hand.

he cell itself was decent enough. A cot was built into the wall with a warm blanket and washstand, a small stack of books and papers for her to study, and whenever Chyann had to use the bathroom, a guard would escort her. She was also permitted two full meals per day, and taken into the woods every two days to walk beneath the trees and exercise. The Elves were very liberal about it all, thanks to Galdor's influence on the Elvenking.

Chyann looked like hell. Her chin, with its fair skin, was swollen and bruised, and her movements stiff. Her wrists were red where the ropes had chafed her, and her finer clothes were replaced with simple roughspun navy shirts and pants given to prisoners. Her wildly curly hair frizzed all about her face in a cloud. She could have been worse, Chardonnay acknowledged. Apparently her little sister had had the upper hand the entire time. Morien had received quite the beating: his head was riddled with minor concussions and a bruised midsection, and a near-fractured cheekbone.

Chardonnay shook her head. "Why did you feel threatened? It was just Morien! He was just checking up on Alyx." Chardonnay brought her hands down as she spoke, as if to cut the words right into Chyann's stubborn head. "He's Head Spellcaster; the shadows concern him, so went to check her out himself when he heard."

She leaned forward. "Cici," she said, "are you actually buying that?"

The voices behind them seemed to dim, and Chardonnay didn't want to say anything to make Chyann go off and make things worse for herself. "Chyann," she sighed, tired to her bones, for it was near twilight and Chardonnay hadn't had a single bite to eat all day. She scraped her nails along her scalp, shaking her head

"What?" Her little sister asked, sounding young and tired and angry. From beneath her lashes, Chyann was looking at Chardonnay. "You can't tell me Morien doesn't give you a bad feeling. Tell me right now that you forgot what we agreed!"

"I just need for you to be calm," Chardonnay said, "and not to piss anybody else off while you're here." Looking up at the corner of Chyann's cell, Chardonnay said, "They're separating us."

Chyann flinched. "What? Like, separate rooms?"

Chardonnay nodded. "There'll be a trial. Chy, this is bad." She reached into the cell, and Chyann grasped her hand. "We need to get through this together. You need to be good when you're in here."

Her expression no less stubborn, Chyann said, "Fine." She rolled her eyes. "How's Alyx?" She asked more casually.

"Better," Chardonnay admitted, "but she's still sleeping. Thranduil is moving her closer to him. She's going to be his 'Cup Bearer'," she rolled her eyes. "Like he doesn't have a million people to do that. Megan, they're keeping in the room. She'll be Galdor's assistant. They found her secret stash."

Chyann grimaced. "Ouch. So, what are you doing?"

"Kitchen duty. If things go well, you'll be in here for a while, then stuck with laundry."

"What? Oh, Cici, that sucks." Despite her tiredness, Chyann laughed at the irony of it all. "Just like at home, right?" Chardonnay sighed. "Pretty much." She banged a hand on the bars and stood up. "I'm starved," she admitted down to her little sis, "I'll come back after some dinner."

"Last time you did that," Chyann reminded her sister wryly, "I nearly killed an Elf."

"I'll hurry back this time," she reassured, then pointed firmly. "Don't assassinate the jailer."

Chyann threw her hands up in surrender. "Hey, I'll be good if he is."

Looking over her shoulder, Chardonnay saw the jailer staring and give a meaningful look over at Chyann, but she just laughed. It was tired, but genuine. Chardonnay allowed herself a small laugh. "Behave." She gripped the bars and left, and an Elf guard tailed her silently. All of the Unseen were being attached a guard when they were out. Whether it was to protect them from the shadows, Morien or his friends, or just to keep them in line, Chardonnay wasn't sure. She ached to tear the bars off the cell and take care of her little sister, for sure. Maybe it was the latter.

Legolas was coming home tomorrow, too. For dinner, he would see the Unseen in separate rooms, unprotected by the magic door with the spirit within that was their first security. Un-together, un-united and afraid.

Passing down one of the many bridges over water running swift, Chardonnay wondered how things could have changed so fast. Have they always hated us? She wondered, have they always been ready to spring on us? Chardonnay paused mid-bridge and looked across the water, weary to her core. Are we really so special?

The Archivist

"Man agorel?" Galdor demanded of Morien harshly. What did you do?

From where he was sitting Morien didn't look to be in a badgering mood. His dark head was swaddled in bandages, and his cheek an ugly medley of dark blue and gray, its outer edges fading to yellow. But his eyes were bright and angry.

"I was attacked," Morien put in dryly, "in case you hadn't taken heed. 'They shall not strike first' you said, yet I was forced to defend myself from two young women surprisingly proficient in fighting and deception."

Galdor gave a bark of derisive laughter. "Deception? You say that Alyxandra Karsons was not put under a spell of sleep, and you intruded upon her bath? And proficient is the teaching of Legolas. And Chyann came with prior skills of combat." Placing his hands on his narrow hips, Galdor looked to Thranduil. "A trial would be a mummer's farce. Chyann was aware that shadows attacked her friend. She believed that any person could be a threat. The Unseen are-."

"Growing accustomed to having exceptions applied to them," Thranduil raised his hand for silence. "Chyann MacKenna was also aware of the shadows being nocturnal. The Unseen have suffered a shock," Thranduil carried on. "One that they must learn to cope with: Danger is all around them, and my rule is what they will follow. Not their own. You as well, Galdor."

"The Unseen have done nothing but defend themselves," Galdor cried out. "And Morien has yet to speak of as to why he chose that time to invade upon a lady!"

Morien flinched, his eyes darkening. "Speak not of me as if I am but a scoundrel!" He burst out, "I heard of her illness and intended-."

"You were there after the shadows departed," Thranduil said softly, dangerously, "and she was injured. You intended to place Lady Karsons in a slumber. But for what purpose?"

Morien opened his mouth and closed it, but something about his posture changed. His fist clenched, and color rose in his slim cheek bones. Galdor watched in amazement as Morien looked up at Thranduil. "I saw that she was injured. Yes-I say deceive, for I saw her harness fire and smite the shadow, then act a child. I purposely provoked her, for I was scornful of her act, but I saw she was in pain. I intended to help her sleep, but she bewitched the fire once more and fled from me." Morien looked past Thranduil, as if in memory. "Fire is becoming on her..."

Galdor felt his eyes widen in astonishment. This he had not foreseen! Galdor had never thought of the children that way, but there were moments when he was amazed with their passion and love for each other, and felt a deep desire to be part of that family. Was Morien himself aware of it? Suddenly at a loss for words, Galdor sat.

Thranduil appeared unfazed, but Galdor's keen eyes saw Thranduil tighten his hands the very slightest bit behind his back. "I will continue the trial. The Unseen will be made example of, but Chyann's punishment shall not be overly harsh." Thranduil looked meaningfully at Galdor, who relaxed. "Nor shall I hand them to Glorindall. As of yet. But," he said, looking to Morien, "You shall not make contact with any of the children without my consent or prescence. You have already earned the ire of the Unseen enough. And mine own, as well."

Morien's face was impassive and cold now. "As my King commands." He bowed his head, calmly, ordinarily, but Galdor saw firelight shine through Morien's eyes like blood, and the lids closed like a book, shutting out all light.

The Warrior

Chyann peered at the guard from the floor of her cell. Her blanket was wrapped about her shoulders and a book upon her pulled-up knees. Her eyes skimmed the simple-print, bold Sindarin, not really absorbing anything, just pretending to be busy, just like the guard who couldn't seem to focus on anything, either.

She was conscious of the eye that flickered to her everytime she so much twitched a page or sighed. Chyann slammed the book down on the ground beside her, and saw the jailer flinch in her peripheral as she reached for her notebook. Groping about her cell for the jar of ink, her hands knocked it right over, and in the dim light Chyann saw the blood of the inkwell spilling through veins in the cracked floor. "Fuck," she muttered, and she snatched up her books and plopped them on her bunk before they could ruined. She looked up as the guard stood.

"Hey," she stood as well and approached her bars, rubbing her back to rid it of the stiffness. "Sorry, but I knocked over my stuff, can I get a rag or something?" The guard looked down and saw the ink and nodded before turning for the door

Chyann turned do that her back rested against the cold iron bars of her cell. Idly, she banged the bars, feeling the solidness, the vibrations echoing through the more private holding cell that could hold maybe six, maximum. More than enough to hold all of the Unseen, she thought as she turned back around to face the door. She rattled at the bars, something she didn't dare do when she was watched by the the Elves.

Good behavior, Chardonnay had said, and that's what Chyann did. Like it or not, her sister as right. No complaining, no asking for extra things, thanking the guards when they brought her food or walked her to the bathroom, and being silent to them otherwise. She would find herself singing sometimes, but the guards didn't seem to mind. Chyann had a sweet voice.

How long does it take to grab a rag? On impulse, Chyann tested her hands against the iron, feeling the the coldness, the solidness. If she had to, could she do it? Could she uproot iron? Wood and bones she could shatter, but iron? Did her strength extend to crippling metal?

The door opened again, and the Elf returned, also bearing her dinner.

Oh, she thought with surprise. That's why. That was sweet of him. It's early, too. His cheeks were slightly flushed from hurrying, and he hurriedly handed her the rag. Their fingers brushed, and Chyann could sense his energy pumping through his body. She looked up as he turned away and picked up her plate. She knelt and began to dab up the ink, remorseful. It was good ink, and she remember that Galdor had given it to her specially. They had had their differences, but Galdor smiled for her as the guards bound her hands, and asked for them to be kind to her. Placing the jar in her hands, he had leaned close and whispered, "I shall look after them until your return."

Squeezing his hand, she had rasped back, "Thank you."

The jar, she knew, had the G for Galdor on it, and she patted around until she found it, and wiped the ink off it gently, not wanting to shatter the clay.

The guard looked to her as she wiped the jar. "You are gentle," he said in surprise, and Chyann looked to him, off-guard in the face of his wonder.

"Uh, yeah. I can be nice, too, you know." She placed the jar down, holding her hands out for her dinner. "I just haven't really found anybody to be nice to here," she confessed.

"Your sisters," The Elf pointed out, his brown hair swaying as he approached. "That's different," Chyann accepted the plate under the bars, which ended an inch and a half above the floor. "They're family. I don't really know anybody here." She sat back on her cot, placing her dinner of hot soup and warm bread with a crispy crust. There was also a healthy side of rabbit leg, Chyann's favorite. "I don't owe it to anybody to be nice. I-they don't understand us," she said, looking up to see the Elf's bright green eyes on her, listening, and at his look, she continued her story. " We, we were friends, kids in school, you know? And now we have to be adults. We're in a weird world of magic, and monsters who-."

"We are not monsters," he almost sounded hurt, and Chyann wasn't sure she had just meant Orcs. "And we have taken you in, not that we could do otherwise," he pointed out. Somehow, it sounded different coming from him than it did from Chardonnay or Galdor. It sounded not like a reason to behave or secure gratitude, but simply a statement of the kindness of Elves. "Thranduil King is a great Elf," he busied himself with pulling out a dull knife and a whetstone and sharpening its blade, "He is old, but never has he heeded the Sea-Call. Never abandoned us. Not even when he raised Greenleaf alone did he succumb to despair."

"Alone? He raised Legolas alone?" Somehow, she could totally see it. Legolas lacked that element of feminine touch. Nor anywhere had Chyann ever heard of a Woodland Queen.

"Yes," the Elf looked up, blinking, "His wife, Lady Elerian, grew weary of Middle-earth and passed over the Sea."

"Oh," said Chyann, her dinner forgotten. "She, she left him? Them?" A wonder that Thranduil was as pleasant as he was. Or was that why his wife left him? "The sea? You said something about the sea, earlier. Do Elves sail, too?"

"Of course. We can pass to Valinor, the Blessed Realm." His green eyes grew dreamy, and he seemed to look to the left, as if a called by something only he could hear. "A land of never-ending bliss, beauty, and love. Eternal light protected by the Valar, under Iluvatar, the One."

"God?" Chyann was transfixed, "you've seen God?" The Elf-guard blinked, "No, Iluvatar cannot be seen, but," he leaned in, and Chyann placed down her bowl and crept nearer to the bars, "he is everywhere. His is the music of the wind and the sigh of trees, the harps and the flutes." He leaned over the table, his eyes bright with passion for his love. He had very large eyes, and there was something young about him, an eagerness that separated him from the rest of his stoic ilk. A light was in his eyes, a light that was meant to reflect starlight shining bright and pure from the heavens. "Perhaps you may venture there one day," he said thoughtfully, returning to his knives, and Chyann retreated back to her cot and picked her plate back up.

"Maybe," she stabbed her rabbit leg whole and nibbled on it. "What's your name?"

"Avrith, a Silvan Elf," he smiled sweetly at her, and Chyann found herself smiling goofily right back. "Chyann MacKenna, Irish immigrant."

Avrith laughed, and Chyann was at home with this boy of an Elf. "Where is that?" he asked, moving a chair to sit before her cell. She glowed with happiness, even as she was a little nervous. This was the first time she had ever really spoken to an Elf. Avrith was a little lanky, maybe, but there was a control he had over his body, and his energy was sweet and airy and deep. A richness. He swung the chair about and straddled the wood, his gree-sleeved arms wrapped about the back. "Where, Ireland?

In Europe," Chyann sipped on her soup, which had finally cooled a bit to drink. The broth was dark and rich, with a little bit of pepper and lots of onions. She dipped her bread as Avrith furrowed his dark eyebrows. "Where is that?"

"East of the U.S." Nibble on the leg, and Avrith looked like he was trying to puzzle something out. "That was your country, yes? Well, as Middle-earth, there is only such islands and Valinor. There is no such land-mass as you describe, Lady MacKenna."

"Yeah," Chyann huffed and leaned against her wall. "Galdor mentioned that. Way to remind me. It's so weird: In Texas, we have classes that teach us geography, history! And it's so much more useless than if we stayed home. At least, like, if war or something broke out, and was the same as the American Revolution, we could-oh, I don't know!" She scrubbed a heel at her eye. Lowering it, she looked all around and through her cell. She said slowly, "I have had three teachers tell me that I would end up here. In jail."

Avrith looked aggrieved, his mouth quirked at a sympathetic angle. "Your schools sounds like they were a cruel place, at times."

Chyann shrugged, her cotton clothes rustling, but thought of all the fun times she had had in school with sports and her "sisters", as Avrith described them. Her guy friends, too, like Marcus, a tough brotha and his little 8-year old sister Kisandra. Or Chris, who bought her a necklace to cheer her up after her first boyfriend broke up with her. She spent the next day skipping school with Marcus, another old friend named Mauricio, Jules and Megan with her then-boyfriend, James. Alyx And Chardonnay had "refused to be dragged along with their hooliganism", but stayed to get them their notes and assignments. Now that Chyann thought of it, she missed her homeboys so much it hurt, but she laughed softly.

"Nah," she smiled at Avrith tiredly, "it was nice sometimes. One of the best places ever."

Far-Seer

She twirled on her toes, skimming air as she ascended to one foot, the balls of her feet spinning on the smooth stone. Round, kick out, trail the air with fingertips lighter than thistle-down. Round and around, step, skip, stroke...

Two years of ballet had never left her, neither its grace or its instinctive movements, though she could no longer dance on her toes. She spun, one arm before her, curled like a second rib cage about her, the other pointing with loose fingers to the dim golden sky of the hall. Copper was the floor, shadows were the walls, shadows yet to be illuminated with the coming of time.

The floor was smooth marble beneath her feet, the air sweet with the promise of warmth like a Texas dawn with its morning dew, lethargic in its honesty, a gray world yet to awaken but with the glow of dawn in the distance.

She spun, tapping off the ground every so often, bringing her hand down, only to be caught by a warm hand, her head tilting up rest on a warm shoulder. Another palm alighted upon waist that hovered around to her stomach. Their joined hands were brought up again, and the hand tugged her to the right, and Alyxandra stepped with him, leaning her head, but the person turned away. They were in shadow, and she couldn't tell if he were fair or dark, but the scent was undeniably male. The hands guided her again, and she was bending backwards, back, back, back, the arm beneath her suddenly sweeping her from beneath her calves, and Alyx laughed aloud, the first sound, really. Even breathing was muted in that golden shadowed hall, and no music save her memories. She wrapped her arms about his neck, her long skirt flowing like a wave as they spun. A face was buried in her neck, absorbing her laughter, though no sound came from the person. He placed her down, spinning her upon her toes-her toes!-and tugging her down, they knelt. His face lifted forward, and-!

Alyx jerked awake at last, her breathing hitching harshly against her ears after the beautiful silence. Looking wildly about herself, she saw to be in an unfamiliar room, but its luxury and style pointed out that she was still in Mirkwood, and still in Thranduil's chambers. Cupping her face in her hands, Alyx shuddered to recollect the dream. Dancing with a mysterious stranger sweeping her off her feet? Had she fallen so low? That's one reason it was a dream. I could never stand for fools trying to infringe on my dancing. Ballet? Seriously?

But its euphoria and beauty was unlike any dream she had ever had before. Its surrealism was contrasted sharply with its clarity, while her other, usual dreams were slightly hazy, but realistic. Like a gilt frame that dream was, as opposed to a tarnished mirror.

She felt violated, for some reason that she could not place, a certain disturbance that had her nerves humming. Closing her eyes with her hair hanging about her face-she hated that her hair was loose- she touched her breast, and felt.

What is within me? What? What? What... The energy came back to her slowly, as if rising from water, and her powers returned as a wave surges back toward a shore. She embraced it, had felt cold and dead and weak without it, even throughout the dream. I dance with no one. An image rose up in her mind's eye, first of black hair, then a shape of a face, then lips smiling. She felt her sensitivity return as well, and she reached to her side table for a vase and hurled it hard to the other side of the room. A cry of surprise was followed by a hollow thump as the person caught it, but Alyxandra smiled as she heard the water falling to the floor, and an emotional wave of dry amusement, and another's sense of displeasure.

"Hello, Thranduil. Morien."

Megan

Megan folded the clothes forlornly, and from the side where he sat, Galdor was trying to look cheerful. As if. He's got more reason to be depressed than us. The room was largely bare now of almost all their clothes, drawings, papers, and, well, everything. Megan was forced to give up her papers that she had been sure to hide carefully, and she feared to day that she would be called up to answer for them. And she was alone. No Chyann to kick her, no Alyx to lean on. One day, I'll scream and I'll expect you to fix everything.

"Are you almost ready, Megan?" Galdor stood from his stool. "No," she bit. "I need to get some papers for Chardonnay to give Alyx." He sank back to his perch, and Megan felt a little guilty. She knew Galdor had tried so hard to keep them together, but with Chyann in the slammer and her cousin comatose, it was "for their safety" that they were being separated.

Megan had the sinking suspicion that they were being herded like a flock of so much sheep. She knew what was an even better idea, and upon being struck by it, she turned, her hand still clutching a pair of underwear. "Arrest us. All of us."

Galdor was shocked. "I'm sorry?" Okay, maybe not that smart.

"Yes. You heard me. Arrest us and put us all in a cell." She threw the spotted panties away and ran to her desk. "Here. Read this." She shoved a stack of a about four pages in Galdor's face as he came up behind her. "What are these," he asked as he rifled through them, scanning the pages swiftly. The writing was a motley of tengwar and English, and occasionally a Dwarvish rune or two. Megan knew Galdor would breeze right through it all.

"Battle tactics to be employed," Galdor read aloud, "As such, all organizations of military might must needs have a scouting unit, the main arms bearers, and a healer." He looked at Megan with her deep-set eyes that glowed with suspicion and shrewdness. "Do you think?"

"Yes. That is exactly what I mean." She rearranged the papers for him, where in a frenzy of half-madness she had scraped "DIVIDE AND CONQUER" onto the yellow parchment. "We are under attack. Think, Galdor: Alyx is attacked by Shadows, and then put to sleep. Then Chardonnay's called to the table," She counted off her fingers. "No, don't say anything. Look at the facts as if they were written on a page, in chronological. Just think!"

Galdor looked pained, but he nodded. Megan went on. "Then Chyann, our strongest, literally, is taken. And now we're given new jobs and rooms. Don't you see?"

Galdor shook his head in disbelief, and Megan, seeing his look, demanded, "Who proposed these ideas, Galdor? And I am not going to place this issue in Thranduil's hands." She snatched her papers back. "I need to see my cousin. And talk to Thranduil for us. We need to rush-order this trial and get Chyann out of there ASAP. She didn't do anything wrong." As Galdor said nothing and stared at the floor, Megan leapt onto her desk, not caring as she spilled inkwells and crushed quills. All of her precious papers were either tacked to the wall or taken. "Galdor, do you ever get gut feelings?" She demanded, staring him dead in the eyes as he looked up to her. Silently, he nodded, still with a haunted look in his eye.

"I don't know about you, but every one of our gut feelings are part of our powers." She squatted down to his blue-eye level, though his eye more sky to her sea, and she saw him grow sorrowful beneath her gaze. "Chyann followed hers. And now you have to trust mine." She poked him in the breast, and Galdor grew grim. "What must I do?"

Thranduil

She was awake and with a cold smile. After throwing a vase at Morien (honestly, the girl-child seemed to have fondness for them as weapons against his Spell Caster) she had risen unsteadily from where she had lain for nigh on two days.

She was pale with sleep, but the sleeveless sleeping gown she wore showed her arms to be dark with sun. Her hair was cast in shadow, and could have been black. A dark sort of beauty, and warm as it was cold to him. Always did she seem to border on womanhood and childhood. A softness and a steel. Tender she was, but also could she be cruel and sharp. Truly, the one called Far-Seer was a study in contradictions.

As she walked about the bed before them, Morien said not a word but cast his eyes to the ground, as if suddenly ashamed. "You cast a spell on me. Put me to sleep." Everything about her was cold. Her eye were hard gems that shined in the dim shadows of the room, narrowing in on Morien with her dispassionate rage. "Why?"

At last she stood but a few feet away, too far for arms-length, however. Morien at last raised his head and looked her in the eye, meeting her stare evenly. "I meant to heal you."

"Bullshit," she spat, and Thranduil slid his own cold gaze to her. "Mind yourself, Far-Seer. You may face charges of assault as of yet. Morien, however, has chosen to pardon you. I may reinstate it, if I wish. You could very well share a cell with Lady MacKenna before the night is over."

She looked to him, then, her face draining of all fury and replaced with dawning realization. "Chyann. Chyann's been arrested." He had her attention now. Good. It would not do to have her too wroth to listen. A bit of humility would serve her well.

Thranduil inclined his head without his eyes leaving her face. "Morien. A bit more light, if you please." Nodding, the Spell Master had to move across Alyxandra to reach a lantern, but she surged away from him, as if they were magnets of the same polarity. She strode away, about the room, wringing her hands, snapping softly, her face a picture of concentration. Thranduil studied her every move.

It was a peculiar feeling, knowing that at last she, a leader amongst the Unseen, was in hand. So proud, so solitary and resistant to his rule, he finally named the sensation: triumph and disappointment.

Disappointment, for truly, he had wished for a greater challenge, a more refined nobility that would aid them in retaining their independence. But in the end, however, they were simply uncouth children who needed to be managed. Scattered, they could posed no threat of abandonment to him, and each could serve his realm to the end of their days, like it as not. They shall grow to love this realm, he was sure. They are young yet, and will forget their ways and home in time. Draw in by pity and duty, they shall expand my realm. Greatness is at hand.

Triumph, for all of the Unseen were revealed to him, their powers, strengths and weakness: each other, and especially the one who stood before him now, sensing all that he felt, and perhaps even perceiving his thoughts, for she smiled bitterly. It was a small smile, one that said to him, So, we play this game? You believe that I cannot win? You know nothing.

She drew herself up as the room was ablaze with light, blinking a bit the sudden brightness. "My Lady must be hungry," Morien said, not looking at her. "I have food that will help you re..." He looked up and saw Far-Seer smiling serenely at him, and he trailed off, color rising in his cheeks. There was a silence between them that unsettled Thranduil deeply as he watched.

Suddenly, how Alyxandra appeared to Morien was clear to Thranduil. A beautiful mortal, fleeting in her existence but powerful, with eyes that pierced deep into one like hooks, drawing them out to be bared before her. Fire is becoming of her...

She shall never fall. Thranduil narrowed his eyes as Morien ushered her into a seat at a table, and when she raised her eyes to him, she gestured to the chair opposite herself, still with an insolent look in her eye.

One may place her to submission, he thought as he sat, but she shall rise up with a vengeance. Already has this will been instilled into her fellow Unseen. Perhaps it would not be boring after all...

Wah-hoo! Thranduil, you are now a fleshy mofo. And Chyann, too. I hope you noticed, but all the Unseen have a POV in this chapter. You're welcome ;) Have a happy new year!

Post a review, and add it to ya'lls' resolutions: "Review one chapter at least for 'We Are Unseen.'" Let's party with that button, shall we? ;D