Chapter 14 – Where They Drift
Legolas watched as the elleth gathered her books, rolling up pieces of parchment with clinical actions. Even though her head was bent, he could see that her dark brows were furrowed, her fingers white with tension.
"What do you want?" Eroth spoke, and even her voice seemed tense, defensive.
The elleth was collecting her pens, and some wisps of hair escaped from her knot, curling at her cheekbones. Legolas reached out and smoothed the strands back lightly, retracting his hand before Eroth could react. She looked up at that, eyes narrowing.
"Chivalries will not earn my forgiveness, Thranduilion."
"There will not be a repeat of the events at dawn, that I have promised."
"The 'events at dawn'?" the elleth repeated incredulously, "is that the euphemism for your invasion of my privacy?"
"You have merely followed my choice of phrasing with one of your own, my friend."
"Is that significant, Thranduilion?"
"I was in earnest in telling you that I know not the cause of your anger, mellon nin."
The elleth's hands stilled. "Do you not?"
"You have the letter," Legolas murmured, "and you still have Istuon's favour."
"Istuon's favour, you say?" Eroth's tone was shuttered.
"What, mellon nin, is it lost?"
The elleth met his gaze with a cool glare. "You could say."
Having gathered all her possessions from her desk, Eroth turned abruptly and made her way towards the door of the library. Her friend followed, matching her stride.
"Was it important to you?" He asked quietly.
"Wouldn't you want to know."
"Eroth?"
The elleth stopped.
"I am sorry."
She was silent, her breaths stirring loose strands of hair which fell across her face. "You do not have to be."
"I truly am, mellon nin. I should not interfere in your affairs."
"Well, it is no longer my affair."
"That is an ambiguous statement, Eroth," her features were hidden to him, so the ellon touched his fingers to her cheek, tilting her chin up. Her face was pale, the line of her jaw tense. He did not want her to look so shuttered, so distant from him; her silence unsettled him more than her fiery temper the morning before.
"Will you forgive me?"
Her grey eyes were searching. "What if I do?"
His hands trailed down her arms, taking her icy fingers between his. "Mellon nin."
Something like warmth flickered within her gaze. Almost haltingly, the elleth leaned up and touched her lips to his cheek. "Uuma dela." (You need not worry)
Beneath the ground, further even than the reach of ancient tree roots, lay the crooked corridors of the King's palace. The narrowest and darkest of those pathways had faded out of common memory, frequented only by patrolling guards and the guilty-minded. Remorse, too, troubled the mind of its latest visitor.
Tugging up the hood of her cloak, Eroth stepped into another deserted corridor. Pausing, she touched the damp stone of the wall, closing her eyes as she listened for any disturbances to the heavy silence. When none came, the elleth picked up a lantern from the ground, walking onwards into the dark. Erewhile, a stairway appeared beneath her feet, and Eroth followed the trickle of Elven voices to a narrow doorway. Quietly, she slid open the door and slipped behind it.
Once again, Eroth found herself in the library, where last Legolas had interrupted her studies, and humoured her with apologies she did not deserve. She was about to return to her desk when a figure, emerging from the other side of a hefty bookshelf, collided into her. A roll of parchment unwound, touched to the floor like a hurried kiss.
Eroth looked up, an apology trembling upon her lips, and beheld Istuon. The ellon stepped sharply away, hesitated, and refused to meet her gaze. She followed Istuon's look to the pen in her hand; it was of foreign make. The elleth must have caught it when it fell from the impact.
At a loss of how to steer the situation, Eroth extended the pen towards the ellon.
He pushed back her hand, "you can keep it."
The elleth watched as Istuon strode out haughtily, biting down on her lip. She flinched as the door swung back into its place, and clenched the object tighter between her fingers, the pen's nib cool against her palm.
She flushed with indignation, and Legolas took the opportunity to drag her arms sideways so that she lost her balance, using the momentum to flip their positions so that he pinned her to the ground.
Her look turned murderous, but when they fixed on something behind him, her eyes widened.
"Istuon," she said.
Silence. "Istuon?" Eroth repeated, struggling from her friend's grip.
The ellon addressed moved out of the shadows, his face blanched. "Greetings, my lady. I would not have disturbed you had I known your current…involvement."
The words were uttered in a spiteful haste and, having delivered them, Istuon turned sharply to leave. Legolas, perceiving the escalation of the situation, helped the elleth from the ground. Sparing no glance towards her friend, Eroth hurried after Istuon and stemmed his retreat. With frustration, she observed that seemed like all her friends had developed a penchant for wanton, unreadable behaviour overnight. The latter tried to swerve away, but Eroth stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"Where are you going, Istuon?" She hissed, half in vexation at the morning's events, half in bewilderment. "You seem angered. What has made you thus?"
"Oh, nothing at all," said the ellon bitterly, "do not expect me to mind."
"I had not, until you acted so rashly."
"Why do you not go back to him, Eroth? You have had no affection for me; there is no need to feign them now."
"Go back to whom?" the elleth demanded, stepping back a few paces. Surely he did not mean the damned letter-stealing Sindar? "Legolas? He can find his way back, if the Elf knows what's good for him. He's got it coming for reading your letters – and Feredir, too."
Istuon's eyes hardened. "You showed them my letter."
The elleth's hand slipped from his arm, and her look turned pleading. It was mortification enough for her friends to read it; now it's writer knew. It seemed, too, that he did not particularly appreciate the act.
"You do not understand me," she said. "You refuse to see."
"I have seen enough."
Eroth turned the page in her book, tracing a finger impatiently over the lettering. Istuon's pen lay on the table beside her hand. The elleth quirked an eyebrow.
No more admirers, she decided. Empty words, were that of those who spoke of the joys of attraction and commitment. No such sensations had swayed her.
And none will sway her yet, of that she was determined.