Thanks as always to my wonderful beta katnor for always convincing me that my writing is actually not terrible! Hope you enjoy this chapter...I certainly do! (And to the reviewer who I apparently made cry, *evil laugh* I'm proud. Might also want tissues for this one, then.
Warnings: Self harm and suicide mentions, can I also warn for Nairi being an idiot?
Isobel's house was built on the edge of a rocky hill. The front side of her property was all forest and grass and ivies, a quintessential, stereotypical countryside scene that Nairi numbly made her way back through sometime after midnight. At the back of the brick-fronted structure, though, it dropped off rather sharply into a valley, the descent scattered with boulders and smaller stones. At the bottom there was water, a creek rushing cheerfully along over the stones in its midst.
The back of the house overlooked the valley, and the living room opened with glass doors onto a deck above her. It was dark enough that she could barely see the steps, and she tripped on them a few times going up the winding staircase, bracing her hand on the railing to guide her. Her own footsteps were the only sound aside from the faint one of water below her, and her boots on the stone were too loud in the stillness.
The wind had picked up by the time she got to the top, and her hair tangled in it, strands flying into her mouth. Nairi blew it back out of her face and hugged the cloak around her shoulders, going to lean on the railing. It was too dark to see anything, too cold to be comfortable, and she should have gone inside. Nairi couldn't stomach the thought of going back into her makeshift bed like nothing had happened, though, so she stayed, staring into the blackness like it was going to give her answers.
A single tear carved a cold path down her cheek, and she made no move to wipe it away. The salt dried on her skin in the cool wind, and Nairi stayed motionless, her mouth set in a thin, angry line and her dark eyes blank.
There was a time when she wouldn't have hesitated to throw herself over the railing edge. Nairi's mouth twisted bitterly. Her thighs would be forever marked with the scars she dealt herself with a razor blade, the memories of near-overdose would never stop haunting her. But for better or worse, she was alive. It didn't seem worth it to throw away everything she was fairly certain Thranduil had done to keep her that way. Liam would have wanted her to live. Nairi stood, with her boots firmly flat on the boards of the deck, and she didn't turn at the sound of the sliding glass door, though every muscle in her back tensed at the knowledge that someone was behind her.
Soft, near-silent footsteps, graceful yet solid. Isobel's hips clicked, Tauriel floated on the balls of her feet, Legolas's suggested he was weightless. She'd learned to pay attention to little odd things over the years, namely for identifying her fellow prisoners so that they couldn't jump her from behind. Nairi's face showed no surprise when Thranduil stepped into her peripheral vision, leaning on the railing to her left with his hands laced together loosely.
He didn't speak, but she felt his eyes on her in the darkness. She could barely make out his face, seeing mostly the reflection of light in his hair and the white shirt he wore, but with his Elven eyes, she was sure he could see her as easily as ever.
She didn't move, didn't turn to look at him. There was an exhaustion she'd never felt before dragging at her bones, sucking the life from her, leaving her with no emotions at all, and no will to move more than necessary.
Finally, her voice cut through the silence, flat and harsh and nearly unrecognizable. "My brother is dead."
She heard the quiet exhale of his breath. "Hiro hyn hidh ab 'wanath."
"I don't know what that means," Nairi retorted, beginning to get irritated. "It does not matter how fucking much you speak your damn Elvish in front of me if you don't give me a bloody dictionary."
"'May he find peace after death'," Thranduil translated calmly. "He may even go to the Halls of Mandos, if Lord Namo judged his Elven soul to be worthy. He was your brother; he carried Elven blood as well."
"You're speaking nonsense," Nairi hissed, turning away and biting down hard on her lip. She kept her left hand on the railing, but Thranduil was at her back now. "Liam was not an Elf, there is no Heaven and there is no God, and I don't even know," her voice cracked and she clenched her fist even as tears welled up in her eyes. Damn it, don't you cry. "I don't even know what you're talking about," she finished in a whisper, all she could manage around the lump in her throat.
Against her will, the tears she tried to hold back ran down her cheeks, and Nairi bent forward, one hand pressed against her stomach, while her shoulders shook with sobs. God damn it.
Her gasp for breath was too high-pitched, coming out more like a wail, and suddenly she was crying so hard that she was practically choking, suffocating under her own grief. She ignored the sound of Thranduil's footsteps moving, too focused on the pain in her throat and her heart and her stomach threatening to rip her apart. Nairi brought her hand up to wipe angrily at her burning cheeks, covering her mouth then to stifle the sound, trying to regain some semblance of control. It was bad enough for her to be crying like this in the first place, let alone in front of anyone, and certainly not in front of one of the stupidly stoic elves.
She was completely unprepared when Thranduil wrapped his arms suddenly around her trembling form, and she yelped mid-sob as he drew her tightly against him, saying something else in Elvish. She was a complete and utter wreck at that point, tears soaking the strands of her hair still tangled on her face and dampening the front of his shirt, her nose running and her entire body shaking uncontrollably while her legs threatened to give out beneath her. He held her up, strong and unwavering and unexpectedly gentle.
And Nairi was furious. Furious with him for being there in the first place, furious that he was seeing her like this. Furious that he'd ever bloody shown up on her doorstep in the first place. She was furious with Isobel, for never fucking showing up in thirty years until now, for telling her so unceremoniously that the only person she'd maybe ever loved in her life besides her father was dead. She hated Varya for existing, she hated Liam for dying. She hated herself, oh, god, she hated herself, and how dare she cry like this? Lose control like this?
And how fucking dare that presumptuous Elvenking think he had any right to hold her while she cried? How dare her subconscious decide that he was the only one she'd let anyway? How dare he take that risk, not knowing, when even she didn't know?
Blindly, Nairi balled up one fist and hit his chest, albeit quite weakly, over and over while deep, ugly sobs dragged themselves up from the depths of her core. This was everything she had never allowed herself to feel, everything she had squished down and banished to the shadowy corners of her heart and imprisoned there with alcohol and drugs and hatred, and all of it was coming out now.
She might have said something along the lines of "Let me go, you bastard," or it might simply have been unintelligible screaming. She knew she hit him, fought him for a little while, but he held her tightly, unyielding. He refused to let go of her, crushing her against his chest with his arms banded around her back, yet Nairi didn't feel trapped.
Gradually, she stopped fighting, and she found herself stumbling against him, hanging onto the front of his shirt, and sobbing her heart out. Through the thick material of her grandmother's cloak, she could feel his hand smoothing over her hair gently, but the comforting gesture only made her cry harder.
Nairi was fairly certain that her father had held her as a child when she cried, and perhaps an aunt or two or a benevolent babysitter when she scraped her knees. Beyond that, she couldn't remember the last time anyone had offered her comfort, had given her a hug. Part of her wanted to resist on principle, but instincts she didn't feel like fighting told her she wanted to be here, heartbroken and lost and vulnerable, in Thranduil's embrace.
He was warm and solid and safe, and burying her head in his shoulder and clinging to his shirt felt like coming home to something she'd never known, and she was seriously entertaining the thought of never letting go. He was still speaking softly in Elvish, and instead of the language barrier, all she really heard was his voice.
Gradually, her tears slowed, and with several snuffling breaths, Nairi returned to herself. She could feel the exact moment all of the tension returned to her spine, and she let go of Thranduil's shirt quickly, stepping backwards. You don't do this. He let her go, and, grateful she couldn't make out his face in the dark, Nairi spun on her heel and walked to the other edge of the deck, leaning on the railing there. Roughly, she brushed the moisture from her cheeks and eyelashes, and pushed her hands through her hair with one more shuddering breath.
"Nairi," Thranduil began quietly, walking toward her again. Before he could reach her side, she held up one hand in protest.
"Let's just… move the fuck on." she bit out hurriedly, wincing at the lingering hoarseness in her throat. "Cause I'm not gonna sit around and talk about my feelings here," she sneered.
He sighed softly. "Fine. You do, however, owe me an explanation, I believe."
Nairi turned to face him, her arms crossed, and squinted her eyes slightly, trying to focus him in her vision. Aside from the now clouded-over moon, there really was no light to be found in the middle of the wooded property. "For what?" she snapped.
Thranduil took one more step closer, and she backed up, hitting the back of her ribs on the railing edge. He towered over her, completely crossing all boundaries of personal space, and she swallowed nervously. She liked everyone far enough away from her to run from, and she certainly liked him at least far enough away that she had room to... well, do anything really. She couldn't put a name to whatever game it felt like they were playing lately, but his proximity was enough to have her leaning backward on the rail.
"I want the truth about the deer," he said simply, and she groaned.
"Oh, bloody hell, no you don't," Nairi huffed. "I promise you, you don't."
"You can let me decide that," Thranduil shot back smoothly, slipping into that tone of voice that shouted I-am-the-goddamn-king.
Nairi made an irritated sound in the back of her slightly sore throat, and she rolled her eyes. "If you didn't think I was unstable before," she muttered. "Fine. You want the whole sordid story?" She turned away from him yet again, bracing her hands on the railing and staring downward into the valley below.
"I was twenty one," she began, detached and quiet. "And I was in prison, again, as per usual." Nairi laughed humorlessly, mocking herself. "I stabbed a guy," she shrugged, "didn't kill him, tried to, but in my defense the fucker tried to rape me."
She heard Thranduil's breath catch behind her, and shrugged automatically in response, struck by the inexplicable urge to set him at ease. "He didn't. I stuck a knife in the back of his knee and severed all of his tendons and whatnot. And I should have gotten off for self defense but I went to the hearing high and they busted me for possession on top of stabbing a guy."
She laughed at herself again, a little more genuinely this time. The stories of her past did sound a little ridiculous when she said them out loud. And god, but she'd been an idiot in her younger days.
"So anyway, I met this woman in prison named Dixie. She, uh, killed her husband in an argument over their meth lab, but somehow managed to hide that from the police so she just got a manslaughter charge-God knows how but she made it out to be some crime of passion, really fantastic liar. She was this six foot, two hundred pound woman covered in tattoos, maybe fifteen years older than me with spiky, all gray hair, and I mean she fucking terrified people. For reasons unknown, she decided she liked me.
"So I'm twenty one, clueless as fuck, miserable, and very high, and we got out 'round the same time so we started gettin' high together in the middle of this trash heap neighborhood outside Glasgow. I at that point had gotten kicked out've the gang I was running with, and she apparently blew up her house before she got arrested, so we were both sleeping on park benches and shooting up whatever drugs we could find." Nairi paused, looking over her shoulder, and she could see Thranduil's silhouette. His head was bowed, hands balled in fists at his sides. "You want me to stop?" She said it like a challenge, but she was asking out of concern.
He looked up, his eyes catching the reflection of the dim moonlight, and shook his head. "No," he told her softly, and crossed his strong arms over his chest. "Finish."
Nairi cleared her throat. "Right. Sorry if this is too much for you, but you did want to hear it." She wasn't sorry to offend his delicate Elven ears with tales of her crimes and indiscretions. What she was was horribly uncomfortable with baring her shame to him, and repulsed by her own actions.
"Dixie was a good person, I think. She was a complete fucking mess, of course, but I think she was a good person. She tried to take care've me sometimes, bought me this corset top, actually, but I was way too far gone for her. She was the kind of person who talked sometimes about getting clean, and then would laugh it off like she wasn't serious because she was scared, or cause she thought I was judging her for it or some shit. All she would have needed was someone to drag her into a clinic," Nairi paused, collecting herself. "I should have done it. Hell, she was asking for help," she snapped out. "She was asking me, Thranduil, but damn it I just wanted to die so bad I didn't give a damn about her. She was addicted, of course but she was doing less, trying to help me, and meanwhile I was hoarding all kinds of shit we bought or stole. I never told her about my father, but that was...the anniversary, coming up."
Nairi dragged the words out through the lump in her throat and forged on. "I saw the date on a newspaper, waited for night, and decided I was going to die." Nairi turned to look at Thranduil, facing him, defiance on her face to hide her shame.
Look at me, the look in her eyes said. Here I am, in all my flaws and fuck ups and here are the horrible things I've done. And if she acted like she didn't give a damn to begin with then maybe it would hurt less when he judged her.
"I remember it was a full moon, and it was so damn bright in the middle of that park. And of all things, Dixie was reading the goddamn newspaper, fished out of the rubbish bin. And she was smoking god knows what but it smelled like shit and I remember there was so much of it in the air I kept coughing and choking. She wasn't really paying attention, and I…" Nairi trailed off, then restarted stubbornly. "I shot up so much shit I don't even know what it was. Was definitely meth and heroin in the mix, I think I took all kinds of pills too… fuck, I don't know. Point is, don't do it." She pointed a finger at him. "Bad idea."
"I fell over on Dixie. I remember that. I remember being high as fuck, and then going kind of numb and fuzzy and I was so fucking tired and I remember all that smoke up in my nose when she bent over me and she kept screaming. Had a really high voice for someone that looked like she could probably beat your ass, and she kept yelling at me to stay awake, what did I take, all that shit. I blacked out, couldn't breathe, Thranduil trust me when I say I should've died. I should not be alive right now."
He didn't say anything, merely waited for her to gather her thoughts, but she could practically feel waves of disquiet radiating from him. He was upset, over what she didn't know, and Nairi didn't know what to make of that. She'd never told anyone any of this, but the words kept dragging out of her, aching and soothing at the same time. For years, Ean had been pushing her to just talk to someone. Wearily, Nairi shook her head at herself. Never did do anything by half.
"I opened my eyes and I was standing in this forest. And it was so...I don't know, fucking otherworldly—I was terrified." Closing her eyes, she could still see it, dark and ancient and filled with a kind of eerie mystery she could never understand. "Started walking, felt more like floating, actually, and I came around this huge tree and there was a deer sort've a thing. It was all shaggy and oversized and had antlers like nothing I'd ever seen, and it just looked at me." Nairi hugged herself self-consciously. "And I was all fucked up and dizzy, and my vision got all fuzzy except for the deer, and…" she trailed off, her fingernail sliding absently through a crack in the wood railing. "I heard it." She whispered. "'Wake up, Nairi. Open your eyes, Nairi.' And I did, and Dixie was shaking me and yelling and I felt like shit but there I was, alive, and I didn't know what to think. So," Nairi chuckled nervously again. "I forgot about it, and then one day these three bloody elves showed up on my front steps, and I looked at them, and…" she shook her head. "It's fucked up, ignore me."
"Finish," Thranduil repeated quietly, fury simmering in the single word.
"It had blue eyes," she whispered. "Icy blue eyes, and it looked right at me, and then you showed up and you looked at me with those same goddamn blue eyes. And sometimes I think it was you."
He didn't respond, and Nairi waited, her heart threatening to beat out of her chest. Oh for god's sake say something.
"What happened to Dixie?"
Not that, you bastard. Nairi cleared her throat roughly. "Died." She announced flatly. "Couple months after that she tried to get clean by herself. Relapsed, of course, for God's sake the woman was hooked on fucking heroin. But she thought that was it, she'd never kick it, so she told me I could 'kick the world's ass someday' and she walked off a bridge."
Thranduil's hand slammed down on the rail beside her, and in spite of herself, Nairi flinched. She squared her jaw, tilting her chin up in defiance, watching emotions run across his face rapidly in the dim light. At first, she wondered if he was going to hit her, and she tensed, ready to hit back. Then, biting her lip, Nairi cursed to herself. He wouldn't. He wouldn't, this was Thranduil. She couldn't superimpose the men of her past onto him.
They stood toe to toe, now, with Nairi's back pinned to the railing and Thranduil looming over her with an intense, unreadable expression on his face. She stared straight ahead, afraid to meet his gaze in the dark, her eyes level with his lips. For a completely wild moment, she thought he would kiss her, and firmly squelched down any and all emotions that arose in response to that particular train of thought. For fuck's sake, Nairi.
He didn't. Thranduil spun away from her suddenly, boots hitting heavily against the wood of the deck as he moved briskly to the sliding door. Opening it, he paused briefly. "I will expect you in the yard with a sword in the morning." And then, without another word, he crossed into the house, leaving the door open for Nairi.
She stayed outside a few more moments, shaking slightly, and then she scuttled into her grandmother's house and laid resolutely down on the couch, clenching her quivering fingers into fists. She closed her eyes, but sleep was a long time coming.
The shriek of steel sliding on steel jolted her to wakefulness, and Nairi jerked upright, her heart galloping in her ribs. She heard a shout, and then that same metal clashing again, and her brow furrowed. Her brain was fuzzy with sleep, and Nairi blinked wearily. Sod off, I'm tired. After a moment, she stood, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. Nairi shuffled slowly around the back of the couch to the deck door, wrenching it open.
She almost tripped on the ends of the blanket, but she stumbled to the railing, shivering in the cool morning air, and leaned over, staring in shock at the scene below her. "What in the bloody fuck?" Nairi burst out, hollering down to the three elves.
She had thought of Thranduil as an avenging angel once before, in the forest, and he had been beautiful and deadly and so decidedly other. He put that all to shame now. There was no word for him other than lethal, wielding both of the swords she was so familiar with now at once like vicious extensions of his own body. For once, his hair wasn't perfect, but instead mussed slightly with the vigor of his movements, and she thought he actually looked a little bit tired. Legolas and Tauriel certainly were; he was dueling them both simultaneously, and Nairi watched them struggling to fend off his attacks with a set of crossed daggers each.
It was sparring like nothing she'd ever seen, and if she was honest, it was terrifying to witness. Nairi knew that for all the times she'd almost managed to hold her own against them, they could move faster, hit harder than any human, and she knew they'd had thousands of years of training on her. This, though, wasn't just the elves practicing without the hindrance of an untrained human, this wasn't natural. This was fury, vicious, unrestrained, blazing anger, taken out with steel on the only people who could withstand it and survive.
Nairi was small and barefooted, huddled in a too-big blanket with her hair tangled up around her sleepy face, and at the sight of her own reflection in the glass door she almost laughed. She was tiny and childlike and innocent in spite of all she'd seen and done, at least compared to these elves. And they weren't the ones who packed toys for children at Christmas.
They could kill her in a heartbeat. Hell, Nairi figured Thranduil could probably kill either one of them now if a knife slipped or something. Last night she'd scolded herself for assuming he would strike her. This morning, avenging angel or not, he was more hell than heaven. This was the man who'd been burned by dragon fire, who commanded a kingdom, and she couldn't really talk, but he looked like he was bordering on out of control completely.
For a while she watched, enthralled in spite of herself, her heart racing in her chest, and then Legolas's foot slipped infinitesimally on the dewy ground, and she watched his blade slide to the hilt, watched his face as he fought to readjust.
"Hey!" Nairi shouted out before she'd really thought any of it through, leaning dangerously over the balcony edge. They ignored her. "Damn it," she whispered.
Nairi dropped the blanket from her shoulders and ran for the stairs, skidding in her bare feet on the dew-dampened wood. She was wearing a pair of practically indecent sleep shorts and a flannel shirt she'd stolen back out of what they'd packed for Legolas, and she looked fairly ridiculous as she clung to the railings, trying to control her momentum as she hurdled down the steps.
She crossed the cold, wet grass in a rush, stumbling to a halt just in front of them. "What the bloody fucking- stop!" Tauriel's eyebrows raised, the only acknowledgement that she'd been heard at all, and then moved to block another blow, ignoring her.
"God damn it," Nairi shouted, heart racing in her chest. "Fucking shut up and listen to me before you kill each other!"
Again, she was completely ignored, and with the sparring session-if it could even be called that anymore-happening right in front of her, she could see how brutal it was. She could feel her blood pressure rising, and, as she was wont to do, Nairi acted on complete thoughtless instinct.
She jumped forward with her arms raised above her head, intent initially on seizing Thranduil's arm. She missed, though, and shrugged, throwing herself the rest of the way into the middle of all their knives, her forearms crossed in a white skin and blue inked imitation of Legolas's daggers. She was directly in the path of Thranduil's sword; if he swung he'd slice straight through her. For the first time, Nairi felt a frisson of fear, realizing suddenly that perhaps this wasn't the most brilliant idea she'd had.
She saw his eyes widen suddenly, the way he tried to twist his body away as if in slow motion, and Nairi swallowed, reflexively clenching her raised hands into fists. Well, shit.
She heard the thunderclap, felt the sudden burn in her fingertips, and then she watched as, for the second time in her life, she sent the deadly immortal arse-over-teakettle on the grass. "Fuck!" she exploded, hugging her arms tightly against her belly.
"Nairi," she heard Legolas snap out sharply behind her, and then he stepped in front of her, tossing down his knives, and locked soft blue eyes on her. "Do not go there. You didn't hurt him."
She hated that she was so predictable, but he was right. She was already halfway to hyperventilating.
"Look at me," Legolas grabbed her by the shoulders gently. "Look at me. Nairi, look at me. You're fine, Ada is fine, you're not alone. Breathe. I'm right here, look at me."
Her breathing slowed gradually, and then she brought her hands up and knocked his off of her shoulders roughly. "Yeah, I'm fine, thanks," she bit out. "And I suppose I have you to thank for that?" She rounded on the Elvenking, who was getting to his feet gracefully, still looking far too angry to be aggravated further. She didn't care.
"I beg your pardon," he spat back icily, arching an eyebrow.
"'Hey, there, son,'" she mocked, her hands gesticulating wildly. "'The crazy mortal bitch is prone to losing her shit if she uses her power so make sure you don't let her hyperventilate to fucking death!' Right, because I'm unstable and crazy but you still need me to fight your war for you." Nairi let her hands fall with a slap against her bare thighs, and then she was lifting them again, advancing on him with an accusing finger stabbing toward his chest. "And what the bloody fuck is wrong with you anyway?" She hissed. "This is your fucking son, you piece of shit, but by all means," a sarcastic laugh ripped through her throat. "Beat the shit out of him and your...Tauriel—"
"I'm fine," Tauriel tried, but Nairi hurled back over her shoulder at the woman, "shut up!"
She had no explanation anymore for where this rage was coming from, really, but now that she'd started laying into him she may as well finish. Screaming at the bloody man was rather cathartic anyway.
"You almost killed him, you almost killed me, thanks so very fuckin' much, I don't know what the hell that was but get a fucking grip on yourself!"
"Enough!" Thranduil thundered, towering over her and looking murderous, and Nairi wondered briefly if she'd overdone it.
"I believe," he said coldly, "you have a saying concerning pots and kettles? I suggest you 'get a fucking grip', and remember that you will never speak to me that way again."
"Oh, shove your misogynistic bullshit up your asshole, why don't you?" Nairi shot back. "I'll 'speak to you,'" She sneered, "any way I like. And I will certainly fucking tell you when you're being a douchebag. Jesus!"
He inhaled sharply through his nose, looking down at her in scathing disapproval and trying to collect himself. "You are late," he said simply after a pause. "Pick up your sword."
"You're about two years too late for me having a death wish," Nairi scoffed back. "I'm not actually that fucking stupid,"
Thranduil's eyes flashed. "Then learn to control your power instead. Something productive." He snarled out.
"Go to hell."
"Stop this!" Tauriel suddenly shouted out, and they both ignored her.
"Nairi-" he hissed out.
"No! What part of no don't you fucking understand? Jesus Christ, I don't need your fucking help!"
"You fully meant to attack me, then?"
"Fine. Correction, you bloody ass. I don't want your help. Who died and fucking made you king anyway?" It was the kind of phrase she threw around all the time. She formed the habit as an angry rebel of a girl high on drugs and too fond of lashing out at control and authority, and it was a kind of default response when she was uncreative and pissed. It didn't occur to her until after her brain caught up to her running mouth that she was actually mouthing off to a King. A king who-oh bloody hell-probably claimed his throne when his parents died. Fuck.
And with Tauriel's quiet Elvish hiss in the background, she knew she'd gone too far even before she looked at his face. She still couldn't understand the words but they were delivered like a curse. And then Nairi met Thranduil's eyes.
He looked like he was halfway to strangling her, incensed and eyes flashing cold blue fire. And at the same time he looked like she'd slapped him, stunned and flickering with hurt under the anger. And she wasn't afraid, the idea of him actually raising a hand to her never crossed her mind. Instead, the look he was trying to shutter away felt like getting sucker punched. There was a dull, tight ache in her chest and she wondered on some vague level if all the drugs were going to catch up to her and drop her dead of a heart attack at thirty.
Nairi opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She'd gone too far, but there was more here that she knew she didn't understand, and in any case all her attempts to take back the words got stuck in her throat. She crossed her arms helplessly, looking up at him from under her lashes, suddenly right back to being small and helpless and underdressed and barefoot. God above, she was such a child.
And then Thranduil turned abruptly on one heel with that stupid inhuman grace, and she watched miserably as he vanished into the woods on her grandmother's property. For a moment, it was horribly, utterly silent. Then, Nairi heaved a sigh. "Bloody hell," she groaned, and sank down unceremoniously onto the grass, crossing her legs and shivering against the cold wetness on her skin.
Squinting against the sunlight behind them, she looked up at the two elves, wearing identical expressions of stress and disapproval. "Right, well, I know I've fucked up, as per bloody usual," she muttered the last under her breath. "But if someone'd like to actually fucking tell me how before I make it worse that'd be grand."
Tauriel crossed her arms, sunlight shimmering on the smooth leather bracers she was still wearing from their ill fated sparring.
"What do you intend to do?"
Nairi shrugged, pulling absently at a blade of grass. "Suppose I've got to go after him, don't I? I mean, hell, foot's already well in my mouth but I'd rather not shove it the rest've the way down my throat trying to…"
"Trying to what?" Tauriel cocked her head. It was a curious question, not an interrogating one, but Nairi still felt defensive.
"I don't bloody know. Do I look like someone that can do this whole apologizing shit?"
"Yes," said Tauriel bluntly. "Just say what you feel instead of pretending you lack all emotions except anger," she added dryly, "and don't let him run you through with a sword."
Nairi made a scoffing noise, but accepted Legolas's hand to pull herself to her feet. She brushed off the backs of her thighs and then sighed, turning her back to them. "Is my arse all wet, then?"
Tauriel made a sound like a snort, and a smile crept onto Nairi's face, picturing Legolas's surely scandalized reaction. "Yes," the Elven woman said calmly, prompting another curse from Nairi.
She shrugged out of her flannel, leaving her clad in only a thin grey camisole, and tied the shirt over her hips.
"Boots?" Legolas suggested pointedly, looking down at her dirty bare toes, but Nairi shrugged and waved him off. "Shoes are overrated. Now, if I don't come back, assume I've been unfortunately killed."
The bravado wore off as she stepped away from them in the direction Thranduil had gone, and she was reduced to muttering a variety of colorful Irish curses as she stepped through the thickening trees. She was over her irrational fear of the woods from last night; at any rate they were well lit now, anyway. No, walking alone in the woods didn't trouble her in the slightest. She was more afraid of what she'd find. Who she was trying to find. And really, what the fuck was she supposed to say? Sorry I insulted you, I think? You really are an ass, though, probably wasn't going to cut it.
Nairi began to realize that she really was wandering around aimlessly through the trees, and while she could probably find her way back out quite easily, she wasn't making much progress in finding the Elvenking.
"Thranduil!" she finally bellowed out, hearing only her own voice echoed back to her. "I am trying to acknowledge that I may have been an ass but I would like to find you first!"
There was no reply, of any kind, and she stopped, hands on her hips, and turned a slow circle. She was shit at reading any kind of tracks, if Elves even left tracks behind, and really how the fuck was she supposed to find a pissed off Elf that didn't want to be found?
There was water running somewhere to her left, and she turned her feet in the direction of the sound. It was as good a direction as any to go. Venturing off of the path, though, was something of a mistake to do barefoot, and she picked her way through brush and rocks with further muffled curses and some interestingly sassy comments for the plants scratching at her.
"Yes, indeed, fuck you too," she muttered as a branch slipped out of her grip to snap back and hit her hip.
Nairi picked her way down a rocky slope, skidding some and feeling stone bite into her ankles, and landed with her feet in mud. Scowling, she followed it, turning around a bend in the trees. There was the little creek she'd heard, cheerfully babbling along with clear blue water, probably leading all the way down to the bottom of the valley behind the house. And there, she noted with a raised eyebrow, was Thranduil, sitting on a wide boulder on the other side of it. He was staring down at his own hand in the water, red blood swirling into the blue, with a detached expression on his half-hidden face. He really did have a lot of hair, she reflected.
She watched him flex his hand experimentally and a snort escaped her. "What did you do, punch a tree?" God knew she'd smashed her own hands into enough unyielding objects to know exactly what kind of action bloodied knuckles like that.
He didn't reply; didn't even acknowledge her.
"Oh, talkative, are we?" she commented dryly, and she seated herself on her own stream-side boulder, dumping her filthy, scratched-red feet into the cool water.
"Right, well," she cleared her throat, wiggling her toes. "You know I run my mouth off, but I grant you I was a bit of an ass. So, you know, sorry and whatnot."
She saw his eyebrows raise, and then he lifted his head for the first time, staring her down across the water with his hair curtaining his face. "Really," he drawled.
Nairi huffed out an exasperated breath. "Yes, really. I am trying to...apologize. You could help."
Thranduil didn't answer her. Nairi propped her hands behind her on the rock, staring at him across the narrow water. "So, what's your deal?"
"What?" he asked her sharply.
"You know," she expanded with a wave of her hand. "You're usually delighted to tell me when I'm pissing you off and then piss me off in return. Am I really what motivated you to punch trees?"
He didn't reply.
"I mean considering you were already pissed the hell off this morning before I was even awake-"
"You don't believe in your God," he interrupted coldly. "I know my gods are real. And I have spent millennia that you cannot begin to comprehend in your pathetic human lifespan bartering with them to no avail. All for the sake of some grander plan. Eri-" To her utter shock, he broke off with a crack in his voice mid tirade. "She is dead to me for the rest of eternity for you," he sneered. "And somehow even when they judged you worthy enough to justify my sacrifice, Legolas's, they left you in hell!" He ended in a shout that had her startling on her rock.
"What...are you even talking about?" Nairi threw her hands up, pushing her hair back from her face along the way. She had never seen him like this. He was such a King, so arrogant, so perfectionistic, irritatingly put together, inhumanly graceful. And right now he was raging at something she didn't understand, losing his perfect control, and the pain on his face was enough to crack even her black, frozen heart in two. "Thranduil," she said hesitantly, cocking her head. "Are you drunk or something?"
"I might be," he agreed too easily, and she groaned.
"Oh, bloody hell. Are you actually fucking serious?"
He ignored that. "There is never an excuse," Thranduil said steadily instead, looking at her now, "to leave an innocent, a child so important to you, in a world where all she can know is hate and pain."
For a moment, Nairi was completely frozen. Then, an incredulous laugh escaped her throat and she held up both hands. "Hold on, hold the fuck- are you talking about me? Are you blaming your gods for, what, letting me get addicted and jailed a couple times? Oh my God, you must be drunk."
"You should never have learned how to hate yourself so much."
"It's called fuckin' free will, you idiot," she shook her head, the words without a trace of malice for once. "I made my choices. They were shite, but I made 'em. Your gods didn't do that for me. The God of my world didn't. There are no gods. And even if there were, they would never get to decide." She stood, unsure of what she was even planning, and splashed her way across the creek toward him. Nairi halted just in front of him, water up to her calves, and shook her head. "My mistakes were mine to make, though I think I should probably be flattered or something that you almost seem to care." She smirked.
Thranduil stood suddenly, shaking water droplets from his still-bleeding hand with a fierceness that matched the storm on his face, and Nairi swallowed hard. Somehow he always had an ability to leave her completely wrong-footed, damn him.
His gaze softened, looking at her, and, entranced, she held it, all the while barely daring to breathe. "You deserve an apology as well, I believe," he murmured, and her eyebrows shot up.
"Oh my God I don't believe it, someone call the papers, mighty King Thranduil knows how to admit he's been acting like a—"
"It was never my intention to let you witness—" he broke off and started again. "You may have caught me on a bad day."
Nairi muttered something noncommittal, hands on her hips, and a smile crept onto the corners of her mouth. "Yeah, okay, sure." She muttered, glancing down to her bare toes on the pebbled stream bottom.
"Nairi-"
"That doesn't mean I'm going to be nice to you, now," she warned, a teasing edge in her tone that surprised her. God, what was it with these elves? They kept drawing things out of her that she hadn't known existed to begin with. She shifted her weight awkwardly, and one of the rocks tipped beneath her feet. With a little splash, she stumbled sideways, her motion immediately halted when Thranduil's hand landed on her waist, bracing her upright.
"Graceful," Nairi snorted sarcastically, self-deprecating. He didn't let her go, and her half-formed laugh died on her lips as she met his eyes. Don't look at me like that, she wanted to say, but her tongue seemed hell bent on being difficult, and no sound came out.
His hand was warm through the all-too-thin material of her camisole, and she could feel the calluses on his palm snagging the material. She didn't care. Nairi was frozen, feeling like the ground just fell out from under her feet and her heart was beating like it was trying to run away from her. Maybe, she thought, it had the right idea.
Her feet didn't move.
Wind pushed her hair forward, gently into her face, and before she could react, Thranduil brought his other hand up to tuck it back away from her, thumb brushing the corner of her mouth and holy ever loving Jesus when did he get that close?
It was too much, she couldn't, how dare he, what the fuck— Nairi sucked in a sharp breath suddenly, hand flying in an instinctive reaction before her brain could catch up.
She was right handed, it was natural, and she dropped her hand in midair as her mind flashed with the image of his burned face. She'd already discovered that trying to hit the other side of his face didn't work, and really she could be so much calmer about this but she'd never felt like a caged animal quite so much before.
Nairi reared back and slammed her fist into his nose, feeling cartilage snap even as pain shot through her knuckles. Thranduil hissed and brought his hands to his face, and then she was stumbling backward through the water, hands up as if to ward off a blow. She took off without a backward glance, shaky with adrenaline and skidding around on the forest floor, praying to a God she had no faith in that he wasn't going to pursue her.
It took her less time than she thought to get back to Isobel's front yard, and it was completely empty when she slowed to a graceless halt on the lawn. Her thoughts were panicked, darting in all directions, and the only thing she could focus on with any clarity was that she'd made a mistake. She'd gone too far and she'd gotten too close to them. She could hurt them; she had hurt them and Nairi's teeth bit into her bottom lip at the memory of Thranduil, face covered in blood from when she'd inadvertently attacked.
She'd let herself fall into some idyllic world for just an instant, just long enough to let herself get close, forgetting the way everything she touched inevitably turned to ash in the end. Forgetting that at some point trust would be required and she had no idea how to actually let go and trust another human being.
And now she'd fucked up much worse than she had at the start of the morning and Nairi couldn't focus as she ran up the front steps and let herself into the house. No one was in sight and that was fine; the fewer explanations the better.
She had the presence of mind to change her clothes and to put her gun in the back of her waistband. For a heartbeat she picked up a pen sitting on the coffee table, twirling it in her fingers and looking for a scrap of paper, and then she let it drop to the carpet angrily. Notes were sentimental, leaving one wasn't going to help her.
Isobel left the keys in the bowl by the door; it was all too easy to fish them out and walk out of the house again-the whole mess had taken less than ten minutes. She unlocked the shiny sports car and slid into the leather driver's seat, realizing as she smoothed her hand over the wheel that Thranduil's blood was drying all over her knuckles.
She backed out of the drive in a skid of gravel and a screech of tires, flying down the lane to the main road far too quickly and steering with just her left hand, scrubbing the right one desperately against her jean-clad thighs, keeping her eyes on the road while they stung and blurred with tears she tried to deny.
Nairi hit the radio with her fist, spinning the dial all the way up and blasting the first rock station she found. It was loud enough to make her head ache, and her mouth curved up into an approximation of a smile that looked more like someone had slashed a line into her face with a knife. After all, she was hellfire and disaster, and self destruction was her speciality.
Nairi, Nairi, Nairi. Well, there you have it! Let me know what you think?
Feel free to come visit me at girlgonnafly on tumblr (I'd love to chat!) or follow Nairi's Instagram at nairi . ocallahan.
