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Velvet Dress

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Morning did not give Harlette time to wake up at leisure, for at the first light of dawn Thranduil had requested her immediate presence.

Fenoril and Ismil at her side, she walked through the corridor, decended great marble steps, crossed a large room and was asked to stop before two great double doors. In a matter of seconds, those doors opened, and light poured out from them, illuminating her face.

Fenoril and Ismil did not chaperon her as she entered the throne room, and as the doors closed behind her, she let her eyes course along the marbled floor, and the beautiful domed ceilings carved in wood and stone that stood so high above her. Guards stood along the walls, their spears held firmly planted on the ground next to them. At the end of the immense space, Thranduil sat upon his throne, a leg casually draped over the armrest. He was not alone: Wearing dresses of diaphanous pink, green or yellow silk, four beautiful elf-maids surrounded him. Their hair either gold or brown cascaded down their backs, and they wore magnificent jewels that further enhanced their beauty. They batted their lashes at him and spoke eagerly in Elvish, running their tongues over their pink lips. Thranduil replied to them, in the way he always did─detached and casual.

Harlette pressed her lips into a thin line of frustration for Thranduil heeded not her presence. She cleared the throat. That caught the attention of the women, yet they only talked louder to their king, battling for his attention.

Flashes of what had happened yesterday haunted Harlette's mind: Punching Thranduil, telling him she hated him, and him ordering her not to use his name. The young novelist was disheartened and was being utterly ignored. 'I'm here,' she dared voice timidly. No one minded her.

Harlette crossed her arms over her chest, her mouth popping open: How dared he treat her so?

'I'm here,' she repeated a little bolder this time.

Thranduil briefly glanced at her, and back at the women.

This was so humiliating. Harlette made for the exit doors yet three guards barred her way. She had no choice but to turn around and move to stand before the throne.

Thranduil still did not pay attention to her, and his lips were pushed into a wicked smile; he was having fun.

Puffing, and bowing hyperbolically low, Harlette finally said: 'You have requested my presence here, your majesty.'

Silence.

At last, standing up, much to the deception of the whimpering females, Thranduil left the comfort of his throne, and descending the few steps parting him from Harlette, he came to stand before her. First he remained silent as he took in the sight of her. Leaving her shoulders bare and exposing her elegant neck and decolté, the long sleeves of her dark-red velvet dress were sewed up with golden thread and pearls.

Harlette watched him. With his crown atop his head, Thranduil's silky hair fell loosely past his shoulders. Dressed in dark green and silver robes, and with his emerald eyes so penetrative, Thranduil standing right before her was intimidating.

Harlette stepped away from him and readdressed him, her tone bitter: 'Why have you asked for guards to track my every step, my lord?'

Thranduil circled her, contemplating her every detail. That dress fitted her like a glove. 'Because I felt like doing so.'

Harlette tried to keep a composed façade as she felt him move around her. 'But I have done nothing wrong.'

Thranduil faced her, and his stare went dark. 'You striked me, and you bowed before the leeches. I cannot let your deeds suffer no consequences. Deem yourself lucky I have not cast you into the dungeons or killed you; for that which you have done calls for much worse a fate than to be merely followed by my guards.'

Gasps of shock were heard from the women that sat around the throne.

Harlette trembled before the elf who once had almost been her friend and lover. Her chin quivered, and she saw the satisfaction smirking on his face as he beheld her inimidated posture.

Silence.

'I didn't mean to hit you. You provoked me.'

'Provoked you?' Thranduil sputtered a laugh, 'what did I do to provoke you, Harlette?'

'You know very well,' Harlette muttered, on the verge of tears.

Thranduil crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a cruelly knowing smile.

'But it was not in my intention to hit you,' Harlette reaffirmed.

'Nor, I suppose, was it your intention to humiliate me by bowing to the worse kind of foe there exist. You should watch yourself, human.'

Harlette glared at him. 'Stop calling me human.'

'That is what you are, unless of course, you are something else?' his tone was dark, and laden with suspicion.

'That's why you have summoned me here? Because you think I'm lying to you?'

'Are you?'

'I assure you, I am human. You of all people should know, after all, I believe you've had a pretty good glance at me.'

Thranduil's emeral eyes went black with ire. 'Watch your insolent tongue.'

Harlette's stare slammed against his and did not waver. 'Do you truly think I have something to do with those creatures? Do you think I am one of them?'

Thranduil's face closed upon hers till they were but a kiss away.

'No, you are probably right. You are much too weak to be one of them, mortal.'

'My name is Harlette. Your wish is that I no longer use your name, but I wish for you to use mine.'

Thranduil pulled her to him so that her chest was now against his, his warmth radiating against her body. 'You are in no position to make requests. I shall do as I please, and you will follow my orders and accept what I give you.' With those words, he let her go, and turning around, headed back towards his throne. He sat among the sniggering women.

'I don't want anything from you,' Harlette said.

Thranduil lounged on his grand chair, and he smiled a sinister smile, 'you do not want anything from me, yet you have accepted to wear the dress I gave you.'

At his words the maids glared at Harlette, pouting and emitting sounds bespeaking jelousy.

Harlette's mouth opened and closed, and she stammered: 'I thought Earwin had picked it up for me!'

'You thought wrong. I had it made yesterday, for you.'

Harlette tripped backwards, her cheeks garnet, her heart slamming in her chest, all this much to Thranduil's utter enjoyment.

One of the concubines, her glare fixed on the outraged Harlette who was the object of her king's interest and desire, poured some wine into a silver goblet and placed it into his hand. He spoke again: 'I must say, it brings out the red of your lips in such a way, I have no doubt roses will envy you.' Bringing the wine to his mouth, he drank, watching Harlette beyond the brim of his glass, the bright emeralds ornamenting it matching his eyes. Nevertheless, the smug expression on his face disappeared and was replaced by an entertained confusion when Harlette brought her fingers to the top of her dress, quickly unfastening the lace holding it together.

'Harlette, what are you doing?' Thranduil chuckled as he saw her brush the sleeves along her arms, and pull them off before at last unlacing the back till the red velvet fell in a heap at her feet, leaving her in a fine white chemise concealing nothing from the eye.

The women gasped outrageously. 'Do not trifle with my patience, Harlette,' Thranduil warned.

'You have trifled with my pacience and my body, your majesty.' Harlette knew not what bravado had taken hold of her for she spoke with no control over her words; rage and jealousy had once again taken the upper hand.

In a matter of seconds Thranduil reached her side: 'Wear it.'

Harlette's stare darted to the floor, where the garment lay, crumpled. She refused to move.

'Harlette, do not dare reject my command a second time.' His voice was grave and menacing, and dark, absolutely dark.

Suddenly, he grabbed her by the waist, pulled her against him. His mouth muffled hers. Harlette gasped, and when she did, his tongue swept inside. She was aware of the guards all around and the whining concubines. She would not surrender to his bold touch. Her hands pushed against his chest. 'My body isn't yours to use when you please!'

Thranduil let her go, surprised and wickedly entertained.

'That night in far-Flunga, if my will had been to take you, I know you would not have restrained me,' he whispered, dark amusement hanging at the back of his voice. Harlette's heart flipped and she became red from head to toe.

'Aren't I right?' he said, reveling in her discomfort. Harlette was ashamed, of course he was right. Nevertheless, she did not let herself be humiliated further. With a composed voice she answered: 'Yes, that night in Far-Flunga, I would have given myself to an Elven Lord. A lord that was not a father and certainly did not have a harem; I would have given myself to a stubborn yet noble King that cared for me and did not need to be surrounded by a multitude of women to feel like a man. Unlike what you may think, you didn't make yet another girl fall for you; you simply took advantage of a lost, naïve soul who was certain that you would have taken the time to mention your real relationship with love, sex and women, for why would you willingly deceive her? But now I am glad that you did; now I am glad you took advantage of my inexperience.'

Thranduil was quiet for some time. The way she addressed him was bold, he desired to reprimand her, to strike her even and throw her out of his kingdom with a spear through her heart. And yet her last utterance clawed at his curiosity: 'You are glad?'

'Yes, I am glad, thanks to you I know better than to give my trust easily. I think that at nineteen years of age, it was about time I learned that lesson.' She paused before continuing: 'If I live to meet a man who will love me, he will also be glad that what happened between us happened.'

'Will he now?'

'Yes. For it is when you have been mistreated that you begin to truly appreciate and value those who treat you with respect. As you never fail to remind me, I am human and human life goes by so fast we often take the friendships we have, and can have, for granted. Now I will appreciate them with much fervour.'

Silence.

Thranduil turned away from her, and he took his time before replying. 'You will be kept under watch. It is out of the question you leave Mirkwood until I am sure you are what you really claim to be. You will do what I tell you, and you will accept what I give you. The dress, Harlette, is a gift; out of simple politness, you will accept it, and now, you will wear it.'

Gagethering the garment in her arms, Harlette turned around and leave, yet his voice reached her ears: 'I said you will wear the dress, now.'

'Now?'

Thranduil sat casually back on his throne and he smirked: 'now.'

Harlette made no objection this time. She had destabilized him and that was enough for now. She began to put on the garment slowly as he continued speaking, his tone cold, his eyes glaring at the nothingness: 'We must also think of a better use for you. As you are to remain here, you should make yourself useful. Have you any talents?'

Harlette heaved a sigh; clearly the elf could not bear defeat.

As she fondled to pull the material upon her body, Thranduil studied every inch of her intently, from the colour of her hair, to the ripness of her lips, to the softness of her milky skin. 'Tell me, Harlette, do you have any particular talent you wish to inform me about? Other than writing, of course.'

There was derision in his tone. Obviously, he did not take her writing seriously.

Harlette laced the top of the dress. 'I can sing.'

Thranduil's brows arched. 'You can sing?' he was suprised. 'Elves excel at singing. I doubt a human has anything that could appeal to my ears.'

Harlette frowned, and Thranduil enjoyed the way she walked forth courageously, determined to save her pride.

'Indeed you are addressing a human, not an elf, my lord. And the human that I am can only entertain you in two ways: Through writing and/or singing, both of which will naturally seem imperfect to you, and sadly this is all I can offer.'

'Those are not the only ways you could entertain me.' A wickedly sensual smile curved up his lips.

The memories of him giving her pleasure flooded back into her mind, and images began to form into her eyes. She shivered and regained composure: 'T-those are the only ways you will see me entertain you willingly.'

Thranduil smiled a wicked smile. 'I hope you will impress all of us, then.'

'My purpose is not to impress but simply to do what is requested of me.'

A pause. Thranduil raised a brow at her boldness. 'I shall be looking forward to hearing you sing tonight.'

Despite some days being traditionally commemorated with special rituals, every day was a day of celebration for the elves, and so every night the elves of any specie would gather and share their love of music, nature and poetry. When Thranduil spoke of 'tonight', he meant that she would be singing at the feast.

Harlette began to stammer, the prospect of having to sing that very night sent shivers of foreboding down her spine: 'Tonight ? Are y-ou s-sure...I don't ─'

'Losing your cool, human?'

Harlette pressed her lips together in a fine line. As slowly as she could, she walked towards the double-doors which opened for her and closed once she stepped outside. She heard his laugher; Thranduil had never been so enteratained in his life, or at least, that's what he wanted her to think.