As the group proceeded, they passed an alternate tunnel that Kizea
recognized. When they had passed this way before, the sounds of lutes
playing and jovial merrymaking echoed throughout the vast halls of the
underground kingdom. Now, all was silent and still. Kizea thought perhaps
the elves had taken her in the middle of the night. If she had managed to
stay awake within her cell, she might have been able to determine how many
hours had passed and therefore the time of day, but there was no knowing
the length of time that she had slept. As she went along, Kizea thought
that perhaps she had seen the last of the daylight, and that thought
saddened her.
Suddenly a brighter light shone in the tunnel, and Kizea became aware of two elven guards standing at attention at the entryway to the great throne room. Each held a long elven spear in his grasp, and Kizea carefully eyed them as she walked by. Once inside the large chamber, she turned slightly to the right, where she knew the king's throne would be. As expected, King Thranduil was sitting at the far end of the room, with four elven guards standing behind him, their long knives drawn in anticipation of trouble. Glancing over at the pillar, she was surprised to see the elven swords that she and Melune had fought so ferociously with, carefully placed back to their original positions.
Her own golden weapons were long since gone, and Kizea breathed a small sigh of regret at the thought of their loss. Finally she stood quietly before King Thranduil. A sort of reserved concern grew on his face when he realized that Kizea was not bound. But Legolas came forward and whispered to his father, and at last the king nodded and motioned for the guards to lower their knives. This mildly surprised Kizea, but she was nevertheless weary of the king's intent upon bringing her before him. He had apparently made some decision about her fate at least. Melune and the others were not present, and Kizea wondered if he had already dispelled some vague sentence upon them. The king eased himself back in his chair and gazed at her expectantly before speaking. Kizea still refused to bow to him.
"You have entered my realm uninvited, interfered with the elven patrols that keep my kingdom safe, and assailed the creatures who exist here by my leave. Then you come to me for help."
Kizea stood calmly before him, considering how she might answer.
"I came to seek that which should never have entered your realm. I sought the wisdom and help of the elves, King Thranduil. It was my intention to seek you out. I should never have found your underground castle without making myself known to your patrols. But as it was, they found me first. As for the creatures that live in Mirkwood, I only defended myself from the spiders that infest your woodlands like a pestilence. Would you have me allow them to feast upon me merely because I am within your kingdom's boundaries?"
"They are here by my leave!" Thranduil bellowed, "I am the ruler here!"
"But the Fendowan have no rulers," Kizea said calmly. Several elves stepped forward angrily, wielding drawn elven long knives, but King Thranduil quickly raised his hand. The advancing elves stopped and stepped back to their positions.
"There is little more than myth surrounding your kind, and we know little more of you than what you have told us" he began somberly, "But despite your rude manners, I am inclined to believe that you have relayed naught but the truth to me and my son, Legolas. And against my better judgment, it seems I have little choice but to place my trust in one who takes pride in having no loyalties to the world."
"It is because of my loyalty that I am before you," Kizea replied annoyed, "I am loyal to my order! I am loyal to my word as a Fendowan! Think you that I would even be standing before you now if not for my promise to Legolas? I should be gone by now, seeking to return the Stone of Anor to its rightful place of safety, not bartering for my right to do so! It is I who came to YOU for help, King Thranduil, and for my efforts I have been debased and imprisoned! Never should such a high being as myself be so ill used!"
The King shifted in his chair. The elven king was not used to being addressed in such a manner, still the pressing needs of his mind inclined him to leniency with Kizea. If indeed she spoke the truth of the stone to him, then he needed to put aside his distaste for the girl and act.
"It seems your companions, those that had come after you, have escaped from my underground domain. The one you fought with here, in this very room, placed my elven guard under an enchantment and they released all, save for you, going as far as walking them to the magical gates and opening them."
Kizea let out a small gasp, her eyes widened. She caught sight of Legolas's calm expression. Did he know all this while and still not tell her?
"Foolish! Foolish!" cried Kizea in disbelief, "After our encounter within your throne room; after I warned you, thought you not to even cover the guards ears? Did you not even caution them to her trickery?"
King Thranduil said nothing, but only stared at her audacity, yet he knew that Kizea was not entirely wrong of the situation.
"Father," Legolas said whispering, "She warned us. For the other one's evil, she must not be held accountable. I believe her to be truthful."
The King waved Legolas away with his hand. Surprised, Legolas stepped back. Kizea bowed her head, but not in subjugation. She became suddenly depressed. The weight of her mask seemed a tiresome thing at moments like these. Being a prisoner of the elves was enough of a hardship. Now, bound to her promise to remain imprisoned, and with Melune free to seek the stone unfettered, matters were worsened tenfold.
"This is distressing news indeed, your majesty," Kizea said finally, "You MUST let me go now, King Thranduil. For every moment that Melune seeks for the stone is a moment too long delayed for me. The entire world stands now at your feet, King of Elves! What you do now will determine the life and death of many races in Middle-Earth, and perhaps it is already too late!"
"Your rival has not all the advantage," the king replied, "She does not know where to look for the stone. I am the only one who knows where Gwaihir has taken it. If I am to trust you as my son seems to, you must tell me once and for all why it was taken from Goldorma. For until now, we all know but rumors. Not truth. You are the only ones to see firsthand of the stone's abilities. Even the mighty Gwaihir trembled as he clutched it within his grasp, and refused to allow me to touch it. Such was the stone's power that he only questioned me and left. What is the power of the stone that so many would risk their lives for it? Why would a Fendowan relinquish her birthright and forsake her own order in pursuit of it? Tell me now. What does this Melune plan to do with it? For unless I am satisfied, surely you will never leave this kingdom again."
Kizea felt suddenly cold inside. Insulted and shaking, she swallowed hard before she began to speak.
"Melune plans to bring darkness to the world with it," she began, "The stone..."
Kizea faltered, she could not get the words out. She licked her lips and breathed deeply to summon her courage. Then standing erect, she turned her head once more and peered into Legolas's blue eyes from beneath her heavy mask and found some small comfort in his gaze.
"The stone," Kizea continued, "will bring to life any dead thing."
Small gasps of disbelief and horrified whispers resounded throughout the hall. King Thranduil's face fell to alarm as he raised his hand to silence the room.
"ANY dead thing," the king repeated in disbelief, "You are telling me a high priestess of the Fendowan, chosen before hundreds, perhaps thousands of others who have sought it fruitlessly over the ages, intends to use the Stone of Anor to resurrect the dead back into this world?"
"Not merely the dead," Kizea continued, "Melune is a minion of evil now. She remains a Fendowan, yet her allegiance to the Fendowan order is broken. I cannot explain it to you. But I tell you she means to use the stone to bring Rakal the Destroyer and all the orc armies since the Battle of the Last Alliance back into Middle-Earth. Perhaps, eventually, even the embodiment of Sauron himself."
Upon hearing Rakal's name, Legolas's face contorted with rage, and he pursed his lips to avoid speaking. He stood next to his father, shaking his head, his eyes tightly shut as though trying to blot out Rakal's bitter memory. Thranduil nearly laughed at Kizea, who stood rigid.
"You speak of the impossible, noble Fendowan. Nothing but the ring of power may bring back the dark lord, and that has been lost from the world for an age."
Kizea's somber eyes did not blink, but stayed fixed upon the king.
"The stone's power is limitless, and there is no treachery to which Melune is not capable. If I do not find the stone before her, the world will be covered of such blackness as to be the end of all things as we know them. You must know of the elven lore surrounding the light of Anor, and to this I say, beware of the elven lore! For of every elven song; with every elven myth there begins with a truth!"
The amused smile slowly disappeared from King Thranduil's face. Yes, there were elven songs that spoke of the stone, the flame of Anor, and its ability to transform evil to good and likewise, all that is good to evil. Much murmuring and whispering ensued in the throne room. Several tall, long- robed elven lords stood before the king, with their backs towards Kizea, whispering. Kizea could not see the king, who was surrounded, but rather she concentrated her attentions to Legolas and Kerrinais as they listened intently to the group's discourse. Kerrinais had an angry, distrustful look about him, but Legolas's face was harder to read. He seemed solemn, but shook his head several times, obviously aiming for a different course of action than what had been suggested at the onset. At last they parted, and stood behind the throne. Kizea's gaze rested once more to the stately, tall elf sitting on the throne and she knew everything had been decided.
The elven king raised his left hand, motioning for a guard standing in the recesses of the chamber to step forward. Kizea glanced sideways as he approached, thinking how she might dodge an attack from behind. Instead, he walked in front of the girl, holding up velvety pillow. On the pillow lay her two golden Fendowan daggers, newly cleaned, sparkling in the torchlight. No scratch or spec of dirt could be detected, but the jeweled handles gleamed with every movement. Kizea stood perplexed before the elf for an instant, half expecting him to address her in some manner, but he said nothing. Slowly, she reached both hands forward and gently lifted the weapons from the pillow, and lowered her hands to her side. The elf removed back to the dark corner of the chamber behind the throne.
"I know not your name," the king said finally to her.
"I am called Kizea, master of the Fendowan," she replied.
"No," King Thranduil said in a more earnest tone of voice, "That is the name given to you when you came to the stone's service. What is your other name? Your name when you walked in the daylight as one of the free people of Middle-Earth?"
Kizea was taken aback. Thinking back on the last years of her life, no mention of this was ever brought to her attention. Valnin had only spoken of their mutual father, and that the elves were an eternal source of sadness and misery to their family. He spoke nothing of what she was in a former life, and she never questioned it.
"What knows you of the daylight?" she snapped, "The elves live here underground, within the blackened forest amidst the vilest of creatures, making merry without thought to where the rest of the world suffers."
King Thranduil smiled once more. He had struck a chord within her. She was compelled always to protect the stone, even to the end of her own life. Kizea was bound as a Fendowan never to remove her heavy mask and feel the rain upon her face. She could never know the pleasures that a mate could bestow, or the happiness of companionship of family, something that was very basic to elven culture. For her, there was no dancing, no camaraderie, only training and guarding the stone, an endless existence with no relief until the end of her days. She was in many ways, a prisoner. The king slowly understood Kizea, she was envious of the elves.
"Even an elf may leave this underground kingdom and wander to put his face to the sun if he desires it. You did too at some point beyond your reckoning, and then you possessed of another name. What was it?"
"I.I do not know," she began slowly, "There was nothing before I came to the Fendowan. I am only called Kizea."
King Thranduil settled back into his chair. Could she be one of the legendary two? Elven lore was clear. There would be two Fendowan returned to life from the abyss. One possessed of the purest heart and the other of blackest night. Through the flame of Anor, neither master remembering their past, but only their fate. The two chosen Fendowan would walk amongst the elves and ultimately decide the Stone of Anor's fate, and the fate of all races upon Middle-Earth.
"It matters not," he said finally, "Kizea, we are at a crossroads. I believe that you are a master of the Fendowan, and a keeper of the light of Anor. I am concerned of the stone coming to the hands of evil as are you. But as a lord in Middle-Earth, you must realize that I have a grave responsibility to the keeping of my people, and that I must act in their best interest to maintain accord and prosperity while we live in this world. I have decided to release you of your bonds, and authorize you to seek beyond the boundaries of my realm for the sacred stone with a guard of my most trusted and powerful elven warriors, and return with it to this realm, where we both might best decide what is to be done."
Kizea shook her head in protest.
"I cannot allow that!" she said angrily, "I am the only one who must retrieve the light of Anor. You cannot force this upon me! I will not return the Stone of Anor here to be a trinket for your treasure trove, and I will not suffer to be looked after like a child by your elven guards!"
Kerrinais glanced down at the king, amazed at his composure. To anyone but a Fendowan would the king of Mirkwood accept such insolence. The king leaned forward in his chair.
"I mean no disrespect to you Kizea, master of the Fendowan," he said gently, "But surely even you must know that the stone cannot be protected as before in the great mountain. It would be of little consequence for the one who stole it in the first place to retrieve it there again. I vow the stone is not to be destined for any treasure chamber of mine, but rather it must be relinquished to that being who can keep it best. Do you agree?"
Kizea stood silent for a moment pondering his words. She also knew the Anor stone could not be returned to the mountain where Melune would easily recover it. Something else must be done with it.
"We must both put aside our pride and work together, and hope that our deeds are enough to prevent the Stone of Anor from being lost to the shadows!" the king urged.
Although Kizea loathed the thought of the elves accompanying her, she felt that her captivity would continue unless she relented. However, she also had no doubts in her mind to the uselessness of their aid. They had not the skill in battle to overcome any of the Fendowan warriors that rode even now towards the stone, much less the evil Melune herself. Only she might have the ability to kill any of them, yet she was oath bound to never to shed the blood of her own kind. Even Melune was unable to kill her during their battles, although she had several chances. Some inexplicable force had kept her hand from doing so, but she did not know what. Kizea sighed. How then could she deal with them by herself? And what of Gwaihir? She must still find the eagle's whereabouts somehow.
"I agree," she said at last, "But your elven guard would only stand in my way, and at my side in battle against those Fendowan who are covered by the shadow, they put themselves at great peril. Your guard could easily be killed in the fight that must surely take place, and it will make my position more tenuous if I am forced to protect them as well as fight my own kind."
Kerrinais looked away, trying to hide his contempt while the King smiled slightly at Kizea's arrogance.
"I send my elven guards forth so that together we may accomplish this task. The elves are not so easily overtaken as you would like to imagine. Without shedding any blood, the elves have made even you a prisoner, is this not so? Also Gwaihir the Windlord would be more trustful of you if you were in the company of my kindred. For I do not believe he would give up the stone to any Fendowan's hand."
Kizea slowly nodded. Indeed, it would be a logical course of action, for Gwaihir had little connection with any Fendowan save for that fateful day on the cliff. Better not to give up the stone to any Fendowan before he was sure of their side to light. And he did trust the elves, even if Kizea did not.
"Very well," Kizea said at last, "Where has Gwaihir taken the stone?"
"He seeks Mithrandir for council, that is why Gwaihir first came amongst us."
"Gandalf?" Kizea said with sudden interest, "Gandalf is the wizard for whom Gwaihir seeks?"
"Yes," the king replied, "Gwaihir sought out Gandalf the Gray, who had recently visited us, but he arrived too late. Gandalf had already left for the elf havens of Tamlot beside Isodor before the Windlord arrived. Do you know of him?"
Legolas gazed directly ahead, staring off into nothingness; the sting of Tamlot and Imladris still fresh within him. Legolas said nothing, and let no expression come to his face, but Kerrinais glanced over at his friend with some concern. Few elves knew of the events that had transpired in Tamlot, 10 years previous. Kerrinais did not even believe that Legolas's father knew of his son's love for the murdered Queen Lisaine. Legolas's friend could only imagine how the mere mention of Tamlot tore at Legolas's heart. Kizea remained pensive for a moment.
"I have heard of Gandalf only," Kizea began, "But if Gwaihir is taking the stone to Gandalf in Isodor, then it is in Isodor where I will retrieve it. For there is no telling the pathways and roads of a wizard, and Gandalf the Grey may have many stops in-between before reaching the elf haven, not knowing he is being sought. I will go directly to Isodor and find the wizard there."
The king nodded and stood up. Several elves within the large room bowed their heads. Legolas glared at Kizea, knowing in his heart what would happen in the next moments, and he began to feel angry. This arrogant, unrefined outsider would be forcing him to a place where he thought he would never be made to travel again.
"I will send three elves with you," King Thranduil began as he stepped down, "I will send Tenmelion, and Kerrinais, who are loyal guardians of the border. And also I will send with you my son Legolas, for he is of the highest valor and greatest judgment. Legolas is also acquainted with Mithrandir, and in traveling with him, Mithrandir may know that we are of a solemn agreement."
Kizea gazed over at the three elves to accompany her on her journey. She plainly saw the distrust and contempt on their faces, and wondered if they would speak against the king's choice or no. They, all of them, clearly had no wish to be recruited to this journey, especially Legolas. He stood silently beside the throne, and only Kizea detected a slight tremble in his hand. She could feel a tumult of thought rushing through his mind. Kerrinais however, made little effort to hide his animosity. Kizea was sure that he would be of some nuisance on the trip. The three chosen elves, however, said nothing against the king's choice.
"Agreed," Kizea said at last, "We should leave at once. There is no time that we can afford to waste."
The king stood before Kizea, towering above her tiny frame.
"No," the king replied, "It is but deep in the night within the wood, and all manners of creatures wander my realm at night. I know you have already met with the spiders. But there are other, older things that wander in the darkness. It is not wise to speed an end to your journey before you have begun it."
Kizea thoughts regressed to the heaving abdomen of the great black spider as she spun her web around Kizea's body, trapping her in a cocoon of thick mucus. Still, she could not allow such thoughts to sway her judgment. The spiders had not prevailed, and Kizea no longer considered them a threat. She began to protest, but the king raised his hand. For the first time, Kizea cut her sentence short and listened.
"It would do you no good to attempt it now, Kizea, master of the Fendowan. In a few hours the day will dawn, and the darker creatures will retreat into their black hiding places once more. I would invite you to feast and rest as need be, as a guest of Mirkwood, not a prisoner. I will have horses and supplies prepared to quicken you on your journey. I fear your counterpart will not fair as well this night. I do not doubt that the others of your order will spend the remainder of their evening fighting for their lives."
The King's confidence amused Kizea. She rather imagined how Melune would spend the night hunting the elven King's would-be assassins, sharpening her skills, relishing in the kill of new quarry. Still, she kept silent. Four elven maidens now surrounded her, their muted green gowns sparkling with hints of green stones. Kizea thought to the gems that she had given the king only the previous day and wondered of their fate. Their loss was regrettable, but if they had speeded her course to the stone, then they had served their purpose.
Kizea vaguely wondered about the tall, graceful maidens as she followed them obediently through another passageway, this time away from the area where she was previously kept. In stark contrast to the cellblock, this new path was well lit with torches; the pathway was smoother and wider, the ceiling taller. The elf-maid's long flowing hair shined and glimmered as they proceeded, and Kizea scrutinized with admiration the green gemstones that were fixed within their traditional Mirkwood braids. The Fendowan thought how similar her own hair might be, but hers was simply tied, and plain. She was not afforded the luxury of bathing since her arrival to the Elven stronghold, and Kizea thought of how tangled and cobweb strewn her own tresses must look to the elves. No match for the meticulously coiffed tresses of the elf maidens. Brushing her hand slightly to the back of her head, she pulled a tiny stick from her own hair, and held onto it. Quickly, she lowered her hand to her side, and she let out a small sigh.
"The king takes prodigiously good care of the females of his kingdom," Kizea thought aimlessly.
"Yes, he is the wisest of rulers," one elf maid replied. Stopping short, Kizea stared incredulously. The maid in front of her stopped and turned to look back at the girl. Smiling, she beckoned Kizea to follow her again, and they continued. From then on, Kizea tried to keep her thoughts bent on the stone, and not on frivolous baubles that were of no concern to her. But the elf maid who had read her mind so easily, kept smiling.
At length, Kizea was led to an intricately carved archway. As the elf maids stepped aside, Kizea peered past them into the deeper recesses of the chamber. Against the far wall were several ornate benches with soft tasseled cushions. Three carved chairs, similarly decorated with plush cushions were placed on the opposite side of the room. Drapes hung lazily from the center of the ceiling, outstretched to the corners of the room, giving off a blue-green hue to the smooth stone floor. It was so smooth in fact, that it was almost like gazing at one's reflection in a still pool of water. Tapestries and wooden carvings were displayed on every wall. In the center of the room was a flat, round downy bed, covered in a shimmering blue-green coverlet.
The stitching formed shapes of various woodland animals; rabbits, deer, fish, and feathered creatures. All lived in harmony under the watchful eyes of the Mirkwood elves. Kizea proceeded into the chamber, her sights bent on the fabulous covering. As she stepped closer, her eyes made out, on one corner the distinct outline of an ancient alter, and a smallish, polished stone perched to the top of it, girdled in silver and golden threads, emanating light to the far sides of the quilt. Kizea stood frozen admiring it. Reviewing the other parts of the coverlet with wonder, each stream of light that originated at the stone made it's way to another corner of the quilt, intercepted by animals, trees, men and elves and dwarves and all manners of living things in Middle-Earth. At each of the other corners of the quilt, was the likeness of three rings of power, each interlocking and producing it's own strength and light unto the inhabitants of Middle-Earth. Walking to the far corner of the bed, Kizea placed a hand on one set of stitches, running her fingers over the raised threads, scrutinizing the needlework. An image flashed into her mind, and it was the long, wiry hand that displayed an elven ring of power proudly upon the forefinger.
"This coverlet," Kizea asked, "Where did these likenesses come from? I believe I recognize some of these symbols. One is certainly the great stone, but these others..."
A graceful, elf maiden came over to the bed and looked over Kizea's shoulders. Her long, platinum hair fell about her shoulders, two Sindarin braids spilled over her ears and hung delicately from behind her ears.
"Most of our chambers have decorated quilts as such, they are mostly elven in origin. The king has bid this to be your chambers until your parting on the morrow. He thought you would like to wash before eating. I have placed an elven-gown on the far chair that you may wear, if you wish your other clothes to be washed and mended."
The Fendowan hadn't noticed the fresh clothes that had been prepared for her. Her eyes were bent on the coverlet, and she could not look away from it. Kizea almost feared that if her eyes strayed, then she would lose the image in her mind, and she did not wish to.
"Thank you. Thank you. But the coverlet, what is this likeness? For I am sure I have seen it before."
The elf-maiden glanced down with curiosity to where Kizea indicated.
"That is Vilya, the elven ring of Air." she answered sweetly, "But its bearer, Lord Elrond of Imladris resides far from here, and few Mirkwood elves have had the privilege of visiting that fair kingdom. Few strangers, even of elf-kind, are welcomed. And you say you've seen it before? Have you ever traveled to Imladris?"
Kizea stepped back from the bed.
"No. Never." Kizea replied, "I only thought it looked familiar to me, but from where I do not know. I have never been to any elven city but this one."
The elf maiden smiled.
"You might ask Lord Legolas or Lord Kerrinais. They both have been to Imladris. If you find an instance to ask them of the ring, they may tell you. I have heard it is of exceptional beauty."
Kizea glanced around the room, as though searching for an escape route should she be held against her will again. Glancing back to the elf, her mind came back to the present.
"Lord Legolas has been to Imladris? But it does not matter. I have no time for such notions. I was only curious."
"Then perhaps you would like to wash before you attend the elven feast."
She directed Kizea's sight back to the elven gown. Beside it on the bench sat a small wooden bowl, filled with water. The gown draped over the chair was plain. Kizea picked up the dress. The material was thin, almost transparent, yet she could not see through it. The smoothness of the weave was a stark contrast to the heavy, coarse tunic that she normally wore. The maid reached forward to help remove Kizea's mask, but the warrior instantly sprang backwards, drawing her Fendowan daggers in a defensive gesture. The elf maid stood in the center of the room, bewildered. Lowering her knives, Kizea relaxed her stance.
"I cannot remove my mask," she said softly. The maid bowed her head slightly and left from the room.
The meal for the evening was well under way when Kizea was led down the passageway. The sounds of music and revelry were clear to her ears. Pulling at her elven dress, she shifted herself uncomfortably. Never before had she favored anything other than her Fendowan tunic, but her old clothes were tattered, and badly needed mending. It would not do to trip on a torn piece of cloth while fighting Melune to the death. Walking along, Kizea felt that she could possibly withstand the indignity of the tight elven gown for an evening if it meant wearing a clean tunic the next morning.
Inside the feasting hall, scores of elves were scattered about the room. Kerrinais sat at the far end, nearest to the door, discussing with his neighbor the metal work of his new sword. The elf examined the fine blade, turning the flat of the sword over and back again, searching for a fault in the metal, but it was immaculate. Legolas sat a few feet away, lazily conversing with Tenmelion the best possible routes to be taken through the wood on the following day. In between sips from his cup, he watched with some pleasure three or four elven maids dancing merrily to the lutes. Food bearers deftly sidestepped around the dancers so as not to bump into them, laying before the company many plates of lembas, berries and venison from the wood.
Suddenly the better part of the music subsided, and several elves in the group, including Legolas and Kerrinais glanced over at the door where Kizea stood watching the whole room. Cocking his head to one side, Legolas gazed at Kizea in her elven garb with interest. The sheerness of the fabric was most unlike her heavy, coarse Fendowan tunic. It clung to her body, accentuating her rounded breasts and hips. The only things that remained of her old outfit were her sparkling golden mask and her weathered, heavy belt. Her two long golden daggers hung at her hips, emphasizing her curvatures to an even greater degree. The elf thought the dress improved upon her, although it was of the plainest make. No scrolling or elaborate stitching decorated the gown, yet the material shined in the muted light of the room.
Kizea stood watching the entire room, unused to the jovial atmosphere. She supposed, rightly, that it was like this every night. Her mind wandered back to the many meals she would have alone in a simple wooden chair before a small fire. The many platters and pitchers on the floor here and now were a stark contrast to the solitary, small plate of nuts or fish, balanced precariously on her knees, that made up her own suppers. Looking about the room, Kizea's eyes fell to an elf maiden, grinning at her with wrapped amusement. She leaned over and whispered something softly to her companion. The two maids giggled. Kizea took a single step backwards, thinking that perhaps she should remove to her quarters for the evening, that she didn't need to eat. She could just as easily find something edible in the forest the following day, but at the last second, another elf maiden, Downenwen, gestured to Kizea to sit beside her in the circle. Stepping carefully over a wooden plate of lembas bread, Kizea took a seat, and the music began to play in its full vigor once more. For another moment or two, Kizea could feel the elves watching her, and then their interest waned and conversations began to spring up again within the small company. Leaning over, Kizea whispered to the elf-maid who had spared her embarrassment.
"Is the King not here this evening?" Kizea asked softly.
She reached forward and took a small crust of lembas in her hand and tore off a small bite. Legolas glanced carelessly over to her, and was mildly surprised. Before she ate her own bit of lembas, Kizea gave the greater measure of her elven bread to Downenwen, waiting patiently for the elf maiden to take the first bite. It was an immensely polite gesture for a Fendowan.
"The King usually attends the evening feasts," Downenwen replied, "But there are times when kingly duties restrain him from such celebrations. It is hard to say if he will come."
Kizea nodded sedately, turning her head slightly to the side and lifting her mask barely enough to take another small bite. Almost instantly she felt improved. Her energy seemed returned to her. The ache in her hand lessened. She fingered the small remaining piece, admiring it. Her hand slipped to her side, fishing aimlessly for a pocket where she might seclude the extra bit for the following day. Unfortunately, there were no pockets on her elven dress. Glumly, she stuck the last piece into her mouth.
"That is elvish way-bread," Downenwen said amiably, "It is excellent, is it not? One bite may return your energy to you and fill you as though you had eaten a mighty supper."
Kizea smiled as she stared off to a corner of the room.
"It is a pity that no Fendowan is of elf-kind. In all my years I have heard naught but mistrust of the woodland folk," Kizea said eyeing another piece of the way-bread on a plate to her left, "But I think there is much good to be learned from you."
A cheery, staccato lute played loudly and Kizea's attentions were diverted away from the feast to the elven maids dancing gaily before the elven lords of the group. There was a large fire pit where a sizable blaze was stoked by two sooted elves. Oddly enough, the fire produced little smoke. A small billow here and there would glide up to the ceiling of the immense room and then disappear into several longish crevices. Kizea could even feel the fresh air blowing into the room through these cracks, and was glad to breath a small bit of it.
As Kizea watched with some apathy, she found herself more and more entranced by the delightful dance. The four maids, all in unison, made no false step to the music. Several others were clapping and grinning as the four twirled about, laughing and singing. It was a sight rarely beheld by outsiders, but this did not occur to Kizea. Her attentions were focused on one particular maid, draped in elaborate silver-green wisps of sheer cloth, who seemed to be directing her dancing to Legolas. And he was watching her with all his attention, a large grin came to his mouth, his eyes sparkled. The maid spun around before him, elegantly landing on both knees, her bowed head nearly resting in his lap. The dance was over. But as the maid lifted her face and gazed into Legolas's eyes, the elf lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek with an approving nod of his head. The elf-maid bowed her head again, before standing and retreating through a doorway.
Looking suddenly away, Kizea stood up abruptly holding her stomach and walked away from the happy scene, back towards her own chambers. Several elves looked up as she departed, and then went back to their conversations. She felt suddenly cold and sick, and Kizea half wondered if perhaps somewhere the stone was in imminent danger and was somehow calling to her. Turning a corner, Kizea's thoughts were suddenly jolted back when she nearly walked headlong into Kerrinais, who was blocking her path in the tunnel. The Fendowan stopped in her tracks and glared at the elf.
"Would that your manners were as wondrous as your sword arm," he said indignantly, "Would you part from an elven feast with a full belly, without so much as giving thanks to your hosts?"
"And when would a prisoner give thanks to her keepers?" Kizea answered, "Would you celebrate and dance oblivious while all of Middle-Earth stands at the edge of darkness? I'll not suffer to watch it!"
Kizea moved to walk past Kerrinais, but he stepped lightly to the side and blocked her path once more. Kizea sighed loudly.
"And I suppose you are also ignorant that you must be accompanied by a guard while you walk within these halls?" Kerrinais said.
"I need no chaperone to find my quarters, and I have already given my word to your companion that I will attempt no escape until I am set free. That should be enough for any elf. Step aside, and I will be on my way."
Kerrinais did not move.
"You will accompany me back to the feast hall. Only when you are given your leave will you be escorted back to your chamber, and there you will remain until you are beckoned."
"I do not lean on the word of kings," Kizea replied stepping backwards, "And a Fendowan master would take no heed from the likes of you!"
Instantly, Kerrinais drew his new elven sword from its sheath, but Kizea hesitated. Looking hard at the fine blade, Kizea once more turned her attentions to Kerrinais's eyes. They were grim and resolute. Kizea knew that the elf was only trying to protect the sanctity of his king's realm, yet her own laws forbade her to step away and comply.
"I wish not for a fight, sir elf," Kizea said impatiently, "Step aside and let me pass."
Instead, Kerrinais lunged forward. The Fendowan gasped at his incredible speed, but she already had planned her mode of disarming him. Stepping quickly to the side, she dragged her right leg a bit behind her. As Kerrinais's body came forward, she grabbed his right sword arm with her hardened fingers and yanked it hard in the same direction in which he was already going. The added momentum caused the elf to step forward, and as he did so he tripped over Kizea's extended leg. The Fendowan then twisted her body around, still holding the elf's arm with an iron grip and bent his arm backwards, prying away the blade with her free hand. He landed on the cold stone with a thud and did not move. He could immediately feel the elven steel against his neck as he lay on his stomach, with Kizea's foot securely in the middle of his back. The stretching of several bowstrings caused Kizea to look up as she held the elf at bay. Five elves focused their arrows on her, and before all of them, with both swords drawn, was Legolas.
"Stand down Fendowan!" Legolas cried out, "Or this moment will be your last!"
She looked away and breathed deeply. Lifting her foot, Kizea stepped backwards, dropping the blade. At once, three elves appeared from behind and roughly yanked her away down the hallway. Both of her daggers were once again removed from her. Once the group arrived at her chamber door, Kizea was roughly thrown in and the door slammed shut. A heavy bolt from outside the door was locked into place. Picking herself off the floor, Kizea limped over to the bed and sat on its edge, gingerly rubbing her injured hand.
In the hall, Legolas extended a hand to help Kerrinais up. He was unhurt, but for his intense pride, and he bent over, picking up the shimmering weapon. He wiped the blade with his hand before replacing it in its sheath.
"Come," said Legolas, "Let us return to the feast and forget about our ill- mannered guest until the morrow."
"I think it would have been the wiser course to leave her cell door ajar and let her escape. Smart rabbits would not keep a wolf in their den." Kerrinais muttered as he brushed himself off.
"Yet she did not kill you and she could have," Legolas replied as they walked through the doorway, "Something causes me to find something likable behind her mask. She only seeks to preserve her station and pride in a place where she has no rank. I think I might do the same in her place."
"Would that the king could relieve us of this cumbersome duty," Kerrinais said in a depressed tone of voice, "With such an ill-tempered traveling companion, our journey will be a long one. And I have no desire to return to Isodor or Imladris."
"Let us think no more of it tonight," Legolas said as he patted his friend on the back.
His eyes searched the room until he saw the laughing elf-maiden, bedecked in silver-green. Grinning slightly, Legolas headed towards the area where she danced, and Kerrinais followed.
Suddenly a brighter light shone in the tunnel, and Kizea became aware of two elven guards standing at attention at the entryway to the great throne room. Each held a long elven spear in his grasp, and Kizea carefully eyed them as she walked by. Once inside the large chamber, she turned slightly to the right, where she knew the king's throne would be. As expected, King Thranduil was sitting at the far end of the room, with four elven guards standing behind him, their long knives drawn in anticipation of trouble. Glancing over at the pillar, she was surprised to see the elven swords that she and Melune had fought so ferociously with, carefully placed back to their original positions.
Her own golden weapons were long since gone, and Kizea breathed a small sigh of regret at the thought of their loss. Finally she stood quietly before King Thranduil. A sort of reserved concern grew on his face when he realized that Kizea was not bound. But Legolas came forward and whispered to his father, and at last the king nodded and motioned for the guards to lower their knives. This mildly surprised Kizea, but she was nevertheless weary of the king's intent upon bringing her before him. He had apparently made some decision about her fate at least. Melune and the others were not present, and Kizea wondered if he had already dispelled some vague sentence upon them. The king eased himself back in his chair and gazed at her expectantly before speaking. Kizea still refused to bow to him.
"You have entered my realm uninvited, interfered with the elven patrols that keep my kingdom safe, and assailed the creatures who exist here by my leave. Then you come to me for help."
Kizea stood calmly before him, considering how she might answer.
"I came to seek that which should never have entered your realm. I sought the wisdom and help of the elves, King Thranduil. It was my intention to seek you out. I should never have found your underground castle without making myself known to your patrols. But as it was, they found me first. As for the creatures that live in Mirkwood, I only defended myself from the spiders that infest your woodlands like a pestilence. Would you have me allow them to feast upon me merely because I am within your kingdom's boundaries?"
"They are here by my leave!" Thranduil bellowed, "I am the ruler here!"
"But the Fendowan have no rulers," Kizea said calmly. Several elves stepped forward angrily, wielding drawn elven long knives, but King Thranduil quickly raised his hand. The advancing elves stopped and stepped back to their positions.
"There is little more than myth surrounding your kind, and we know little more of you than what you have told us" he began somberly, "But despite your rude manners, I am inclined to believe that you have relayed naught but the truth to me and my son, Legolas. And against my better judgment, it seems I have little choice but to place my trust in one who takes pride in having no loyalties to the world."
"It is because of my loyalty that I am before you," Kizea replied annoyed, "I am loyal to my order! I am loyal to my word as a Fendowan! Think you that I would even be standing before you now if not for my promise to Legolas? I should be gone by now, seeking to return the Stone of Anor to its rightful place of safety, not bartering for my right to do so! It is I who came to YOU for help, King Thranduil, and for my efforts I have been debased and imprisoned! Never should such a high being as myself be so ill used!"
The King shifted in his chair. The elven king was not used to being addressed in such a manner, still the pressing needs of his mind inclined him to leniency with Kizea. If indeed she spoke the truth of the stone to him, then he needed to put aside his distaste for the girl and act.
"It seems your companions, those that had come after you, have escaped from my underground domain. The one you fought with here, in this very room, placed my elven guard under an enchantment and they released all, save for you, going as far as walking them to the magical gates and opening them."
Kizea let out a small gasp, her eyes widened. She caught sight of Legolas's calm expression. Did he know all this while and still not tell her?
"Foolish! Foolish!" cried Kizea in disbelief, "After our encounter within your throne room; after I warned you, thought you not to even cover the guards ears? Did you not even caution them to her trickery?"
King Thranduil said nothing, but only stared at her audacity, yet he knew that Kizea was not entirely wrong of the situation.
"Father," Legolas said whispering, "She warned us. For the other one's evil, she must not be held accountable. I believe her to be truthful."
The King waved Legolas away with his hand. Surprised, Legolas stepped back. Kizea bowed her head, but not in subjugation. She became suddenly depressed. The weight of her mask seemed a tiresome thing at moments like these. Being a prisoner of the elves was enough of a hardship. Now, bound to her promise to remain imprisoned, and with Melune free to seek the stone unfettered, matters were worsened tenfold.
"This is distressing news indeed, your majesty," Kizea said finally, "You MUST let me go now, King Thranduil. For every moment that Melune seeks for the stone is a moment too long delayed for me. The entire world stands now at your feet, King of Elves! What you do now will determine the life and death of many races in Middle-Earth, and perhaps it is already too late!"
"Your rival has not all the advantage," the king replied, "She does not know where to look for the stone. I am the only one who knows where Gwaihir has taken it. If I am to trust you as my son seems to, you must tell me once and for all why it was taken from Goldorma. For until now, we all know but rumors. Not truth. You are the only ones to see firsthand of the stone's abilities. Even the mighty Gwaihir trembled as he clutched it within his grasp, and refused to allow me to touch it. Such was the stone's power that he only questioned me and left. What is the power of the stone that so many would risk their lives for it? Why would a Fendowan relinquish her birthright and forsake her own order in pursuit of it? Tell me now. What does this Melune plan to do with it? For unless I am satisfied, surely you will never leave this kingdom again."
Kizea felt suddenly cold inside. Insulted and shaking, she swallowed hard before she began to speak.
"Melune plans to bring darkness to the world with it," she began, "The stone..."
Kizea faltered, she could not get the words out. She licked her lips and breathed deeply to summon her courage. Then standing erect, she turned her head once more and peered into Legolas's blue eyes from beneath her heavy mask and found some small comfort in his gaze.
"The stone," Kizea continued, "will bring to life any dead thing."
Small gasps of disbelief and horrified whispers resounded throughout the hall. King Thranduil's face fell to alarm as he raised his hand to silence the room.
"ANY dead thing," the king repeated in disbelief, "You are telling me a high priestess of the Fendowan, chosen before hundreds, perhaps thousands of others who have sought it fruitlessly over the ages, intends to use the Stone of Anor to resurrect the dead back into this world?"
"Not merely the dead," Kizea continued, "Melune is a minion of evil now. She remains a Fendowan, yet her allegiance to the Fendowan order is broken. I cannot explain it to you. But I tell you she means to use the stone to bring Rakal the Destroyer and all the orc armies since the Battle of the Last Alliance back into Middle-Earth. Perhaps, eventually, even the embodiment of Sauron himself."
Upon hearing Rakal's name, Legolas's face contorted with rage, and he pursed his lips to avoid speaking. He stood next to his father, shaking his head, his eyes tightly shut as though trying to blot out Rakal's bitter memory. Thranduil nearly laughed at Kizea, who stood rigid.
"You speak of the impossible, noble Fendowan. Nothing but the ring of power may bring back the dark lord, and that has been lost from the world for an age."
Kizea's somber eyes did not blink, but stayed fixed upon the king.
"The stone's power is limitless, and there is no treachery to which Melune is not capable. If I do not find the stone before her, the world will be covered of such blackness as to be the end of all things as we know them. You must know of the elven lore surrounding the light of Anor, and to this I say, beware of the elven lore! For of every elven song; with every elven myth there begins with a truth!"
The amused smile slowly disappeared from King Thranduil's face. Yes, there were elven songs that spoke of the stone, the flame of Anor, and its ability to transform evil to good and likewise, all that is good to evil. Much murmuring and whispering ensued in the throne room. Several tall, long- robed elven lords stood before the king, with their backs towards Kizea, whispering. Kizea could not see the king, who was surrounded, but rather she concentrated her attentions to Legolas and Kerrinais as they listened intently to the group's discourse. Kerrinais had an angry, distrustful look about him, but Legolas's face was harder to read. He seemed solemn, but shook his head several times, obviously aiming for a different course of action than what had been suggested at the onset. At last they parted, and stood behind the throne. Kizea's gaze rested once more to the stately, tall elf sitting on the throne and she knew everything had been decided.
The elven king raised his left hand, motioning for a guard standing in the recesses of the chamber to step forward. Kizea glanced sideways as he approached, thinking how she might dodge an attack from behind. Instead, he walked in front of the girl, holding up velvety pillow. On the pillow lay her two golden Fendowan daggers, newly cleaned, sparkling in the torchlight. No scratch or spec of dirt could be detected, but the jeweled handles gleamed with every movement. Kizea stood perplexed before the elf for an instant, half expecting him to address her in some manner, but he said nothing. Slowly, she reached both hands forward and gently lifted the weapons from the pillow, and lowered her hands to her side. The elf removed back to the dark corner of the chamber behind the throne.
"I know not your name," the king said finally to her.
"I am called Kizea, master of the Fendowan," she replied.
"No," King Thranduil said in a more earnest tone of voice, "That is the name given to you when you came to the stone's service. What is your other name? Your name when you walked in the daylight as one of the free people of Middle-Earth?"
Kizea was taken aback. Thinking back on the last years of her life, no mention of this was ever brought to her attention. Valnin had only spoken of their mutual father, and that the elves were an eternal source of sadness and misery to their family. He spoke nothing of what she was in a former life, and she never questioned it.
"What knows you of the daylight?" she snapped, "The elves live here underground, within the blackened forest amidst the vilest of creatures, making merry without thought to where the rest of the world suffers."
King Thranduil smiled once more. He had struck a chord within her. She was compelled always to protect the stone, even to the end of her own life. Kizea was bound as a Fendowan never to remove her heavy mask and feel the rain upon her face. She could never know the pleasures that a mate could bestow, or the happiness of companionship of family, something that was very basic to elven culture. For her, there was no dancing, no camaraderie, only training and guarding the stone, an endless existence with no relief until the end of her days. She was in many ways, a prisoner. The king slowly understood Kizea, she was envious of the elves.
"Even an elf may leave this underground kingdom and wander to put his face to the sun if he desires it. You did too at some point beyond your reckoning, and then you possessed of another name. What was it?"
"I.I do not know," she began slowly, "There was nothing before I came to the Fendowan. I am only called Kizea."
King Thranduil settled back into his chair. Could she be one of the legendary two? Elven lore was clear. There would be two Fendowan returned to life from the abyss. One possessed of the purest heart and the other of blackest night. Through the flame of Anor, neither master remembering their past, but only their fate. The two chosen Fendowan would walk amongst the elves and ultimately decide the Stone of Anor's fate, and the fate of all races upon Middle-Earth.
"It matters not," he said finally, "Kizea, we are at a crossroads. I believe that you are a master of the Fendowan, and a keeper of the light of Anor. I am concerned of the stone coming to the hands of evil as are you. But as a lord in Middle-Earth, you must realize that I have a grave responsibility to the keeping of my people, and that I must act in their best interest to maintain accord and prosperity while we live in this world. I have decided to release you of your bonds, and authorize you to seek beyond the boundaries of my realm for the sacred stone with a guard of my most trusted and powerful elven warriors, and return with it to this realm, where we both might best decide what is to be done."
Kizea shook her head in protest.
"I cannot allow that!" she said angrily, "I am the only one who must retrieve the light of Anor. You cannot force this upon me! I will not return the Stone of Anor here to be a trinket for your treasure trove, and I will not suffer to be looked after like a child by your elven guards!"
Kerrinais glanced down at the king, amazed at his composure. To anyone but a Fendowan would the king of Mirkwood accept such insolence. The king leaned forward in his chair.
"I mean no disrespect to you Kizea, master of the Fendowan," he said gently, "But surely even you must know that the stone cannot be protected as before in the great mountain. It would be of little consequence for the one who stole it in the first place to retrieve it there again. I vow the stone is not to be destined for any treasure chamber of mine, but rather it must be relinquished to that being who can keep it best. Do you agree?"
Kizea stood silent for a moment pondering his words. She also knew the Anor stone could not be returned to the mountain where Melune would easily recover it. Something else must be done with it.
"We must both put aside our pride and work together, and hope that our deeds are enough to prevent the Stone of Anor from being lost to the shadows!" the king urged.
Although Kizea loathed the thought of the elves accompanying her, she felt that her captivity would continue unless she relented. However, she also had no doubts in her mind to the uselessness of their aid. They had not the skill in battle to overcome any of the Fendowan warriors that rode even now towards the stone, much less the evil Melune herself. Only she might have the ability to kill any of them, yet she was oath bound to never to shed the blood of her own kind. Even Melune was unable to kill her during their battles, although she had several chances. Some inexplicable force had kept her hand from doing so, but she did not know what. Kizea sighed. How then could she deal with them by herself? And what of Gwaihir? She must still find the eagle's whereabouts somehow.
"I agree," she said at last, "But your elven guard would only stand in my way, and at my side in battle against those Fendowan who are covered by the shadow, they put themselves at great peril. Your guard could easily be killed in the fight that must surely take place, and it will make my position more tenuous if I am forced to protect them as well as fight my own kind."
Kerrinais looked away, trying to hide his contempt while the King smiled slightly at Kizea's arrogance.
"I send my elven guards forth so that together we may accomplish this task. The elves are not so easily overtaken as you would like to imagine. Without shedding any blood, the elves have made even you a prisoner, is this not so? Also Gwaihir the Windlord would be more trustful of you if you were in the company of my kindred. For I do not believe he would give up the stone to any Fendowan's hand."
Kizea slowly nodded. Indeed, it would be a logical course of action, for Gwaihir had little connection with any Fendowan save for that fateful day on the cliff. Better not to give up the stone to any Fendowan before he was sure of their side to light. And he did trust the elves, even if Kizea did not.
"Very well," Kizea said at last, "Where has Gwaihir taken the stone?"
"He seeks Mithrandir for council, that is why Gwaihir first came amongst us."
"Gandalf?" Kizea said with sudden interest, "Gandalf is the wizard for whom Gwaihir seeks?"
"Yes," the king replied, "Gwaihir sought out Gandalf the Gray, who had recently visited us, but he arrived too late. Gandalf had already left for the elf havens of Tamlot beside Isodor before the Windlord arrived. Do you know of him?"
Legolas gazed directly ahead, staring off into nothingness; the sting of Tamlot and Imladris still fresh within him. Legolas said nothing, and let no expression come to his face, but Kerrinais glanced over at his friend with some concern. Few elves knew of the events that had transpired in Tamlot, 10 years previous. Kerrinais did not even believe that Legolas's father knew of his son's love for the murdered Queen Lisaine. Legolas's friend could only imagine how the mere mention of Tamlot tore at Legolas's heart. Kizea remained pensive for a moment.
"I have heard of Gandalf only," Kizea began, "But if Gwaihir is taking the stone to Gandalf in Isodor, then it is in Isodor where I will retrieve it. For there is no telling the pathways and roads of a wizard, and Gandalf the Grey may have many stops in-between before reaching the elf haven, not knowing he is being sought. I will go directly to Isodor and find the wizard there."
The king nodded and stood up. Several elves within the large room bowed their heads. Legolas glared at Kizea, knowing in his heart what would happen in the next moments, and he began to feel angry. This arrogant, unrefined outsider would be forcing him to a place where he thought he would never be made to travel again.
"I will send three elves with you," King Thranduil began as he stepped down, "I will send Tenmelion, and Kerrinais, who are loyal guardians of the border. And also I will send with you my son Legolas, for he is of the highest valor and greatest judgment. Legolas is also acquainted with Mithrandir, and in traveling with him, Mithrandir may know that we are of a solemn agreement."
Kizea gazed over at the three elves to accompany her on her journey. She plainly saw the distrust and contempt on their faces, and wondered if they would speak against the king's choice or no. They, all of them, clearly had no wish to be recruited to this journey, especially Legolas. He stood silently beside the throne, and only Kizea detected a slight tremble in his hand. She could feel a tumult of thought rushing through his mind. Kerrinais however, made little effort to hide his animosity. Kizea was sure that he would be of some nuisance on the trip. The three chosen elves, however, said nothing against the king's choice.
"Agreed," Kizea said at last, "We should leave at once. There is no time that we can afford to waste."
The king stood before Kizea, towering above her tiny frame.
"No," the king replied, "It is but deep in the night within the wood, and all manners of creatures wander my realm at night. I know you have already met with the spiders. But there are other, older things that wander in the darkness. It is not wise to speed an end to your journey before you have begun it."
Kizea thoughts regressed to the heaving abdomen of the great black spider as she spun her web around Kizea's body, trapping her in a cocoon of thick mucus. Still, she could not allow such thoughts to sway her judgment. The spiders had not prevailed, and Kizea no longer considered them a threat. She began to protest, but the king raised his hand. For the first time, Kizea cut her sentence short and listened.
"It would do you no good to attempt it now, Kizea, master of the Fendowan. In a few hours the day will dawn, and the darker creatures will retreat into their black hiding places once more. I would invite you to feast and rest as need be, as a guest of Mirkwood, not a prisoner. I will have horses and supplies prepared to quicken you on your journey. I fear your counterpart will not fair as well this night. I do not doubt that the others of your order will spend the remainder of their evening fighting for their lives."
The King's confidence amused Kizea. She rather imagined how Melune would spend the night hunting the elven King's would-be assassins, sharpening her skills, relishing in the kill of new quarry. Still, she kept silent. Four elven maidens now surrounded her, their muted green gowns sparkling with hints of green stones. Kizea thought to the gems that she had given the king only the previous day and wondered of their fate. Their loss was regrettable, but if they had speeded her course to the stone, then they had served their purpose.
Kizea vaguely wondered about the tall, graceful maidens as she followed them obediently through another passageway, this time away from the area where she was previously kept. In stark contrast to the cellblock, this new path was well lit with torches; the pathway was smoother and wider, the ceiling taller. The elf-maid's long flowing hair shined and glimmered as they proceeded, and Kizea scrutinized with admiration the green gemstones that were fixed within their traditional Mirkwood braids. The Fendowan thought how similar her own hair might be, but hers was simply tied, and plain. She was not afforded the luxury of bathing since her arrival to the Elven stronghold, and Kizea thought of how tangled and cobweb strewn her own tresses must look to the elves. No match for the meticulously coiffed tresses of the elf maidens. Brushing her hand slightly to the back of her head, she pulled a tiny stick from her own hair, and held onto it. Quickly, she lowered her hand to her side, and she let out a small sigh.
"The king takes prodigiously good care of the females of his kingdom," Kizea thought aimlessly.
"Yes, he is the wisest of rulers," one elf maid replied. Stopping short, Kizea stared incredulously. The maid in front of her stopped and turned to look back at the girl. Smiling, she beckoned Kizea to follow her again, and they continued. From then on, Kizea tried to keep her thoughts bent on the stone, and not on frivolous baubles that were of no concern to her. But the elf maid who had read her mind so easily, kept smiling.
At length, Kizea was led to an intricately carved archway. As the elf maids stepped aside, Kizea peered past them into the deeper recesses of the chamber. Against the far wall were several ornate benches with soft tasseled cushions. Three carved chairs, similarly decorated with plush cushions were placed on the opposite side of the room. Drapes hung lazily from the center of the ceiling, outstretched to the corners of the room, giving off a blue-green hue to the smooth stone floor. It was so smooth in fact, that it was almost like gazing at one's reflection in a still pool of water. Tapestries and wooden carvings were displayed on every wall. In the center of the room was a flat, round downy bed, covered in a shimmering blue-green coverlet.
The stitching formed shapes of various woodland animals; rabbits, deer, fish, and feathered creatures. All lived in harmony under the watchful eyes of the Mirkwood elves. Kizea proceeded into the chamber, her sights bent on the fabulous covering. As she stepped closer, her eyes made out, on one corner the distinct outline of an ancient alter, and a smallish, polished stone perched to the top of it, girdled in silver and golden threads, emanating light to the far sides of the quilt. Kizea stood frozen admiring it. Reviewing the other parts of the coverlet with wonder, each stream of light that originated at the stone made it's way to another corner of the quilt, intercepted by animals, trees, men and elves and dwarves and all manners of living things in Middle-Earth. At each of the other corners of the quilt, was the likeness of three rings of power, each interlocking and producing it's own strength and light unto the inhabitants of Middle-Earth. Walking to the far corner of the bed, Kizea placed a hand on one set of stitches, running her fingers over the raised threads, scrutinizing the needlework. An image flashed into her mind, and it was the long, wiry hand that displayed an elven ring of power proudly upon the forefinger.
"This coverlet," Kizea asked, "Where did these likenesses come from? I believe I recognize some of these symbols. One is certainly the great stone, but these others..."
A graceful, elf maiden came over to the bed and looked over Kizea's shoulders. Her long, platinum hair fell about her shoulders, two Sindarin braids spilled over her ears and hung delicately from behind her ears.
"Most of our chambers have decorated quilts as such, they are mostly elven in origin. The king has bid this to be your chambers until your parting on the morrow. He thought you would like to wash before eating. I have placed an elven-gown on the far chair that you may wear, if you wish your other clothes to be washed and mended."
The Fendowan hadn't noticed the fresh clothes that had been prepared for her. Her eyes were bent on the coverlet, and she could not look away from it. Kizea almost feared that if her eyes strayed, then she would lose the image in her mind, and she did not wish to.
"Thank you. Thank you. But the coverlet, what is this likeness? For I am sure I have seen it before."
The elf-maiden glanced down with curiosity to where Kizea indicated.
"That is Vilya, the elven ring of Air." she answered sweetly, "But its bearer, Lord Elrond of Imladris resides far from here, and few Mirkwood elves have had the privilege of visiting that fair kingdom. Few strangers, even of elf-kind, are welcomed. And you say you've seen it before? Have you ever traveled to Imladris?"
Kizea stepped back from the bed.
"No. Never." Kizea replied, "I only thought it looked familiar to me, but from where I do not know. I have never been to any elven city but this one."
The elf maiden smiled.
"You might ask Lord Legolas or Lord Kerrinais. They both have been to Imladris. If you find an instance to ask them of the ring, they may tell you. I have heard it is of exceptional beauty."
Kizea glanced around the room, as though searching for an escape route should she be held against her will again. Glancing back to the elf, her mind came back to the present.
"Lord Legolas has been to Imladris? But it does not matter. I have no time for such notions. I was only curious."
"Then perhaps you would like to wash before you attend the elven feast."
She directed Kizea's sight back to the elven gown. Beside it on the bench sat a small wooden bowl, filled with water. The gown draped over the chair was plain. Kizea picked up the dress. The material was thin, almost transparent, yet she could not see through it. The smoothness of the weave was a stark contrast to the heavy, coarse tunic that she normally wore. The maid reached forward to help remove Kizea's mask, but the warrior instantly sprang backwards, drawing her Fendowan daggers in a defensive gesture. The elf maid stood in the center of the room, bewildered. Lowering her knives, Kizea relaxed her stance.
"I cannot remove my mask," she said softly. The maid bowed her head slightly and left from the room.
The meal for the evening was well under way when Kizea was led down the passageway. The sounds of music and revelry were clear to her ears. Pulling at her elven dress, she shifted herself uncomfortably. Never before had she favored anything other than her Fendowan tunic, but her old clothes were tattered, and badly needed mending. It would not do to trip on a torn piece of cloth while fighting Melune to the death. Walking along, Kizea felt that she could possibly withstand the indignity of the tight elven gown for an evening if it meant wearing a clean tunic the next morning.
Inside the feasting hall, scores of elves were scattered about the room. Kerrinais sat at the far end, nearest to the door, discussing with his neighbor the metal work of his new sword. The elf examined the fine blade, turning the flat of the sword over and back again, searching for a fault in the metal, but it was immaculate. Legolas sat a few feet away, lazily conversing with Tenmelion the best possible routes to be taken through the wood on the following day. In between sips from his cup, he watched with some pleasure three or four elven maids dancing merrily to the lutes. Food bearers deftly sidestepped around the dancers so as not to bump into them, laying before the company many plates of lembas, berries and venison from the wood.
Suddenly the better part of the music subsided, and several elves in the group, including Legolas and Kerrinais glanced over at the door where Kizea stood watching the whole room. Cocking his head to one side, Legolas gazed at Kizea in her elven garb with interest. The sheerness of the fabric was most unlike her heavy, coarse Fendowan tunic. It clung to her body, accentuating her rounded breasts and hips. The only things that remained of her old outfit were her sparkling golden mask and her weathered, heavy belt. Her two long golden daggers hung at her hips, emphasizing her curvatures to an even greater degree. The elf thought the dress improved upon her, although it was of the plainest make. No scrolling or elaborate stitching decorated the gown, yet the material shined in the muted light of the room.
Kizea stood watching the entire room, unused to the jovial atmosphere. She supposed, rightly, that it was like this every night. Her mind wandered back to the many meals she would have alone in a simple wooden chair before a small fire. The many platters and pitchers on the floor here and now were a stark contrast to the solitary, small plate of nuts or fish, balanced precariously on her knees, that made up her own suppers. Looking about the room, Kizea's eyes fell to an elf maiden, grinning at her with wrapped amusement. She leaned over and whispered something softly to her companion. The two maids giggled. Kizea took a single step backwards, thinking that perhaps she should remove to her quarters for the evening, that she didn't need to eat. She could just as easily find something edible in the forest the following day, but at the last second, another elf maiden, Downenwen, gestured to Kizea to sit beside her in the circle. Stepping carefully over a wooden plate of lembas bread, Kizea took a seat, and the music began to play in its full vigor once more. For another moment or two, Kizea could feel the elves watching her, and then their interest waned and conversations began to spring up again within the small company. Leaning over, Kizea whispered to the elf-maid who had spared her embarrassment.
"Is the King not here this evening?" Kizea asked softly.
She reached forward and took a small crust of lembas in her hand and tore off a small bite. Legolas glanced carelessly over to her, and was mildly surprised. Before she ate her own bit of lembas, Kizea gave the greater measure of her elven bread to Downenwen, waiting patiently for the elf maiden to take the first bite. It was an immensely polite gesture for a Fendowan.
"The King usually attends the evening feasts," Downenwen replied, "But there are times when kingly duties restrain him from such celebrations. It is hard to say if he will come."
Kizea nodded sedately, turning her head slightly to the side and lifting her mask barely enough to take another small bite. Almost instantly she felt improved. Her energy seemed returned to her. The ache in her hand lessened. She fingered the small remaining piece, admiring it. Her hand slipped to her side, fishing aimlessly for a pocket where she might seclude the extra bit for the following day. Unfortunately, there were no pockets on her elven dress. Glumly, she stuck the last piece into her mouth.
"That is elvish way-bread," Downenwen said amiably, "It is excellent, is it not? One bite may return your energy to you and fill you as though you had eaten a mighty supper."
Kizea smiled as she stared off to a corner of the room.
"It is a pity that no Fendowan is of elf-kind. In all my years I have heard naught but mistrust of the woodland folk," Kizea said eyeing another piece of the way-bread on a plate to her left, "But I think there is much good to be learned from you."
A cheery, staccato lute played loudly and Kizea's attentions were diverted away from the feast to the elven maids dancing gaily before the elven lords of the group. There was a large fire pit where a sizable blaze was stoked by two sooted elves. Oddly enough, the fire produced little smoke. A small billow here and there would glide up to the ceiling of the immense room and then disappear into several longish crevices. Kizea could even feel the fresh air blowing into the room through these cracks, and was glad to breath a small bit of it.
As Kizea watched with some apathy, she found herself more and more entranced by the delightful dance. The four maids, all in unison, made no false step to the music. Several others were clapping and grinning as the four twirled about, laughing and singing. It was a sight rarely beheld by outsiders, but this did not occur to Kizea. Her attentions were focused on one particular maid, draped in elaborate silver-green wisps of sheer cloth, who seemed to be directing her dancing to Legolas. And he was watching her with all his attention, a large grin came to his mouth, his eyes sparkled. The maid spun around before him, elegantly landing on both knees, her bowed head nearly resting in his lap. The dance was over. But as the maid lifted her face and gazed into Legolas's eyes, the elf lifted a hand and gently touched her cheek with an approving nod of his head. The elf-maid bowed her head again, before standing and retreating through a doorway.
Looking suddenly away, Kizea stood up abruptly holding her stomach and walked away from the happy scene, back towards her own chambers. Several elves looked up as she departed, and then went back to their conversations. She felt suddenly cold and sick, and Kizea half wondered if perhaps somewhere the stone was in imminent danger and was somehow calling to her. Turning a corner, Kizea's thoughts were suddenly jolted back when she nearly walked headlong into Kerrinais, who was blocking her path in the tunnel. The Fendowan stopped in her tracks and glared at the elf.
"Would that your manners were as wondrous as your sword arm," he said indignantly, "Would you part from an elven feast with a full belly, without so much as giving thanks to your hosts?"
"And when would a prisoner give thanks to her keepers?" Kizea answered, "Would you celebrate and dance oblivious while all of Middle-Earth stands at the edge of darkness? I'll not suffer to watch it!"
Kizea moved to walk past Kerrinais, but he stepped lightly to the side and blocked her path once more. Kizea sighed loudly.
"And I suppose you are also ignorant that you must be accompanied by a guard while you walk within these halls?" Kerrinais said.
"I need no chaperone to find my quarters, and I have already given my word to your companion that I will attempt no escape until I am set free. That should be enough for any elf. Step aside, and I will be on my way."
Kerrinais did not move.
"You will accompany me back to the feast hall. Only when you are given your leave will you be escorted back to your chamber, and there you will remain until you are beckoned."
"I do not lean on the word of kings," Kizea replied stepping backwards, "And a Fendowan master would take no heed from the likes of you!"
Instantly, Kerrinais drew his new elven sword from its sheath, but Kizea hesitated. Looking hard at the fine blade, Kizea once more turned her attentions to Kerrinais's eyes. They were grim and resolute. Kizea knew that the elf was only trying to protect the sanctity of his king's realm, yet her own laws forbade her to step away and comply.
"I wish not for a fight, sir elf," Kizea said impatiently, "Step aside and let me pass."
Instead, Kerrinais lunged forward. The Fendowan gasped at his incredible speed, but she already had planned her mode of disarming him. Stepping quickly to the side, she dragged her right leg a bit behind her. As Kerrinais's body came forward, she grabbed his right sword arm with her hardened fingers and yanked it hard in the same direction in which he was already going. The added momentum caused the elf to step forward, and as he did so he tripped over Kizea's extended leg. The Fendowan then twisted her body around, still holding the elf's arm with an iron grip and bent his arm backwards, prying away the blade with her free hand. He landed on the cold stone with a thud and did not move. He could immediately feel the elven steel against his neck as he lay on his stomach, with Kizea's foot securely in the middle of his back. The stretching of several bowstrings caused Kizea to look up as she held the elf at bay. Five elves focused their arrows on her, and before all of them, with both swords drawn, was Legolas.
"Stand down Fendowan!" Legolas cried out, "Or this moment will be your last!"
She looked away and breathed deeply. Lifting her foot, Kizea stepped backwards, dropping the blade. At once, three elves appeared from behind and roughly yanked her away down the hallway. Both of her daggers were once again removed from her. Once the group arrived at her chamber door, Kizea was roughly thrown in and the door slammed shut. A heavy bolt from outside the door was locked into place. Picking herself off the floor, Kizea limped over to the bed and sat on its edge, gingerly rubbing her injured hand.
In the hall, Legolas extended a hand to help Kerrinais up. He was unhurt, but for his intense pride, and he bent over, picking up the shimmering weapon. He wiped the blade with his hand before replacing it in its sheath.
"Come," said Legolas, "Let us return to the feast and forget about our ill- mannered guest until the morrow."
"I think it would have been the wiser course to leave her cell door ajar and let her escape. Smart rabbits would not keep a wolf in their den." Kerrinais muttered as he brushed himself off.
"Yet she did not kill you and she could have," Legolas replied as they walked through the doorway, "Something causes me to find something likable behind her mask. She only seeks to preserve her station and pride in a place where she has no rank. I think I might do the same in her place."
"Would that the king could relieve us of this cumbersome duty," Kerrinais said in a depressed tone of voice, "With such an ill-tempered traveling companion, our journey will be a long one. And I have no desire to return to Isodor or Imladris."
"Let us think no more of it tonight," Legolas said as he patted his friend on the back.
His eyes searched the room until he saw the laughing elf-maiden, bedecked in silver-green. Grinning slightly, Legolas headed towards the area where she danced, and Kerrinais followed.