A/N: Ok, just to clear things up a bit…Thranduil is NOT a psychopathic
killer or anything…he just had a short temper and kind of went temporarily
insane when he saw his wife was dead. Hey, you would too! It's
traumatizing, I'm sure! So…don't get any wrong ideas. Also, if there are
technicalities about the book that are not correct, please, please, PLEASE
bear with me, as I'm only thirteen and have only read the books once.
However, I would like to be corrected for…future reference :) Anyway,
enough of my mindless rants. On with the story! *trumpets blare*
***
---After the War of the Ring---
Legolas breathed in the sweet, musky scent of the forest and urged his white stallion forward. At last, he felt he had come home. However lovely the forests he had seen on his quest for the ring, none could mean more to him than his beloved Mirkwood.
He had been walking on a path that could easily be overlooked by eyes not as keen as elven ones, cleverly hidden in the underbrush, along with a company of five other elves. He dropped back to join one of them and smiled eagerly at the prospect of coming home.
"Well, Sihrniel, it seems we have finally come home. How does it feel to you?"
The dark-haired elf nodded respectfully and answered.
"It feels wonderful, my lord. I am anxious to see my loved ones once more."
Legolas pushed him playfully on his horse.
"Lighten up, Sirhr! Since when did you start calling me "my lord"? Honestly! Where did all those years of friendship go?"
Sihrniel blushed and heeled his horse forward a bit.
"I thought it was appropriate, seeing as how you're going to be king soon…but I suppose you're right. You'll always be nothing more than Legolas to me...the one I could never beat with a bow, no matter how hard I try."
Legolas laughed out loud and set his horse to a trot. The others sped their steeds up also, trying to catch up with the eager prince. One was quicker than the rest. Jisela was a fair-haired, dark eyed maiden with pale skin and sharp, chiseled features. Her haughty air hinted at her personality: straight and to the point, and a skilled warrior. She brought her horse to an easy canter alongside Legolas'.
"Legolas, I have the feeling we are being watched."
"Watched? Nonsense! By whom? I am really not that interesting of a person, despite what everyone seems to believe."
Jisela cocked and eyebrow at him and glanced around.
"Perhaps. But my ears have never deceived me before, and I do not believe this to be a first. It would be wise to investigate, my lord. It is not without purpose that one remains hidden."
Reluctantly, Legolas slowed his horse to a walk and held up his hand for the others to be silent. For a minute no one moved a muscle, and every sharp eye roved the wilderness about them. Then Legolas heard it. A sort of scuffling sound of a body clambering through bushes – a sound no animal would make. Holding a finger to his lips, he carefully climbed down from his mount and drew his bow. Notching an arrow, he padded silently to the area the noise was coming from. The company held its breath as he gently tugged the shrubs aside.
Lying on the ground was the strangest sight Legolas had ever seen. It was a woman – an elven one, at that – and her eyes were wide with fear. Her face and arms were covered in dirt, and her garment ripped and frayed in several places. It looked like a piece on the side had been cut out and sowed over with a piece ripped off from another part of the dress. Her face had numerous scratches on them, as though she had been crawling through brambles. Which, Legolas realized, she probably had. The woman scrabbled backwards on all fours with a frightened look. Legolas let his bowstring slack. It was obvious this creature was harmless. A little wild, maybe, but harmless. He was also intrigue by her apparent lack of civility. Leaning over, her tried to speak to her in a soothing voice.
"Don't be afraid. My name is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and I will not harm you. Neither will my companions. Can you speak?"
"Of course I can speak, you numbskull," the creature muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said. "I know who you are. I am glad you will not harm me, but I think that neither will you let me go on my way. Am I correct?"
Legolas was stricken by the boldness of this individual. Most commoners lost their tongues when he mentioned his status, but this one seemed quite at ease with it. He chuckled softly and held out his hand for her.
"No, I'm afraid you are right on that point. I'd like to take you to the palace and learn more about you. There is a banquet tonight."
At the mention of food, the girl absently licked her lips. But her face was pale and she was obviously battling with her thoughts. Finally, she sighed.
"Very well. I will come with you to…the palace. However, I do not wish to attend the feast, if that is all right with you." Legolas nodded his approval, but she did not take his hand just yet. "And…I would like to keep my face covered. It would not do to show off bruises such as these to the elven population."
Legolas was a bit baffled by this demand – surely it did not matter that much? – but decided it was her choice, after all. He smiled and nodded, and she took his hand.
"It shall be as you say, fair maiden," he said formally.
At this remark, the girl coughed in her hand to cover an obvious laugh. Legolas flushed from ear to ear and ducked his head as he lifted her onto his horse. He threw his leg over and settled himself in front of her.
"All right?" he asked.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, blushing again. This woman was making him very jittery, and he did not like it. The girl must have felt his unease, because she laughed softly.
"Settling yourself for a more comfortable position, my lord?" she asked mockingly.
Legolas muttered something incoherent and heeled his mount forward. The company followed like shadows, always on the alert. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Legolas asked the question that has been on his mind for a little while.
"And may I ask what your name is, maiden?"
For the first time, the girl hesitated before answering. He could feel her body tense against his, and her arms tightened a little.
"My name…my name is Iyarras. Iyarras Goldenblade."
"Iyarras," Legolas repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "A very pretty name, worthy of a very pretty woman."
It was Sarryia's turn to blush, this time. She loosened her grip on the prince and leaned back a little, much to his disappointment. His body missed the warmth she had to offer. However, he did not have too long to think about it, as the palace soon came into view. Legolas nodded to the company behind him, and they proceeded to arrange themselves so that two of the five were in front of the prince and three behind. Sarryia laughed softly.
"Afraid of being mugged, prince?"
"It is merely a formality, Iyarras. Believe me, if I had my way, it would be just you and I."
Sarryia thought over this comment for a moment, trying to decide exactly what it was supposed to mean. Trumpets broke through her thought, though, and concealed her head behind waves of messy black hair, gazing at the scene through cloudy gray eyes.
A small crowd had begun to gather around the procession, gazing in awe at the prince, finally returned from what had doubtlessly been great and perilous adventures. Legolas was obviously used to this sort of thing, as he straightened himself up regally in his seat and gave smiles and nods of his head, as well as waves, causing the crowd to titter excitedly among themselves. At one point, however, he turned his head and whispered quietly to Sarryia,
"I hate this, you know. If I need to smile one more false smile at these people, it'll fall off my face!"
Sarryia giggled and whispered back,
"If it does, I'll gladly try to put it back on …"
Legolas blushed and turned back to the crowd. Sarryia also flushed red and mentally chided herself for having been so forward with this prince who hardly knew her. Eventually, they pushed their way through the now rather large crowd and reached the open doors of the palace. Legolas dismounted and handed his reins to an eagerly waiting stablehand, imitated by his attendants. He lifted Sarryia down as gently as a feather and set her on the ground. Signaling to a passing maid, he thrust her hands into the servant.
"Find this lady the best rooms you can afford, please. She needs to wash up and find something to wear. Oh, and make sure she isn't seen. The lady does not wish for others to see her in a disheveled state," he said pompously.
The lady nodded in understanding and led Sarryia away, kindly gesturing towards the way they should walk. Sarryia smiled gratefully at Legolas and followed her guide, eager to put on some fresh clothes. Legolas watched her go with a slight twinge of pain. He enjoyed her witty remarks and carefree attitude. And the way her body felt against his…Legolas gave a start and immediately left his daydreaming when Sihrniel tapped him on the shoulder. The male elf had a knowing look on his face and thrust some baggage into the prince's arms.
"Here, lovebird," he said, laughing. "Even the great Prince of Mirkwood should carry his own materials."
Legolas grinned and took the package. Perhaps he would be able to see the lady later that night. Until then, however, life should go on.
***
Sarryia peeled off her clothes in the beautiful tiled bathroom and waited for the maid to arrive with the soap. The steaming hot water in the copper bathtub looked awfully tempting, but Rethenduile – the maid – had insisted to scrub the layers of dirt and grime off Sarryia first. Presently, Rethenduile arrived with a bucket of hot water, soap, and what looked to Sarryia like a very rough sponge. The maid smiled and began washing off her new pensioner.
"So," she said while scrubbing, "I see the prince has taken a special liking to you, o fair one."
Sarryia blushed and lifted her arms.
"Oh, I'm sure he hasn't," she said casually. "He probably treats all guests this way, right?"
The short elf chuckled and tapped her cheek knowingly.
"If he gave out the best room to all of his guests, do you think we would have many left? No, young one! He has a special spot for you, mark my words on it!"
Sarryia smiled to herself and remained silent. It amused her that people often called her a "young one" when, chances were, she was probably older than them. Sarryia had always looked young, even for an elf. The only way a person could really tell how old she was was through her eyes, which radiated wisdom and compassion. Finally, Rethenduile seemed satisfied with Sarryia's cleanliness and told her to get into the bathtub. Sarryia did so willingly and let a sigh of pure pleasure escape her lips as she soaked her sore limbs in the warmth. Rethenduile smiled, obviously realizing that Sarryia was greatly enjoying this, and set about washing her pensioner's hair. Over the years, it had grown considerably in length and Sarryia, having no means to cut it with, had left it so. Rethenduile pulled out twigs and leaves and various other things from the midnight hair tenderly before soaking it with soap and water. Sarryia closed her eyes and smiled sleepily as the maidservant gently massaged her scalp.
"That feels lovely, Rethenduile," she said in a slightly slurred speech.
Rethenduile chuckled.
"Yes, well we don't want you looking like a mess for a ball and a banquet, now do we?"
Sarryia gave a start and splashed some water on the floor. Rethenduile kept her head down, however, with her strong hands, so she was unable to leap out of the bathtub – the way she would have liked to.
"Ball? Banquet? Did the prince not inform you? I am not going! I am much too weary!"
Rethenduile grinned knowingly, adding more soap into the tangle of hair.
"You don't fool me, child. You are not weary at all – much too energetic, you know. No, I suspect there is an ulterior motive to your…reluctance. Perhaps something to do with our Prince of Mirkwood?"
Sarryia said nothing. It had nothing to do with Legolas, of course – she was pretty sure it didn't, anyway. No, the real problem was in his father. Sarryia gave an involuntary shiver and gingerly touched the tender fleshy part of her side where the wound had been. He would never have forgotten her face. And Sarryia could not help but recall those icy words, even after so many long years. And if you ever come back…I'll kill you. No, she couldn't go. Not only for her own safety, but for Legolas' pride. She could not bear to shame him, particularly if his father went into one of his uncontrollable rages.
"No," she said decisively. "I am sorry, Rethenduile, but I simply cannot go. There are…matters concerning myself that would make it unwise to show my face. I am sorry, truly I am."
Rethenduile nodded slowly. Having been brought up around royalty, she guessed that there was likely some very ancient rivalry somewhere and refrained form mentioning it. But the elf was not dissuaded so easily.
"I will mention it to the prince," she muttered.
Sarryia had closed her eyes again and did not hear her. Rethenduile toweled off her hair and pointed to the pile of clean, fluffy towels on a chair.
"When you are finished," she said, there will be clothes in the dresser in the next room. Pick something suitable, milady."
Sarryia was about to comment on being called "milady" when she had only just arrived, but the elf had already trotted out the door.
What an odd woman…she thought. Settling deeper into her bath, she slowly turned the events over in her head. It was absolutely unbelievable. After all these long years – what was it, two thousand? Three? – she had met, against all circumstances, the son of the very man that had caused her banishment in the first place. Well, she reasoned, she was not exactly banished – occasionally an out skirting village would take her in and feed her, so she did not lose her way with words – but she was not exactly a citizen, either. And now, against all odds, the prince himself had obviously taken some sort of a liking to her – Sarryia allowed herself a smug smile at this thought – and, what's more, offered to let her stay in the palace! She chewed her lip thoughtfully. It was going to be difficult to avoid Thranduil, but she knew she could never go back to the forest and her nomad life. Not only would it be difficult for her, she also had a nagging feeling that Legolas would not allow it.
Legolas. She ran the name over several times in her mind. Backwards, forward. All around. Such a magical, lovely name. A wonderful, lovely name for a truly incredible person. She sighed. What was she talking about? She was at least several thousand years his elder, and not royalty besides. The only reason he had taken her in was out of pity for her. Sarryia kicked the bathwater irritably. Pity. She hated it. She had always felt she was strong enough to deal on her own, and pity forbade her that. And anyway, what was she talking about? Legolas? A magical, lovely name? She had met the man for all of a few hours!
She sat sullenly for a minute or so, stewing in thoughts, when she realized the water was beginning to get cold and a little uncomfortable. She stepped out of the tub and headed for the towels, leaving a trail of water behind her. After rubbing off every scrap of moisture with the incredibly soft and fluffy towels, she made her way into the bedroom.
It was a pretty room, not too gaudy but instead spacious and simple. The bed was made with pink satin sheets and the wood above it was intricately carved. The dark hardwood floor was covered with a white carpet roughly the same texture as the towels. A large window and a balcony overlooked the woods below, closed off by a light pink curtain. A dresser of pale wood was set in the corner of the room, opposite the doorway. Sarryia was about to open the dresser and pick out a dress to wear when she noticed something on the floor next to the door. Intrigued, she walked delicately up to it.
Lying on the ground was a thin piece of cloth, obviously made of very fine silk. It was a soft blue color, the color of the sky before sunset. It was not very big, and was obviously made to wear around one's head. Attached was a note that read:
Decided it would be best for the ball to be a masked one. After all, we do not want our guest to feel overpowered. I would be greatly delighted if you would join me at the banquet. I believe Rethenduile has provided you with the necessary clothing. Do say you'll come, I would be truly honored by your presence.
Sincerely and Always of Service,
1 Legolas
Sarryia's heart skipped a beat. She picked up the scarf and wrapped I experimentally around her head before standing in front of a mirror. It was perfect. She opened the dresser and searched eagerly for a matching dress. Perhaps she would go to this banquet. After all, how could she refuse when the prince had so politely invited her?
***
A/N: R/R please!
***
---After the War of the Ring---
Legolas breathed in the sweet, musky scent of the forest and urged his white stallion forward. At last, he felt he had come home. However lovely the forests he had seen on his quest for the ring, none could mean more to him than his beloved Mirkwood.
He had been walking on a path that could easily be overlooked by eyes not as keen as elven ones, cleverly hidden in the underbrush, along with a company of five other elves. He dropped back to join one of them and smiled eagerly at the prospect of coming home.
"Well, Sihrniel, it seems we have finally come home. How does it feel to you?"
The dark-haired elf nodded respectfully and answered.
"It feels wonderful, my lord. I am anxious to see my loved ones once more."
Legolas pushed him playfully on his horse.
"Lighten up, Sirhr! Since when did you start calling me "my lord"? Honestly! Where did all those years of friendship go?"
Sihrniel blushed and heeled his horse forward a bit.
"I thought it was appropriate, seeing as how you're going to be king soon…but I suppose you're right. You'll always be nothing more than Legolas to me...the one I could never beat with a bow, no matter how hard I try."
Legolas laughed out loud and set his horse to a trot. The others sped their steeds up also, trying to catch up with the eager prince. One was quicker than the rest. Jisela was a fair-haired, dark eyed maiden with pale skin and sharp, chiseled features. Her haughty air hinted at her personality: straight and to the point, and a skilled warrior. She brought her horse to an easy canter alongside Legolas'.
"Legolas, I have the feeling we are being watched."
"Watched? Nonsense! By whom? I am really not that interesting of a person, despite what everyone seems to believe."
Jisela cocked and eyebrow at him and glanced around.
"Perhaps. But my ears have never deceived me before, and I do not believe this to be a first. It would be wise to investigate, my lord. It is not without purpose that one remains hidden."
Reluctantly, Legolas slowed his horse to a walk and held up his hand for the others to be silent. For a minute no one moved a muscle, and every sharp eye roved the wilderness about them. Then Legolas heard it. A sort of scuffling sound of a body clambering through bushes – a sound no animal would make. Holding a finger to his lips, he carefully climbed down from his mount and drew his bow. Notching an arrow, he padded silently to the area the noise was coming from. The company held its breath as he gently tugged the shrubs aside.
Lying on the ground was the strangest sight Legolas had ever seen. It was a woman – an elven one, at that – and her eyes were wide with fear. Her face and arms were covered in dirt, and her garment ripped and frayed in several places. It looked like a piece on the side had been cut out and sowed over with a piece ripped off from another part of the dress. Her face had numerous scratches on them, as though she had been crawling through brambles. Which, Legolas realized, she probably had. The woman scrabbled backwards on all fours with a frightened look. Legolas let his bowstring slack. It was obvious this creature was harmless. A little wild, maybe, but harmless. He was also intrigue by her apparent lack of civility. Leaning over, her tried to speak to her in a soothing voice.
"Don't be afraid. My name is Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood, and I will not harm you. Neither will my companions. Can you speak?"
"Of course I can speak, you numbskull," the creature muttered under her breath. Aloud, she said. "I know who you are. I am glad you will not harm me, but I think that neither will you let me go on my way. Am I correct?"
Legolas was stricken by the boldness of this individual. Most commoners lost their tongues when he mentioned his status, but this one seemed quite at ease with it. He chuckled softly and held out his hand for her.
"No, I'm afraid you are right on that point. I'd like to take you to the palace and learn more about you. There is a banquet tonight."
At the mention of food, the girl absently licked her lips. But her face was pale and she was obviously battling with her thoughts. Finally, she sighed.
"Very well. I will come with you to…the palace. However, I do not wish to attend the feast, if that is all right with you." Legolas nodded his approval, but she did not take his hand just yet. "And…I would like to keep my face covered. It would not do to show off bruises such as these to the elven population."
Legolas was a bit baffled by this demand – surely it did not matter that much? – but decided it was her choice, after all. He smiled and nodded, and she took his hand.
"It shall be as you say, fair maiden," he said formally.
At this remark, the girl coughed in her hand to cover an obvious laugh. Legolas flushed from ear to ear and ducked his head as he lifted her onto his horse. He threw his leg over and settled himself in front of her.
"All right?" he asked.
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his chest, resting her chin in the crook of his neck. Legolas shifted uncomfortably, blushing again. This woman was making him very jittery, and he did not like it. The girl must have felt his unease, because she laughed softly.
"Settling yourself for a more comfortable position, my lord?" she asked mockingly.
Legolas muttered something incoherent and heeled his mount forward. The company followed like shadows, always on the alert. After a few minutes of awkward silence, Legolas asked the question that has been on his mind for a little while.
"And may I ask what your name is, maiden?"
For the first time, the girl hesitated before answering. He could feel her body tense against his, and her arms tightened a little.
"My name…my name is Iyarras. Iyarras Goldenblade."
"Iyarras," Legolas repeated, testing the name on his tongue. "A very pretty name, worthy of a very pretty woman."
It was Sarryia's turn to blush, this time. She loosened her grip on the prince and leaned back a little, much to his disappointment. His body missed the warmth she had to offer. However, he did not have too long to think about it, as the palace soon came into view. Legolas nodded to the company behind him, and they proceeded to arrange themselves so that two of the five were in front of the prince and three behind. Sarryia laughed softly.
"Afraid of being mugged, prince?"
"It is merely a formality, Iyarras. Believe me, if I had my way, it would be just you and I."
Sarryia thought over this comment for a moment, trying to decide exactly what it was supposed to mean. Trumpets broke through her thought, though, and concealed her head behind waves of messy black hair, gazing at the scene through cloudy gray eyes.
A small crowd had begun to gather around the procession, gazing in awe at the prince, finally returned from what had doubtlessly been great and perilous adventures. Legolas was obviously used to this sort of thing, as he straightened himself up regally in his seat and gave smiles and nods of his head, as well as waves, causing the crowd to titter excitedly among themselves. At one point, however, he turned his head and whispered quietly to Sarryia,
"I hate this, you know. If I need to smile one more false smile at these people, it'll fall off my face!"
Sarryia giggled and whispered back,
"If it does, I'll gladly try to put it back on …"
Legolas blushed and turned back to the crowd. Sarryia also flushed red and mentally chided herself for having been so forward with this prince who hardly knew her. Eventually, they pushed their way through the now rather large crowd and reached the open doors of the palace. Legolas dismounted and handed his reins to an eagerly waiting stablehand, imitated by his attendants. He lifted Sarryia down as gently as a feather and set her on the ground. Signaling to a passing maid, he thrust her hands into the servant.
"Find this lady the best rooms you can afford, please. She needs to wash up and find something to wear. Oh, and make sure she isn't seen. The lady does not wish for others to see her in a disheveled state," he said pompously.
The lady nodded in understanding and led Sarryia away, kindly gesturing towards the way they should walk. Sarryia smiled gratefully at Legolas and followed her guide, eager to put on some fresh clothes. Legolas watched her go with a slight twinge of pain. He enjoyed her witty remarks and carefree attitude. And the way her body felt against his…Legolas gave a start and immediately left his daydreaming when Sihrniel tapped him on the shoulder. The male elf had a knowing look on his face and thrust some baggage into the prince's arms.
"Here, lovebird," he said, laughing. "Even the great Prince of Mirkwood should carry his own materials."
Legolas grinned and took the package. Perhaps he would be able to see the lady later that night. Until then, however, life should go on.
***
Sarryia peeled off her clothes in the beautiful tiled bathroom and waited for the maid to arrive with the soap. The steaming hot water in the copper bathtub looked awfully tempting, but Rethenduile – the maid – had insisted to scrub the layers of dirt and grime off Sarryia first. Presently, Rethenduile arrived with a bucket of hot water, soap, and what looked to Sarryia like a very rough sponge. The maid smiled and began washing off her new pensioner.
"So," she said while scrubbing, "I see the prince has taken a special liking to you, o fair one."
Sarryia blushed and lifted her arms.
"Oh, I'm sure he hasn't," she said casually. "He probably treats all guests this way, right?"
The short elf chuckled and tapped her cheek knowingly.
"If he gave out the best room to all of his guests, do you think we would have many left? No, young one! He has a special spot for you, mark my words on it!"
Sarryia smiled to herself and remained silent. It amused her that people often called her a "young one" when, chances were, she was probably older than them. Sarryia had always looked young, even for an elf. The only way a person could really tell how old she was was through her eyes, which radiated wisdom and compassion. Finally, Rethenduile seemed satisfied with Sarryia's cleanliness and told her to get into the bathtub. Sarryia did so willingly and let a sigh of pure pleasure escape her lips as she soaked her sore limbs in the warmth. Rethenduile smiled, obviously realizing that Sarryia was greatly enjoying this, and set about washing her pensioner's hair. Over the years, it had grown considerably in length and Sarryia, having no means to cut it with, had left it so. Rethenduile pulled out twigs and leaves and various other things from the midnight hair tenderly before soaking it with soap and water. Sarryia closed her eyes and smiled sleepily as the maidservant gently massaged her scalp.
"That feels lovely, Rethenduile," she said in a slightly slurred speech.
Rethenduile chuckled.
"Yes, well we don't want you looking like a mess for a ball and a banquet, now do we?"
Sarryia gave a start and splashed some water on the floor. Rethenduile kept her head down, however, with her strong hands, so she was unable to leap out of the bathtub – the way she would have liked to.
"Ball? Banquet? Did the prince not inform you? I am not going! I am much too weary!"
Rethenduile grinned knowingly, adding more soap into the tangle of hair.
"You don't fool me, child. You are not weary at all – much too energetic, you know. No, I suspect there is an ulterior motive to your…reluctance. Perhaps something to do with our Prince of Mirkwood?"
Sarryia said nothing. It had nothing to do with Legolas, of course – she was pretty sure it didn't, anyway. No, the real problem was in his father. Sarryia gave an involuntary shiver and gingerly touched the tender fleshy part of her side where the wound had been. He would never have forgotten her face. And Sarryia could not help but recall those icy words, even after so many long years. And if you ever come back…I'll kill you. No, she couldn't go. Not only for her own safety, but for Legolas' pride. She could not bear to shame him, particularly if his father went into one of his uncontrollable rages.
"No," she said decisively. "I am sorry, Rethenduile, but I simply cannot go. There are…matters concerning myself that would make it unwise to show my face. I am sorry, truly I am."
Rethenduile nodded slowly. Having been brought up around royalty, she guessed that there was likely some very ancient rivalry somewhere and refrained form mentioning it. But the elf was not dissuaded so easily.
"I will mention it to the prince," she muttered.
Sarryia had closed her eyes again and did not hear her. Rethenduile toweled off her hair and pointed to the pile of clean, fluffy towels on a chair.
"When you are finished," she said, there will be clothes in the dresser in the next room. Pick something suitable, milady."
Sarryia was about to comment on being called "milady" when she had only just arrived, but the elf had already trotted out the door.
What an odd woman…she thought. Settling deeper into her bath, she slowly turned the events over in her head. It was absolutely unbelievable. After all these long years – what was it, two thousand? Three? – she had met, against all circumstances, the son of the very man that had caused her banishment in the first place. Well, she reasoned, she was not exactly banished – occasionally an out skirting village would take her in and feed her, so she did not lose her way with words – but she was not exactly a citizen, either. And now, against all odds, the prince himself had obviously taken some sort of a liking to her – Sarryia allowed herself a smug smile at this thought – and, what's more, offered to let her stay in the palace! She chewed her lip thoughtfully. It was going to be difficult to avoid Thranduil, but she knew she could never go back to the forest and her nomad life. Not only would it be difficult for her, she also had a nagging feeling that Legolas would not allow it.
Legolas. She ran the name over several times in her mind. Backwards, forward. All around. Such a magical, lovely name. A wonderful, lovely name for a truly incredible person. She sighed. What was she talking about? She was at least several thousand years his elder, and not royalty besides. The only reason he had taken her in was out of pity for her. Sarryia kicked the bathwater irritably. Pity. She hated it. She had always felt she was strong enough to deal on her own, and pity forbade her that. And anyway, what was she talking about? Legolas? A magical, lovely name? She had met the man for all of a few hours!
She sat sullenly for a minute or so, stewing in thoughts, when she realized the water was beginning to get cold and a little uncomfortable. She stepped out of the tub and headed for the towels, leaving a trail of water behind her. After rubbing off every scrap of moisture with the incredibly soft and fluffy towels, she made her way into the bedroom.
It was a pretty room, not too gaudy but instead spacious and simple. The bed was made with pink satin sheets and the wood above it was intricately carved. The dark hardwood floor was covered with a white carpet roughly the same texture as the towels. A large window and a balcony overlooked the woods below, closed off by a light pink curtain. A dresser of pale wood was set in the corner of the room, opposite the doorway. Sarryia was about to open the dresser and pick out a dress to wear when she noticed something on the floor next to the door. Intrigued, she walked delicately up to it.
Lying on the ground was a thin piece of cloth, obviously made of very fine silk. It was a soft blue color, the color of the sky before sunset. It was not very big, and was obviously made to wear around one's head. Attached was a note that read:
Decided it would be best for the ball to be a masked one. After all, we do not want our guest to feel overpowered. I would be greatly delighted if you would join me at the banquet. I believe Rethenduile has provided you with the necessary clothing. Do say you'll come, I would be truly honored by your presence.
Sincerely and Always of Service,
1 Legolas
Sarryia's heart skipped a beat. She picked up the scarf and wrapped I experimentally around her head before standing in front of a mirror. It was perfect. She opened the dresser and searched eagerly for a matching dress. Perhaps she would go to this banquet. After all, how could she refuse when the prince had so politely invited her?
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A/N: R/R please!
