It was all very silent as the prisoner crept along the stone halls. Her hair hung over her eyes. Her lips were tight. Her hands clasped the rope in a firm, determined grip but even as ominous and feelingless as she looked, she was uncertain. It was an uncertainty that one often feels attached to regret, but she had grown used to death. Her hands could be dripping with blood from another yet she would feel nothing, so why was it now that she thought twice. She should have felt no reason to regret taking an arrogant price to his death, yet she was not sure she could do her task.

She took in a breath through her teeth and pressed herself to a wall as she made her way to Legolas' chamber, her hand fingering the rope. Glancing down the passage, she continued on and then made a turn after carefully scanning the corridor.

Yes, she was going the right way. She knew this place well by now. Long had she followed Elves in and out of the stone gates. Often she had walked the halls in silence, executing her plan. She could avoid be seen and heard if she wished, revealing herself when she pleased. Her skill had come with practice, her her stealth with time, her malice with the very beating of her heart.

She stopped suddenly before a door, her hands tight on the frayed rope. A cold sweat beaded her brow. She felt a hatred course through her. She had never trembled or hesitated when taking one to death. She knew the feeling....weakness. She clenched her teeth as a bitter taste filled her mouth. She would not be weak. She would would destroy the Elven prince.

Silently she opened the door and stepped into Legolas' chamber. The silence here seemed far more deadly. Carefully she approached the sleeping Elf. His eyes were open and stared blankly at the ceiling. He hardly seemed to breath and she too held her breath. Slowly she drew nearer, her heart pounding. She leaned over the dreaming prince, the rope in her hand.

Suddenly a bead of sweat fell from her forehead, landing on the Elf's cheek. The unfocussed gray eyes shot to look at her.

Legolas let out a cry and rolled out of her reach. He then struck up a call for the guards.

She cursed inwardly then lunged at the Elf, wrapping a cold hand over his mouth. He dug his elbow into her rib cage and she doubled over in pain and staggered backwards, her grip still firm around his mouth. Grasping the rope, she bound his hands, leaning slightly because of her injured side. Her mouth was tight and twisted in fury as she knotted the rope. Legolas' cries could still be heard through her fingers.

Desperate, she ripped off a long piece of her cloak and gagged the thrashing Elf. She could hear the Elves' footsteps thumping through the halls. With a growl of rage she dragged him from the room and into the hall. The guards were near.

She started for another corridor but Legolas wouldn't move. Feeling her blood boiling, she gave him a hard blow to the head and his struggle diminished.

Taking in a deep breath, she dragged him into another passage, avoiding the oncoming guards. She pressed herself to the wall and watched them from behind it.

Only three had risen and they filed into the room, the last shutting the door with a loud slam. She quickly grabbed her victim under the arms and dragged him through the halls. She had no direction or destination. She only needed to get out of reach.

Making her way through the many passages, she desided it was best to wait until the commotion moved farther away. She slid down the wall she had been leaning on and pulled out her dagger, watching it glint in the darkness.

Legolas began to stir. The luminous gray eyes slowly opened. A looked of fear crossed his face as he sat paralyzed by the reflection of those violet eyes in the glinting dagger. She turned to him, her face blank and cold. Yet she observed the Elf with curiosity.

He was leaning against the wall, as she was. His hair fell softly over the elaborate Elven garments. The faultless face reflected fear. Even in all her hatred of this creature who had lengthened her task, she could not help but stare at the beauty and grace of the fine creature. His fine features stood out so clearly to her, even in the darkness.

She wanted to drive the dagger into him but could not. Rage filled her but she refused to show it.

"You do not look as proud now, Elf," she began. "Are you afraid?" Her voice was a soft hissing and her eyes danced. Legolas turned away. She smiled and cut the material that gagged him. "Call your guards, they'll save you," she whispered in a testing voice.

Legolas did not speak. The pride of an Elf over took him. He would not call his guards in a desperate cry for help. He turned to her.

"What are you?" He demanded, his voice dripping with loathing.

She let her hood fall back, revealing two spiteful violet eyes, still dancing with rage. Her hair was as blood or flame. Scars ran across her face. A fang immerged from under her upper lip. She was not of any race Legolas could name. She was not human or Elf and yet she was not of Orcish evil. He had never felt an evil such as her's. It was almost like a shadow in the moonlight.

"I am Vyrr, only a shadow to you, Elf."

~~