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To Mordor and Back
Alakdaliel's mind spun. Her sister was, in fact, dead. She had been betrayed and further more kidnapped by her supposedly loyal friend, Chariste, beaten nearly to death by one of Milkwood's Captain, and now this. Legolas was betrothed. The statement sounded odd in her mind. It did not belong.
"How could you?" Was her only response, though she punctuated the question with another slap. One more seemed called for, just to drive the point home. "How could you do such a thing? How could you let your father?" Another slap. "Damn you! Damn you, Legolas Greenleaf! Damn you to the pits of Mordor and back!"
The man-- The bloody man! -- Did not say one word. Not that he could, of course; what defense could he offer? He just stood there while she rained blows at him, making no move, unblinking eyes looking peculiar, as well they might with the way she reddened his cheeks for him. If her slaps made little impression on him, though, the palms of her hands began to sting like fury. Grimly, she clenched a fist and punched him in the belly with all her might. He grunted slightly.
"We will talk this over calmly and rationally." She said, stepping back from him. "As adults." Legolas just nodded and sat down and pulled his boots over to him. Pushing back bits of hair out of her face with her left hand, she stuck the right behind her so she could flex her sore fingers without him seeing. He had no right being that hard, not when she wanted to hit him. Too much to hope she had cracked a rib in him.
"You should thank my father, Alakdaliel." How could the elf sound so calm! Stamping his foot firmly into one boot, he bent to pick up the other, not looking at her. "You wouldn't want me betrothed to you."
"If you dare, if you even dare, to spout that drivel about not wanting to give me a widow's weeds, Legolas Greenleaf, I'll.. I'll.." She could not think of anything strong enough. Kicking him was not near enough.
He just rested his forearms across his knees, and watched her with that odd look in his eyes, and said, "I thought about not telling you, but you have a right to know." Even so, his tone became hesitant; Legolas was never hesitant. "The ceremony is approaching quickly. I spare you the life of the distant tyranny that is a Queen's. You do not know the horror that shook through me when that merchant told me you were here, with the Captain and Chariste. My assumptions have obviously proved correct. You almost have more cuts and bruises than I have acquired in my lifetime! Almost. Those two will pay dearly, you have my word on that. The guard is a few leagues behind me, their ship, I'm sure is visible even from our decks. That is how I saw your previous ferry erupt.something I am still astounded by. I pray your two captors are still alive, for I will take much delight in their flaying." He was filled with rage, though his statement was that of a quiet whisper.
Suddenly she understood his eyes, colder than winter's heart. The eyes of an elf that knew he was doomed to live a life of court and could not make himself care. Her own eyes stung with not weeping.
"So you see," He concluded with a smile that touched only his mouth; an accepting smile, "when the time comes to pass in which I take up the crown, you will be grateful you do not have to share that life with me. You are spared that. My last gift to you, Mashiara." Mashiara. His lost love.
"I assume you are to be wedded as soon as the leaves change color, and you wish me to find a more suitable husband." Her voice startled her with its levelness. She could not break down in tears now. She would not. Now, more than ever, more than in the caves of her captors, she had to gather all her strength.
"Yes," he said cautiously, tugging on his other boot.
"Good." Adjusting her skirts, she resisted the urge to cross the cabin to him. "Because I have found him. You. Don't say anything." She said sharply when he opened her mouth. With an effort she moderated her tone. She wanted to berate him up one side and down the other, wanted to pull her hair out by the roots every time she thought about him and that woman. Fighting to keep her voice calm, she continued, recalling a ring of daises Legolas had made her after their infamous archery lessons.
"In Archwood, Legolas, when somebody gives another a ring, they are betrothed." That was a lie and she half expected him to jump to his feet in outrage, but he only blinked warily. Besides, she had read about the notion in a story. "We have been betrothed long enough, we are to get married.
"I used to pray for that, ever since you arrived at Mirkwood, my life has been nothing but joy, and with you gone, I've realized it more than ever," he said softly, then shook his head. "You know it cannot be, Alakdaliel. And even if it could, you'd be giving up so much. Mercillea, My betrothed-
Despite all her promises to keep her temper, to be gentle, she quickly placed her hand over his mouth, smothering his words. "A small lesson for you in the difference between wives and other women," she said lightly. I would appreciate it very much if you did not mention Mercillea's name again in my presence, do you understand?"
He nodded, and she removed her hand from his mouth, but as soon as soon as he had worked his jaw a moment he said, "I do wish it could be, Alakdaliel, but-
"It can and will," She broke in. Males always seemed to get the upper hand if you let them talk too long. She sat herself down on his knees. They were not married yet, true, but he was softer than the unpadded benches on this boat. She shifted a bit to make herself more comfortable. "You might as well reconcile yourself, Legolas Greenleaf. My heart belongs to you, and you've admitted yours belongs to me. You belong to me and I will not let you go. You will be my husband, and for a very long time. I will not let you go. Do you understand that? I can be as stubborn as I have to be."
"I hadn't noticed," He said his eyes narrowed. His tone sounded awfully dry.
"As long as you do now," She said firmly. Twisting her neck she peered through the piecework in the hull behind him, then craned around to peer through the carving at the front of the cabin. Long stone docks thrusting out from the stone quay passed by; all she could see ahead were more docks, and the sand gleaming white in the afternoon sun.
"Where are we going?" She muttered.
"I told them to put us ashore as soon as I had you aboard," Legolas said. "It seemed best to get off the water as fast as possible. Were headed back to Mirkwood, where you should have stayed from the start. Though, my father's in for a nasty shock when we arrive back. I don't think he is anticipating this." He pointed between the two of them. Alakdaliel shook her head, trying not to think about the obstacles that they would face ahead, The King of Mirkwood, only a part of it.
"What about my ship?" She was terribly confused.
"Alakdaliel, I was right behind your boat. I saw what happened. You were fifty paces ahead of me, and then fifty paces behind, sinking. It had to be the workings of magic. It seems there is more to Daren than meets the eye."
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To Mordor and Back
Alakdaliel's mind spun. Her sister was, in fact, dead. She had been betrayed and further more kidnapped by her supposedly loyal friend, Chariste, beaten nearly to death by one of Milkwood's Captain, and now this. Legolas was betrothed. The statement sounded odd in her mind. It did not belong.
"How could you?" Was her only response, though she punctuated the question with another slap. One more seemed called for, just to drive the point home. "How could you do such a thing? How could you let your father?" Another slap. "Damn you! Damn you, Legolas Greenleaf! Damn you to the pits of Mordor and back!"
The man-- The bloody man! -- Did not say one word. Not that he could, of course; what defense could he offer? He just stood there while she rained blows at him, making no move, unblinking eyes looking peculiar, as well they might with the way she reddened his cheeks for him. If her slaps made little impression on him, though, the palms of her hands began to sting like fury. Grimly, she clenched a fist and punched him in the belly with all her might. He grunted slightly.
"We will talk this over calmly and rationally." She said, stepping back from him. "As adults." Legolas just nodded and sat down and pulled his boots over to him. Pushing back bits of hair out of her face with her left hand, she stuck the right behind her so she could flex her sore fingers without him seeing. He had no right being that hard, not when she wanted to hit him. Too much to hope she had cracked a rib in him.
"You should thank my father, Alakdaliel." How could the elf sound so calm! Stamping his foot firmly into one boot, he bent to pick up the other, not looking at her. "You wouldn't want me betrothed to you."
"If you dare, if you even dare, to spout that drivel about not wanting to give me a widow's weeds, Legolas Greenleaf, I'll.. I'll.." She could not think of anything strong enough. Kicking him was not near enough.
He just rested his forearms across his knees, and watched her with that odd look in his eyes, and said, "I thought about not telling you, but you have a right to know." Even so, his tone became hesitant; Legolas was never hesitant. "The ceremony is approaching quickly. I spare you the life of the distant tyranny that is a Queen's. You do not know the horror that shook through me when that merchant told me you were here, with the Captain and Chariste. My assumptions have obviously proved correct. You almost have more cuts and bruises than I have acquired in my lifetime! Almost. Those two will pay dearly, you have my word on that. The guard is a few leagues behind me, their ship, I'm sure is visible even from our decks. That is how I saw your previous ferry erupt.something I am still astounded by. I pray your two captors are still alive, for I will take much delight in their flaying." He was filled with rage, though his statement was that of a quiet whisper.
Suddenly she understood his eyes, colder than winter's heart. The eyes of an elf that knew he was doomed to live a life of court and could not make himself care. Her own eyes stung with not weeping.
"So you see," He concluded with a smile that touched only his mouth; an accepting smile, "when the time comes to pass in which I take up the crown, you will be grateful you do not have to share that life with me. You are spared that. My last gift to you, Mashiara." Mashiara. His lost love.
"I assume you are to be wedded as soon as the leaves change color, and you wish me to find a more suitable husband." Her voice startled her with its levelness. She could not break down in tears now. She would not. Now, more than ever, more than in the caves of her captors, she had to gather all her strength.
"Yes," he said cautiously, tugging on his other boot.
"Good." Adjusting her skirts, she resisted the urge to cross the cabin to him. "Because I have found him. You. Don't say anything." She said sharply when he opened her mouth. With an effort she moderated her tone. She wanted to berate him up one side and down the other, wanted to pull her hair out by the roots every time she thought about him and that woman. Fighting to keep her voice calm, she continued, recalling a ring of daises Legolas had made her after their infamous archery lessons.
"In Archwood, Legolas, when somebody gives another a ring, they are betrothed." That was a lie and she half expected him to jump to his feet in outrage, but he only blinked warily. Besides, she had read about the notion in a story. "We have been betrothed long enough, we are to get married.
"I used to pray for that, ever since you arrived at Mirkwood, my life has been nothing but joy, and with you gone, I've realized it more than ever," he said softly, then shook his head. "You know it cannot be, Alakdaliel. And even if it could, you'd be giving up so much. Mercillea, My betrothed-
Despite all her promises to keep her temper, to be gentle, she quickly placed her hand over his mouth, smothering his words. "A small lesson for you in the difference between wives and other women," she said lightly. I would appreciate it very much if you did not mention Mercillea's name again in my presence, do you understand?"
He nodded, and she removed her hand from his mouth, but as soon as soon as he had worked his jaw a moment he said, "I do wish it could be, Alakdaliel, but-
"It can and will," She broke in. Males always seemed to get the upper hand if you let them talk too long. She sat herself down on his knees. They were not married yet, true, but he was softer than the unpadded benches on this boat. She shifted a bit to make herself more comfortable. "You might as well reconcile yourself, Legolas Greenleaf. My heart belongs to you, and you've admitted yours belongs to me. You belong to me and I will not let you go. You will be my husband, and for a very long time. I will not let you go. Do you understand that? I can be as stubborn as I have to be."
"I hadn't noticed," He said his eyes narrowed. His tone sounded awfully dry.
"As long as you do now," She said firmly. Twisting her neck she peered through the piecework in the hull behind him, then craned around to peer through the carving at the front of the cabin. Long stone docks thrusting out from the stone quay passed by; all she could see ahead were more docks, and the sand gleaming white in the afternoon sun.
"Where are we going?" She muttered.
"I told them to put us ashore as soon as I had you aboard," Legolas said. "It seemed best to get off the water as fast as possible. Were headed back to Mirkwood, where you should have stayed from the start. Though, my father's in for a nasty shock when we arrive back. I don't think he is anticipating this." He pointed between the two of them. Alakdaliel shook her head, trying not to think about the obstacles that they would face ahead, The King of Mirkwood, only a part of it.
"What about my ship?" She was terribly confused.
"Alakdaliel, I was right behind your boat. I saw what happened. You were fifty paces ahead of me, and then fifty paces behind, sinking. It had to be the workings of magic. It seems there is more to Daren than meets the eye."
So how do you like it?!! REVIEW!