Chapter Seven
Ëmara stood in the hallway for a very long time, her own thoughts now difficult to sift through. If she did indeed care nothing for the childish prince, why was the blood rushing through her ears and fingertips with hurt pride and indignation…what did she care of his opinions or conjectures?
'He is foolish and young, a mere pitiful boy who knows nothing, nothing of the world and of the powers of the great. Why have his words hurt me so? I am determined to be alone- but it is a choice of my own deciding…I knew it the very moment Dîniath's sword was carried to me…I suppose it was not meant to be. There is only one thing certain in my life…my curse and my abandonment…they are one and the same, an inescapable chasm into which I must fall. Oh, why did I have to be found by this people…?'
"Why did you not let me die!" She screamed aloud, following the echo with her sharp ears as it resonated down the hallway and into oblivion. Her gray eyes now filled with tears and they fell down her hot cheeks, blazing trails of silver against her olive complexion as she began to walk. Her feet carried her, not to her bedchambers, but towards the back of the palace, wherein lay, spread out as a green carpet, the gardens of Thranduil.
Ëmara walked until she could no longer hear the patter of feet or the rustle of dresses mixed with joyous laughter and singing. It was not until she was quite alone, standing upon a long stone terrace in the darkness of the night, that she pulled the small black stone from her leather pouch and placed it in the center of her hand.
Through her eyes, the stone's center began to clear, the frothing clouds suddenly parted to reveal a small huddled form. She peered more closely, a smile playing upon her lips as she recognized the cringing creature as Leomë.
"Leomë? Do you hear my words?" The being suddenly looked up and wildly about him, struggling to his feet before responding to her words in a loud voice above the chaos of the surrounding winds.
"Ëmara? Ëmara release me!"
"Why do you pursue me Leomë? You have not the strength to rival me…however, my time here is at its end. I release you to come as you wish…bring the truth if you like, they shall not believe." She drew her fingertip across the ridges of the jewel before returning it to her pocket. Detaining Leomë with the powers of her mind had been a temporary arrangement to buy her more time. Now she desired only to escape Mirkwood and the watchful eyes of Lord Legolas.
Ëmara knew that Leomë would arrive within a matter of a few hours; she had only just caught him outside the borders of Mirkwood when the powers of her mind had held him at bay in an invisible prison. With a sigh of resignation, she walked back into the palace, only to be met by Legolas who apparently had been looking for something.
"My Lord." She curtsied shortly with an intent to leave quickly but much to her surprise, she felt his hand grasp her firmly about her wrist. He pulled her face to face with him, his eyes speaking words she dared not read as Ëmara waited for an explanation.
"I…I could not return to the dance. There was…is something I must ask you." She glanced down at her wrist, still wrapped tightly with his fingers. Her instinct to remove his hand was smothered by her own curiosity as she returned her gray eyes to his face and waited for his question.
"Yes?" She prompted after a few moments of silence. He seemed to be searching for something in her eyes, watching and waiting for something she could not understand, for his thoughts were too boisterous to decipher.
"Can you answer a question for me…honestly?" Instinctively she knew what his next question would be- but the answer was more difficult than he could ever understand. She nodded and waited patiently, watching him physically summon the courage to speak.
"Who…what are you?" Ëmara let her wrist slip from his fingers as she smiled and began to wander again onto the terrace. 'How am I to answer…the truth? Leomë, I am sure, will provide that unpleasantness in but a few hours.'
"You shall not understand…"
"Yes I will." He countered as though he had anticipated this response from her.
"You would not believe…even if I spoke the truth you would not believe." She turned to walk away, to be met by an even more persistent grip about her arm, which she did not delay in removing as her gray eyes swarmed into the mass of colors he had seen at the dance.
"I must know…I must…you have bewitched my thoughts, my very being! I act not of myself anymore…my thoughts are not mine alone anymore! I know you to be a being of great power, void of all compassion…tell me what you have done to me at least! Tell me that I may be rid of my thoughts of you!" He spoke with such passionate conviction that Ëmara found it difficult to deny his request. She turned towards the light of the palace and spoke quietly before she walked away:
"My brother arrives upon the morrow…ask him your questions. I shall leave tomorrow, you shall be free to forget everything I have said." He watched her leave, the red dress fading into the orange glow of waning candlelight.
"Not one word…not one gesture of yours could I…shall I ever forget."