Part 1
Chapter 2 - Crime and Punishment
**
Ethuil
April 18 III 3017
Sometimes, I do hate Vella so much. At other times, I almost like her. She has been quiet for a week now; doing nothing to raise anyone's ill voice against her. Ever since the book incident (in which Father really did throw a fit and turn purple), she's been lying low. She's even taken to slinking around the palace in normal clothing and *gasp!* socializing with some of the lords. It makes one realize how beautiful and charming Vellesta can be when she wants to; the lords themselves were surprised at how...nice..she was. She may be docile at the moment, but I know my sister and I know she is planning something. That is the only reason she is ever quiet for an extended period of time.
There have been some odd coming and going's around the palace lately, people I don't recognize in the corners, watching and waiting. Frankly, it makes me nervous. I've been absorbed in the text I managed to slip away from Vella; it's call "A Brief History of Humans". I find it fascinating, though I would never say so out loud. Humans...what an interesting peoples. Their lives are so short, mere decades. And yet, you cannot help but wonder at their bravery and their valour; the honour and ceremony they hold most dear. A people forged in battle and honed in victory. Perhaps, one day, I shall meet a human. That shall be my goal, to travel to the lands far to the west of Mirkwood, past the mountains. They say that Elrond the Great himself is half-human..
Until then,
Avaranthe
**
King Thranduil faced his oldest friend and most trusted advisor, Lord Delanthor Rivermoon, and tried to keep a dark expression on his face. In truth, he would've much preferred laughter. Delanthor's two daughters, Vellesta and Avaranthe, were the current subject of discussion.
"It's Vellesta that worries me." Delanthor said, his expression darkening even at the thought of his older daughter, whom so resembled his wife, Lady Lelanna, who had passed over the sea many many years before leaving him alone to raise two young daughters, not yet two hundred years of age. It was from the Lady Lelanna that Vellesta had inherited her dark midnight hair and her flashing green eyes; Avaranthe had acquired the lord's pale features, the white-blonde hair and pale grey eyes. "She..." He grimaced. "She thinks up ways to anger me, day and night, it is all that fills that silly head of hers."
"Are you so sure that that is all she ponders?"
"Of course!"
Thranduil stood, gazing at the walls of his study; various paintings of Elven lore and myth adorned the walls of the King of Mirkwood's private study.
"Perhaps it is only attention that she seeks."
Delanthor snorted, then turned in his seat, his brooding gaze returning to the leaping flames of the fire in the hearth. Though it was early in the season of Ethuil, the nights were still cool and mornings crisp. Delanthor wondered what new means of mischief Vella would think up next; perhaps more terrorizing stories, perhaps more pranks.
"She is old enough to know better!" He pounded the chair, suddenly gripped with an overwhelming anger and frustration. "I am at the end of my rope, I do not know what new punishment to deal out!" He turned to his friend and King. "Thranduil, I have triedd everything. From confinement to kitchen work; yes, I have resorted to forcing my own daughter to the servant quarters! She just...." His expression softened, "she just does not seem to care."
"Oh, I think she cares." Thranduil took a seat in front of the heart next to his friend. "I think it is her care that makes her act as she does; perhaps she cares too much."
"What do you mean, majesty? If she loved me, if she cared, she would not ruin the good name of our family as she does. She would not embarrass poor Avaranthe so; she would not!"
"Have you never thought, Delanthor, that perhaps Vella uses these antics as a mask? As a way of shielding herself from the pain and reality of our world? I have watched her in court; she speaks with the air of one who has complete confidence in oneself; flirting with the lords and courtiers with the wild abandonment of one who has none to gain."
Delanthor stared into the flames, trying to remember the last time he'd sat down with his daughter and spoken to her; actually spoken, rather than yelled. He couldn't' quite remember.
"You may be right, Thranduil. You may know my daughter better than I." Delanthor said wearily. Ever since his beloved Lelanna had died, time had slowed for the old elf. He had been alive for centuries; old enough to have seen more of this world than he actually wished; often times, he wondered what awaited him in the silver city of Valinor, across an ocean into bliss. It was those times of longing that made him sad; the only things left keeping him in Mirkwood was his two daughters. He would wait, he promised himself, he would wait until they settled, though lately, that hope was becoming smaller and smaller. Silence settled as both thought of old days and dreams, of past wars and fellowships. It was Thranduil that broke the heavy quiet.
"There is a darkness, looming at the edge of the horizon. I can feel it; not close, not yet, but it will come. Like the coming of a storm, it shall not pass easily. I fear for this darkness." He sighed, turning to face Delanthor. "The crown grows heavy on my head, old friend. And yet, Legolas is not ready to take up the throne; he is unwilling to give up his days of childhood and play."
It was unspoken that Vellesta had more than a little hand in his unwillingness, though both elves knew it to be true.
"Legolas will make a fine king, someday. A fine king of Mirkwood, perhaps even driving Sauron's forces from our southern regions, for I know that has long been your desire." Delanthor faced his king with resolution. "He shall have my guidance and my support."
"Thank-you, old friend." Thranduil smiled, though the lines of worry did not dissipate.
Suddenly, there was a shriek and a loud rumbling, followed by laughter that sounded too familiar. Shouting followed, and then a loud silence. Delanthor glanced at Thranduil, who looked back, trying very hard to keep his face straight. Only one word was needed: Vella.
~
"I was only adjusting the pressure, honest Father. I did not mean for this to happen!" For once, Vella was telling the truth. Her voice rang shrilling amidst the tittering crowds that had gathered to gape at the mess that had be created by the notorious Vellesta Rivermoon. Vella glowered darkly at all who stood near.
She had been trying to fix the fountain just outside the main kitchen were the washing was done, as part of her punishment for the books and Lady Helena. She'd seen a stone lodged into the water pipe, and naturally, had thought it'd gotten stuck there and was the reason for the fountain's small trickle of water. In a desperate attempt to end her punishment and fix the damned fountain, she'd picked at the stone until it'd become dislodged. Unfortunately, with it's removal, there had come a great rumbling as the river, from which the elves drew their water, found its way finally clear and burst forth from the fountain, soaking the one who had been unfortunate enough to stand in it's might.
Now she stood in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by elven nobles, soaked from head to foot in river water. The stone, which had taken her most of the morning to dislodge, was once again, shoved back down the pipe. Around her, a foot of water sloshed its way slowly down towards the river bank. As soon as she saw her Father striding towards her, a dark scowl on his face, she knew that she'd be in for it this time. But surely, her rational mind argued, Father would understand that it was all an accident! That she couldn't help that the fountain didn't work; she hadn't known!
Vella glared at some of the ladies who tittered and laughed, eyes pointing. Her scowl silenced a few, those smart enough to know what revenge from Vellesta Rivermoon would mean. She was soaked, tired and worst of all, blamed for something that was not her fault; Vella was in no mood for snot-nosed elven ladies laughing at her.
"Vellesta.." Father began.
"I did not do this! I was trying to adjust the water pressure to do the washing! Remember, you said I was to help with the washing? And so I took that basket," she pointed at the basket of soaking linens, "and I came out here and then.."
"Vellesta.."
"Just listen to me Father, so I realized the fountain didn't work so I looked in and tried to turn up the knob that makes it flow faster, but that didn't' work either. So I looked in the pipe and noticed the stone.."
"Vellesta Rivermoon!!" Delanthor shouted, silencing all in the courtyard, including Vella herself. He sighed, after capturing the attention of all and making her shut her flapping mouth. "Vellesta, first of all," He paused, eying her wet clothing and sopping dark hair that hung down in lank strands. Her eyes were huge and glistening, full of injustice and self-righteousness. She reminded him of a wounded animal he had once come upon in the heights of the Misty Mountains; wet, cold and hurt. It brought Thranduil's earlier words to mind.
"First of all, you're wet. Go get changed into some dry clothes, then we'll talk about this." He said calmly, swallowing the words that had threatened to overflow; words that most likely would have caused more damage than good.
Vella's mouth fell open. Surprise etched itself into every feature; her extended arm about to describe to him how it wasn't her fault at all, fell to her side. Frankly, she'd been expecting a fit of yelling and the transition between several shades of purple, red and orange.
"But Father-"
"Go change, Vella!" He yelled then, causing her to snap back to reality and slosh away quickly, leaving a slippery trail in her wake. She tried to ignore the sounds of laughter and gossip as she retreated. Thoroughly humiliated and embarrassed, Vella wrung portions of her hair dry along the way, feeling a grim sense of satisfaction at the drips that fell all over the marble floors; she hoped some unfortunate lady the pain of slipping on one of her puddles and falling into humiliation. Usually, it was the other way around with herself creating the humiliation and the other side feeling it's dreadful touch. Vella decided she hated this side of the coin.
As soon as she entered her chambers, Avaranthe jumped out at her. Vella whirled around, then rolled her eyes after seeing who it was. Ava's eyes were huge, her lips wide in a disbelieving smile.
"What happened to you?" She asked, her voice rising incredulously. "Did you fall into a well or something?"
"Just go away." Vella snapped, in no mood to answer questions from pesky younger siblings. She peeled off her dress, then slipped quickly into a dry robe and tunic. Turning, she glanced at herself in the mirror then decided she'd rather not look.
"You'd think that by the time you reached your eight hundredth year, you'd have learned how to keep from walking into rivers!" Ava said, laughing. When she was met with no laughter, she sobered immediately. Despite how much she hated Vella at times, Ava knew that Vella would forever be her older sister; her role model; and some part of Ava constantly wanted to please the older sister who seemed to know so much. "So...what happened?" She asked, perched on the edge of the chair, her long legs folded under her.
"I said, I don't want to talk about it." Vella's voice glinted dangerously.
"Oh. Alright." Ava looked away, glancing around the room. She took it as a good sign that Vella hadn't kicked her out of the room yet. "It must've been pretty chilly."
Vella wrung out her hair, shaking out the great dark strands until hard pellets of water shot into the air and marked deep grey drips down the walls. Inside, she stung from the embarassment and humiliation; she could still hear the laughter and the mocking tone of those who'd watched. Not one had offered to help her in her distress: the price for a cold-heart.
"...I think if I fell in a well, I'd fare worse than you." Ava offered helpfully. Vella turned away, digging in her drawers for a circlet to hold up her long wet hair.
"So..." Ava knew she was being the annoying sister, but she persisted. She had a feeling that Vella, though she acted (and probably was) annoyed, also didn't want her to leave. "Do you think Legolas would take me with him the next time he goes on a journey?"
At the sudden change of topic, Vella turned and studied her sister. Ava smiled, seeing the interest in Vella's eyes immediately, and knew that she'd caught the right fish at alst.
"I don't know!" Vella snapped, "Go bother him about it."
After a silence, during which Ava contemplated the words, Vella added,
"..though I doubt it. His journey's are dangerous; he can't be expected to babysit a child along the way."
"I am not a child!" Ava cried indignantly, her pride hurt. She hated when Vella did that, referred to her as a child. Even Legolas often treated her like a toddler. She may have been younger, but she knew much more than either put together. She read books, after all; elven lore and history that Ava was pretty sure even the future of King of Mirkwood didn't bother with . With a pang, Ava remembered days, long ago, when they'd played together; games of hide-and-seek and adventure. Games with fairies, dragons and other mystical beings. As they'd grown, and Legolas had been expected to adhere to his princely duties, they no longer played games. Rather, Legolas would go to Vella and the two fo them would stalk off somewhere, doing god knows what and not taking her with them. The few times Ava had managed to latch along, she'd neither understood nor cared about the things they spoke off. Suddenly, it was no longer the three of them all the time, but rather, an exclusive club for two, and Ava didnt' like being the one excluded. Legolas was still nice, of course, smiling and talking to her. But he treated her like a child, and Ava had to wonder if he had always been like that and it was just now that she was noticing, or if he'd changed along the way for some reason.
"Fine, not a child." Vella said, soothingly after seeing the dark expression cross her sister's face. "Still, he wouldnt bring someone along who could hinder his missions."
"You know about his missions?" Ava asked, peering closer to see if Vella was making up stories again or if she really knew about the mysterious journeys that Legolas always made. Often times, Legolas would return, his eyes haunted and dark with memories that, no matter how much Ava tried, he would never speak of. Vella hesitated, knowing she should not say too much. Ava saw the hesitation and knew it for what it was. "You do know!" She exclaimed, leaping on her sister for more.
Legolas' journeys and missions, set by his fater King Thranduil, had been one of the things that had ended their carefree summer days. Ava had always guessed that that was what the Prince and Vella often conversed about, but she was never sure.
"I don't know anything." Vella glared at her sister, tieing up the last tendril of hair, then checking the mirror quickly.
"You're lying."
"I'm not. You're being meddlesome."
"I am not! Puhleasse, Vell, he never tells me anything." Ava frowned, hurt despite herself. She'd long ago ridden herself of the jealousy that came with losing her playmates; in that moment, the hurt and sting of that long drawn jealousy pushed itself into her gentle heart.
"That's because you're a child." Vella said caustically, then bit her lip as she saw Ava's hurt expression. More like felt, for the pain in the child emanated like waves of distress. In an unexpected show of sisterly love, Vella swooped down to her sister and pushed her over on the chair, sitting herself next to her. She sighed inwardly, trying to find kind words that would make Ava understand. Despite all of Ava's precocious words and grownup acting, she was still a child by elven standards, and nobody was more aware of this fact than Vellesta.
"Avie," She paused, "what Prince Legolas does is not of our concern. He does what he must do for the kingdom, for all of Mirkwood."
Ava sniffed, playing off the guilt she knew she'd struck in her sister.
"Legolas does not tell me everything he does." Vella added. True, she argued inside her heart, for he didn't. She would simply keep the rest to herself; not speaking, afterall, was not lying.
"So....he still cares for me?"
"Of course!" Vella nodded, "Of course Legolas still loves you."
A small smile tugged ont he corners of Ava's fair mouth.
"I was afraid.." She trailed off and brushed the tears from her eyes. "He is too busy for me. First, he is too busy for games. And now, he is too busy for me."
"You know that's not true." Vella said, inside, she berated herself for going off with Legolas too often and leaving Ava all alone. "I promise we'll spend more time together; the three of us, like old days."
Ava beamed, smiling up at her brilliant, older sister. Vella stood abruptly, a sudden pain in her heart. She shook off the feelings of warmth and steeled herself for the scene in the courtyard.
"Now, I have a courtyard to clean and laundry to do."
"I'll help!" Ava offered, jumping up.
"Fine by me." Vella said, smiling wanly as she led the way.
~
As they headed back towards the flooded courtyard, they were met with glances and smirking looks. Vella took note of every elf that mocked her and planned revenge, deadly and silently. As if sensing her growing agitation, Avaranthe clasped her sister's hand in her own, smiling supportively. Vella glanced, surprised, at Ava, then squeezed the offered hand. When they returned once more the courtyard, the water level had lowered significantly, though Ava had to skip around the courtyard to avoid wetting her slippers. Vella sloshed right in, standing in front of Lord Delanthor, meeting him with an icy gaze totally devoid of any sort of emotion. She would show no fear, even in the face of the enemy; not a hint of the turmoil and humiliation in her heart.
"I see you've changed into dry clothes."
"I have." She omitted the 'Father', knowing that addressing him without a title mean disrespect. Lord Delanthor grimaced but decided not to pursue. He studied Vella for a moment, his jaw clenching. Little ripples of tension run along his jawline; Vella stood firm, her gaze unwavering. All those still watching fell silent as the terrible battle of wills between father and daughter erupted in a fiery display of frustration, misunerstanding and anger. Finally, Lord Delanthor brushed past his daughter. The nobles parted in his wake, letting him through. After enough distance was put between them, he turned once more and glanced at Vella.
"You. Come." His eyes flickered to Ava, who watched on curiously. "You, go back to your rooms."
"Father, I wish-"
"Go back to your chambers, Avaranthe."
Ava was unaccustomed to her father's anger; preferring instead to remain, forever-or at least as long as she could-daddy's little girl. Vella followed her
father's striding path, a good distance behind, until they at least reached the destination: his study.
Once the door was closed, Vella had a sudden and terrible urge to escape. She hadn't been alone with her Father for so long, it seemed odd to be alone with him now; like being forced to stay with a stranger. A part of herself cried at this feeling that coursed through her, for once, long ago, she would've thrown herself in his arms and cried on his shoulder. Now, all she could do was hover near the door and expect the worst.
"Oh for god's sakes, Vella, I'm not going to cut your ears off!" Father said loudly, making her jump inadvertently. "Sit." he commanded then, seeing that his initial comment did nothing to calm her. Vella sat down quickly, her fingers playing with themselves as she struggled to maintain an expression of total non-chalance.
Normally, while facing Father for something she had done purposely, she at least had the satisfaction of the deed done (ie. Lady Halis' hair). But now, while she sat in the chair, dejectedly picturing the next few weeks int he kitchen, there was no satisfaction of a lady's screaming wails, or a noble's righteous anger. Not even a bloody nose to make herself feel as if she'd won a little; this time, she'd lost. Completely. They sat there for what felt like an eternity for Vella, a hard thing to accomplish for the long-lived elves, until Vella broke and demanded punishment.
"Father, just punish me and get it over with..but, just let me go!" She demanded. Lord Delanthor grimaced, hiding a secret smile. He contined to go over his documents, slowly flipping through pages. Vella sat up, hoping to explain her case despite how futile she knew it would be.
"I didn't mean it, really, it just...it just popped right out! The stone, the plug, you see.." She trailed off, throwing her hands up. "I give up." She fell back, slumping in the chair and feeling a sudden childish urge to burst into tears. Though Vella often threw fits of temper and rage, she never cried; in fact, Vella couldn't remember crying, not the feeling nor the sensation of tears. Perhaps, she had been born without tears, without the ability to weep.
The mintues ticked by.
The hours ticked by.
Vella counted the books on the shelves. Once, then twice. Then she began on the cieling tiles. Finally, Lord Delanthor pushed his documents aside and faced his daughter.
"You're free to go." He said.
"What?" She straightened, not sure if she'd heard correctly.
"You're free to go..unless, of course, you want to stay here? I'm more than willing to have help in categorizing these texts, on second thought, perhaps.."
"Bye!" Vella was out the door faster than an elf could've drawn an arrow. Halfway down the hall, she heard the dreaded words.
"Hold on.."
She had to forcibly maker herself turn and stand in the doorway, awaiting what she knew to be the real punishment. Father was getting smart, she noticed, his punishments were getting clever. Employing not only kitchen work but also boredom to torture her and hope to kill her.
"Yes, Father?"
He smiled, "I expect you back in the kitchens tomorrow." He raised an eye.
"Of course." She nodded, hovering. Lord Delanthor raised his eyes expectantly. Finally, when it seemed she really would not understand, he said,
"You may go."
Vella turned, quickly clearing the hallway until she was far enough away to sigh with relief. Kitchenwork, she could handle.
Vella smiled to herself as, pondering the downfall of a certain noble. Hey, she thought to herself, since she was already being punshed, why not?
