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Araorë filled the archway, his eyes a mixture of confusion and anger. He looked upon Nevturar, hugging Írime closely as she continued to press closer to him and never removing her eyes, now glowing dull amber, away from Araorë.
"What is she doing in here?" He turned towards Legolas, anger building in the darkening lines of his face. Legolas could make no reply…how was he to answer? After a few moments of heavy silence, Araorë strode across the room and stretched out his arm to grab Írime. An inhuman shriek rose from her throat and cut into Legolas' ears, causing them to ring painfully. She clawed frantically at Nevturar, who made no motion to release her.
"Give her to me, boy." Nevturar looked to Legolas and Carandoliel, neither of them making any efforts to move or help. He returned his eyes, now the same vibrant blue they had been upon his arrival, to Araorë's face. The latter twisted his mouth into a grimace of anger as he demanded again that Nevturar deliver Írime.
"No! She can see you…and she is terrified of what she sees." Araorë lunged at the pair and managed to grab hold of Írime's flailing wrist. He twisted it round and she shrieked in pain. Suddenly a heavy object struck Araorë across his back and he turned to find Legolas holding the broken remains of a wooden writing box.
"Stay out of this Legolas!" He bellowed, still pulling at Írime's wrist while Nevturar frantically pulled her in the opposite direction. The woman looked grotesquely like a rag doll between the muzzles of two wild dogs. She was screaming and crying, attracting a crowd to the prince's doorway. Suddenly, a voice rose above the others and silenced the room immediately.
"Enough!" All eyes turned towards Thranduil, who had entered unnoticed during the chaos. Araorë stood immediately and bowed to the king, speaking in a hurried voice:
"My Lord, I came merely to retrieve my patient. When she was discovered missing I feared for her life. This peasant withheld her from me- he provoked the fight." Nevturar turned an incredulous eye towards Araorë who was now sporting a sly grin. Thranduil turned to Legolas, awaiting an explanation, which was not forthcoming. He looked down at Írime, who now sat cradled in Nevturar's arms, weeping and holding her wrist that Legolas was certain had been broken.
"Take her to the healers and mend her wrist." He spoke to Nevturar with serious gravity in his voice. "Will she harm others under your care?" Nevturar shook his head violently no and persuaded Írime to her feet. As they passed through the room Araorë fixed the young elf with a look Legolas could mistake for nothing less than unbridled hatred.
~*~