Disclaimer: If you've never heard of it, it's probably mine.
A/N This story just bugs me no end, so I'm going to re-write it completely, finish it, and it shall forever be gone. I hope.
~*~*~ IF YOU WANT ME DON'T FOLLOW ~*~*~
The next day, much to her surprise, Pherwing really was up early. Discovering it was the wrong side of six o'clock, she endeavoured to return to bed, but it seemed the entire world wished her to be up and ready well before normal people usually were. Again, she dressed in a pale blue dress which in her opinion made her look completely frigid.
Her indecently early awakening was, however, rewarded. At around eight, when Pherwing was dressed and ready, a domestic rushed into her room, hair unkempt and apron covered in flour. She nearly fainted at the sight of Pherwing dressed and ready, but recovered her wits sufficiently to gasp out,
"Milady, I know it's early, but... oh! Milady, it's the Prince!" the girl was blushing and smiling, and Pherwing rightly guessed that she too had noticed the lean archer's muscled body.
"Oh? Does he want my Father?" she asked, feigning ignorance. In reality, Pherwing knew all too well who the Prince had come to see. She didn't know whether to jump for joy or fling herself out of the window. Unfortunately, neither option was viable.
"No, Milady! Oh, Milady! Your Father is out with Laithol, orcs at the perimeter. And the Prince... He wants... Oh! He wants to see you!" the maid was practically glowing green with envy.
"Oh really?" asked Pherwing, looking mildly surprised, "I suppose one will have to go and see him then?"
The maid nodded vehemently.
"I think so, Milady!" that green aura was diffusing... filling the room... Pherwing had to go before her loyal maid became disloyal in light of the Prince's complete sexiness.
Pherwing figured that Legolas would most likely be in the foyer, where most guests were received. She acknowledged that the Crown Prince wasn't 'most guests', but he'd probably be there anyhow. She decided to make a grand entrance, sweeping imperiously down the main staircase. Legolas was, as she had surmised, stood at the bottom of the stairs.
"Legolas!" she forced what she hoped was a warm smile on to her face, and ran the rest of the way down stairs. He smiled at her, and kissed her hand. She giggled, and blushed, yet again. This time, however, she scowled at her actions. Of course, the giggle had been planned, but the red of her cheeks was not something she had counted on. If it got results, though...
Her train of thought was interrupted, though, when he murmured,
"I know it's early... but... I couldn't wait to see you..." he smiled warmly. 'Mmmm... Flattery is nice... Mmm... so is his smile... Has Dimechorion ever smiled at me like that?' she mused.
"I'm flattered..." she said, giving a nervous little laugh. 'Stupid unwelcome thoughts...'
"Would you like to go for a walk, Milady?" he asked, slightly nervously. This was probably his first courtship, she thought, with a hint of sympathy, before catching herself and remembering that the word sympathy was not part of her vocabulary.
"I would be honoured, Milord," she replied, and they smiled simultaneously. 'I must be getting better. I hardly have to try to be nice around him. Must be a side effect of whatever I drank last night...'
***
After hours of small talk, and walking in circles round the Palace grounds, the effects of whatever Pherwing had drunk last night were wearing off. She was growing tired of the weather and current affairs, and strangely enough, so (seemingly) was he.
"I have something to tell you, Milord. This aimless wandering is exactly that. Aimless," she said. To her defence, her temper had been running short for the past fifteen minutes, and with time, he had shown himself to be a rather poor conversationalist. In -his- defence, he had little to work with, and her temper -had- been rather short for the past fifteen minutes.
"Perhaps this has more purpose..." he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her. His eyes merged into one as he came closer, and her breath caught. She leaned in nonetheless, and discovered that even if his conversational skills were lacking, Legolas was an impeccably good kisser.
As she was running through the factors that made Legolas better (or, indeed, worse) than Dimechorion, inspiration struck. She pulled away.
"I... I must go!" she said, forcing a 'Deer trapped in headlights' sort of look onto her face. He looked at her in surprise, and she took off.
It was -good- to keep them on their toes.
After she had sprinted a safe distance, she slowed down. Running was something the weak, the stupid, and the endangered did. Not her.
Upon reaching home, she immediately noted the dismal air. The Morgoth in her wanted her to do some sort of jig, but the elven sense of good prevented her from doing so.
That, and she was in public.
She approached slowly, trying her best to look upset. Life was just -so- hard for her... She noticed a teary eyed Laithol dismounting. He looked ever the tearful hero. Ick. She walked towards him slowly, making sure her eyes were damp and her lips trembling. He ran towards her.
"Oh, Laithol! What has happened!?" she asked, speeding up the flow of tears.
"Eru, I'm sorry to tell you Pherwing. The orcs... Father..." he said softly. Yay! The old fool had finally popped his clogs.
"Oh no, Laithol! Say it isn't so!" she gasped. He looked so sad for her that a twinkling of remorse stirred deep within her.
"No!" she said aloud, to quell those unwelcome thoughts. Thankfully everyone thought it was merely her trying to banish grief. But she needed to be alone, away from the sympathetic looks and comments. Tearing herself away from her brother, she made her way to her room. Once there, she had little to do, so indulged herself in the fine art of throwing stuff at people. She lost track of time while throwing pebbles from her window, but was jolted back to reality by a soft knock on her door.
"Come in!" she called, cheerfully, before remembering the recent 'tragedy' and attempting to discompose herself a little.
"The Prince is back. He wishes to see you again," said the maid. She was still that lovely shade of pale green. "Yes. I'll just be one moment," said Pherwing. She washed her face and redressed, before bad temperedly making her way downstairs.
His Majesty was pacing the foyer impatiently. She looked at him, annoyed. She wasn't quite ready for another aimless wandering in the grounds. However, he did not seem to want to go anywhere with her.
"Lady Pherwing," he acknowledged, coldly kissing her hand, his lips like frozen stone. She scowled. Her 'keep them begging for more' approach didn't seem to be working. When he let go of her hand, she stepped back a pace and curtsied mockingly.
"Your -Majesty-," she sneered. Well, it was more of a 'Look, I don't like you so I'm going to pull a face, but please don't have me executed' type of sneer. The maid, sensing scandal, slowly crept away.
"Today, you left me wand'ring alone in the grounds like a travelling madman. How can you explain you're behaviour to me?" he asked, looking hurt, but with his jaw set in a grim line, and his eyes filled with steely resolve.
"I did not mean to, Your Majesty... Oh sir, do forgive me. I am under the most unwelcome pressure from parties I durst not reveal! Do not hate me, but do allow this incident to be as never was!" she pleaded, something she was unused to doing. He looked at her accusingly for a moment, but then allowed himself a smile.
"Of course my Lady. When you feel readied, then you must tell me. 'Til then we shall let this matter rest!" he said, and she threw herself against him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug. For the first time ever, Pherwing melted in his arms. Being held by Dimechorion was nothing like this... Nothing had ever been like this...
She shook herself. Such thoughts would not be permitted in her cold and calculated mind. But she could not continue this for very long.
"I must not go on with this, sir!" she said.
"And why should we not?" he asked, annoyed at her constant rebukes.
"Oh... If you want me... you'll leave me!" Ooo... that sounded dramatic, she decided, tearing herself away from him and taking off at top speed down the corridor.
As she ran, a multitude of thought ran around her head.
Firstly, why had that simple embrace made her feel so... alive...? She didn't love Dimechorion, she knew that. He was merely a convenience. And why was she having such thought about the one she was to break into pieces?
It was definitely a side-effect of what she drank last night.
~*~*~
A/N Ach, I dinnae like this chapter as much. When she speaks, she sounds weak. Her character has lost a lot of it's strength. It's probably got something to do with what she drank last night:).
A/N This story just bugs me no end, so I'm going to re-write it completely, finish it, and it shall forever be gone. I hope.
~*~*~ IF YOU WANT ME DON'T FOLLOW ~*~*~
The next day, much to her surprise, Pherwing really was up early. Discovering it was the wrong side of six o'clock, she endeavoured to return to bed, but it seemed the entire world wished her to be up and ready well before normal people usually were. Again, she dressed in a pale blue dress which in her opinion made her look completely frigid.
Her indecently early awakening was, however, rewarded. At around eight, when Pherwing was dressed and ready, a domestic rushed into her room, hair unkempt and apron covered in flour. She nearly fainted at the sight of Pherwing dressed and ready, but recovered her wits sufficiently to gasp out,
"Milady, I know it's early, but... oh! Milady, it's the Prince!" the girl was blushing and smiling, and Pherwing rightly guessed that she too had noticed the lean archer's muscled body.
"Oh? Does he want my Father?" she asked, feigning ignorance. In reality, Pherwing knew all too well who the Prince had come to see. She didn't know whether to jump for joy or fling herself out of the window. Unfortunately, neither option was viable.
"No, Milady! Oh, Milady! Your Father is out with Laithol, orcs at the perimeter. And the Prince... He wants... Oh! He wants to see you!" the maid was practically glowing green with envy.
"Oh really?" asked Pherwing, looking mildly surprised, "I suppose one will have to go and see him then?"
The maid nodded vehemently.
"I think so, Milady!" that green aura was diffusing... filling the room... Pherwing had to go before her loyal maid became disloyal in light of the Prince's complete sexiness.
Pherwing figured that Legolas would most likely be in the foyer, where most guests were received. She acknowledged that the Crown Prince wasn't 'most guests', but he'd probably be there anyhow. She decided to make a grand entrance, sweeping imperiously down the main staircase. Legolas was, as she had surmised, stood at the bottom of the stairs.
"Legolas!" she forced what she hoped was a warm smile on to her face, and ran the rest of the way down stairs. He smiled at her, and kissed her hand. She giggled, and blushed, yet again. This time, however, she scowled at her actions. Of course, the giggle had been planned, but the red of her cheeks was not something she had counted on. If it got results, though...
Her train of thought was interrupted, though, when he murmured,
"I know it's early... but... I couldn't wait to see you..." he smiled warmly. 'Mmmm... Flattery is nice... Mmm... so is his smile... Has Dimechorion ever smiled at me like that?' she mused.
"I'm flattered..." she said, giving a nervous little laugh. 'Stupid unwelcome thoughts...'
"Would you like to go for a walk, Milady?" he asked, slightly nervously. This was probably his first courtship, she thought, with a hint of sympathy, before catching herself and remembering that the word sympathy was not part of her vocabulary.
"I would be honoured, Milord," she replied, and they smiled simultaneously. 'I must be getting better. I hardly have to try to be nice around him. Must be a side effect of whatever I drank last night...'
***
After hours of small talk, and walking in circles round the Palace grounds, the effects of whatever Pherwing had drunk last night were wearing off. She was growing tired of the weather and current affairs, and strangely enough, so (seemingly) was he.
"I have something to tell you, Milord. This aimless wandering is exactly that. Aimless," she said. To her defence, her temper had been running short for the past fifteen minutes, and with time, he had shown himself to be a rather poor conversationalist. In -his- defence, he had little to work with, and her temper -had- been rather short for the past fifteen minutes.
"Perhaps this has more purpose..." he whispered, and leaned in to kiss her. His eyes merged into one as he came closer, and her breath caught. She leaned in nonetheless, and discovered that even if his conversational skills were lacking, Legolas was an impeccably good kisser.
As she was running through the factors that made Legolas better (or, indeed, worse) than Dimechorion, inspiration struck. She pulled away.
"I... I must go!" she said, forcing a 'Deer trapped in headlights' sort of look onto her face. He looked at her in surprise, and she took off.
It was -good- to keep them on their toes.
After she had sprinted a safe distance, she slowed down. Running was something the weak, the stupid, and the endangered did. Not her.
Upon reaching home, she immediately noted the dismal air. The Morgoth in her wanted her to do some sort of jig, but the elven sense of good prevented her from doing so.
That, and she was in public.
She approached slowly, trying her best to look upset. Life was just -so- hard for her... She noticed a teary eyed Laithol dismounting. He looked ever the tearful hero. Ick. She walked towards him slowly, making sure her eyes were damp and her lips trembling. He ran towards her.
"Oh, Laithol! What has happened!?" she asked, speeding up the flow of tears.
"Eru, I'm sorry to tell you Pherwing. The orcs... Father..." he said softly. Yay! The old fool had finally popped his clogs.
"Oh no, Laithol! Say it isn't so!" she gasped. He looked so sad for her that a twinkling of remorse stirred deep within her.
"No!" she said aloud, to quell those unwelcome thoughts. Thankfully everyone thought it was merely her trying to banish grief. But she needed to be alone, away from the sympathetic looks and comments. Tearing herself away from her brother, she made her way to her room. Once there, she had little to do, so indulged herself in the fine art of throwing stuff at people. She lost track of time while throwing pebbles from her window, but was jolted back to reality by a soft knock on her door.
"Come in!" she called, cheerfully, before remembering the recent 'tragedy' and attempting to discompose herself a little.
"The Prince is back. He wishes to see you again," said the maid. She was still that lovely shade of pale green. "Yes. I'll just be one moment," said Pherwing. She washed her face and redressed, before bad temperedly making her way downstairs.
His Majesty was pacing the foyer impatiently. She looked at him, annoyed. She wasn't quite ready for another aimless wandering in the grounds. However, he did not seem to want to go anywhere with her.
"Lady Pherwing," he acknowledged, coldly kissing her hand, his lips like frozen stone. She scowled. Her 'keep them begging for more' approach didn't seem to be working. When he let go of her hand, she stepped back a pace and curtsied mockingly.
"Your -Majesty-," she sneered. Well, it was more of a 'Look, I don't like you so I'm going to pull a face, but please don't have me executed' type of sneer. The maid, sensing scandal, slowly crept away.
"Today, you left me wand'ring alone in the grounds like a travelling madman. How can you explain you're behaviour to me?" he asked, looking hurt, but with his jaw set in a grim line, and his eyes filled with steely resolve.
"I did not mean to, Your Majesty... Oh sir, do forgive me. I am under the most unwelcome pressure from parties I durst not reveal! Do not hate me, but do allow this incident to be as never was!" she pleaded, something she was unused to doing. He looked at her accusingly for a moment, but then allowed himself a smile.
"Of course my Lady. When you feel readied, then you must tell me. 'Til then we shall let this matter rest!" he said, and she threw herself against him, and he enveloped her in a warm hug. For the first time ever, Pherwing melted in his arms. Being held by Dimechorion was nothing like this... Nothing had ever been like this...
She shook herself. Such thoughts would not be permitted in her cold and calculated mind. But she could not continue this for very long.
"I must not go on with this, sir!" she said.
"And why should we not?" he asked, annoyed at her constant rebukes.
"Oh... If you want me... you'll leave me!" Ooo... that sounded dramatic, she decided, tearing herself away from him and taking off at top speed down the corridor.
As she ran, a multitude of thought ran around her head.
Firstly, why had that simple embrace made her feel so... alive...? She didn't love Dimechorion, she knew that. He was merely a convenience. And why was she having such thought about the one she was to break into pieces?
It was definitely a side-effect of what she drank last night.
~*~*~
A/N Ach, I dinnae like this chapter as much. When she speaks, she sounds weak. Her character has lost a lot of it's strength. It's probably got something to do with what she drank last night:).