THE GRIFFON'S TEARS
Chapter 11 ~ "Romiël"
Though the flight from Mordor took a little over an hour, Romiël was shaking with fatigue by the time the griffon circled the Elf kingdom in Ithilien. At some point during the flight, she had wrapped a loose end of the harness around her arm so that if she fainted, she would not fall. In spite of the horrors she had survived, the desire to live and recover from her ordeal burned fiercely in her heart.
Despite her fear of falling, the flight over the Ash Mountains and the lush forests of eastern Ithilien had already begun some emotional healing. The air was cold aloft, but not so cold as the stone dungeons of Mordor. The sun shown upon her back and the clean air surged into her lungs.
Romiël thought that there was little else in Middle Earth that could make one feel as free as riding upon the back of a griffon.
The feathers of his upper body were white, edged with pure gold. The damage done by the witch had already mended itself, the dark magic unable to keep a hold on the magical creature. The feathers glinted brightly in the sun. His back and hind legs were a deep russet color, the fur smooth and sleek. A long feline tail flowed out behind him. The breadth of his wings was greater than the height of four Elves and they stroked through the air with confidence and ease. He was truly the most magnificent creature Romiël had ever beheld. Even her dim memories of Unicorns paled in comparison to this mighty creature.
"Beleg Soron," Romiël whispered. *Mighty eagle*
Maladok the arrogant, bumbling, fool of a wizard was gone forever.
~ ~ ~
The griffon circled the Elf kingdom and cried out a fierce avian scream that sent Elves scurrying out of their dwellings and looking up at the sky. His sharp eyes easily penetrated the leafy canopy. There was no place wide enough for his great wings to land, so he chose instead a rocky outcropping and back winged carefully, that he might not jar his passenger.
"Are you well, little Elf?" he asked as claws and talons gripped the craggy granite and he folded his wings against her legs.
"Yes . . . that was magnificent. You are magnificent . . ." To Romiël's horror tears welled up in her eyes and she could not stop herself from crying. "I am sorry," she choked.
"Do not apologize, little Elf. You have endured pain and torment that would have felled ssstrong warriors. Allow yourself to grieve for what you have sssuffered."
Elves were already climbing toward them and Romiël wiped a dusty hand across her face, smearing the tears there. She unwound the harness from her arm and tried to sit up straighter, but fatigue made her limbs tremble and by the time the tall golden haired Elf reached them, she was close to fainting.
She focused on his breathtakingly handsome face as she tried to keep herself upright.
"I am Romiël, daughter of Romedon who was Keeper of Horses in the Northern Realm. I have been a prisoner in Mordor these past seven hundred years until I was freed by the griffon." Her voice was little more than a croak by the time she finished, but at least she had gotten her speech out.
Astonishment and concern shown in the Elf's beautiful twilight colored eyes and then he bowed to her.
"I am Thranduil, Son of Oropher, King of Eryn Lasgallen."
Romiël nodded to show that she understood, but then the world seemed to close down upon her and she felt herself falling. Warm hands and strong arms caught her and held her secure. Romiël gave in to the darkness.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil paced impatiently outside the hallway of the healer's rooms in the Great Hall.
"Any news about Alede and Legolas?" Radagast asked, slightly out of breath as he puffed up the stairs.
"Nay. Do you not think that I am as anxious for news of them as you, Wizard?" Thranduil snapped.
"You need not shout," Radagast said offended, drawing himself up. They were still furious with each other after their argument and neither had backed down. Radagast was chafing at his confinement. Thranduil would not allow him to leave the kingdom and he was very irritated at his daughter for asking such a promise of the stubborn elf. But at least Radagast was trying to be civil.
Thranduil on the other hand . . . Radagast watched with amusement as the King of the Greenwood scratched irritably at the beard the wizard had cursed him with. It was a rather fine beard, neat and nicely trimmed, but Thranduil did not seem to appreciate it. Despite the King's fury, Radagast had no intention of removing it until his wishes had been satisfied.
"As it happens," Radagast said rather smugly, "I do have news. The griffon is actually an old friend of mine. He was once a wizard named . . ."
"I do not care if the griffon was your grandmother," Thranduil roared. "What news does he have?!"
"Alede and Legolas reached Mordor safely and were intending to engage the witch and what ever Orcs they found early this morning."
Thranduil waited. "Is that all? Do you know nothing else?" he finally asked impatiently.
Radagast shrugged. "He confirmed that the witch was indeed from the Angmar Mountains. She was an outcast from her people because of her greedy ways and that is where she bespelled my old friend. She was using his tears, or rather the griffon's tears to gain power and wealth.
"It also seems that she has been behind the items of black magic that have been leaking out of Mordor. Apparently her mother began looting the ruins of Mordor not long after the Dark Lord's fall and passed the skill on to her daughter. That's probably how the Faerie Goblet found its way into the hands of a trader. There is one more thing." Radagast nodded toward the door. "The she-Elf was not the only prisoner in Mordor. Apparently there were more of her people there and Legolas pledged himself to free them."
Thranduil eyed Radagast in stony silence for several moments before he finally spoke. "You just may get your wish after all, Wizard."
~ ~ ~
Romiël lay back in the warm bed and allowed herself a sigh. She could almost think herself happy as she lay among the clean linens with a nightdress of the softest silk caressing her frail body. She had been fed, bathed and her wounds tended by a gentle healer. He had even assured her that if Legolas had promised to rescue her brother and the others of her clan, then it was as good as done.
Closing her eyes, she let herself drift, trying to allow nerves that had been stretched to breaking for so long to finally relax. Outside her window birdsong lulled her into a state of calm, assuring her that the nightmare was over, she was safe . . .
Orcs and blood and knives flickered against the insides of her closed eyelids, screams echoed in her ears and Romiël sat up with a gasp as someone entered her room.
"I am sorry," King Thranduil said as he approached the bed. "I did not mean to startle you."
She shook her head. "Nay, twas not you. I . . ."
"Had a nightmare," Thranduil said gently.
She nodded and looked down at her hands clasping and unclasping themselves upon the soft blankets.
Romiël felt horribly uncomfortable beneath the King's bright eyes. Once she would have thought herself equal to any king, even Oropher's impetuous son. Her family was not of nobility, but Romiël had prided herself in her skills as a rider and a hunter. She had been so proficient with the bow that the Lord of her clan had begged her to ride at the front of his hunting party.
But that was long ago and the Elf maiden who used to playfully outrun her brother could barely walk across a room now. The toes of her undamaged foot curled with embarrassment. Elves found physical deformities repulsive.
Once she might have tossed her bright hair and thrown King Thranduil a cheeky smile, but now she could only cringe under his scrutiny.
"May I?" Thranduil asked quietly, gesturing toward the chair beside the bed. He was rather astonished by the she-Elf's appearance. The petite she- Elf before him, with wheaten colored hair, bore no resemblance to the filthy, raged creature that had fallen off of the griffon and into his arms.
Her face was finely sculpted, haggard by starvation and torment, but the bones bore testament to the beauty that had once existed in her features. He could see that she was uncomfortable by his gaze, yet there was a defiant tilt to her small chin. The amount of courage and shear force of will that this woman had astonished him, nothing else could have allowed her to survive Mordor with this much of her soul intact.
Romiël looked up at him with soulful gray eyes and nodded, indicating that he might take the chair. He sat down with infinite care, as if she were a wild creature that might suddenly vanish should he move too quickly. He took one of her hands in his own since she continued to pluck at them. It was surprisingly warm, considering how frail it looked.
"The nightmares will be with you for quite some time," he said gently, absently stroking her rough skin with his thumb. "I cannot cast them away for you, but I will help you all that I can."
Romiël looked up at him in surprise, wondering if she were delusional. She had known so much pain and despair and now this golden haired king sat stroking her hand, compassion filling his beautiful eyes.
"My people suffered much from Orcs," Thranduil explained. "I am sadly familiar with the types of torture they prefer to use. I am also familiar with the methods for healing wounds of the mind. But it will take a long time, Romiël. You have a difficult journey ahead of you."
She shuddered slightly. She was so tired that even healing sounded exhausting.
Thranduil patted her hand. "Do not worry. You are safe here and you will heal at your own rate. I will not pressure you, but I will help you."
"And . . . my brother and the rest of my people?" she asked timidly.
"Aye, once they arrive we will help them as well. Now what can you tell me of my son, Legolas?"
Romiël told him what she remembered, though she had nothing to add that he had not already heard.
Thranduil rose. "I thank you for your information and will leave you to rest now. Have no fear."
"Thank you," she said softly and then when he was at the door, she called out, reluctant to have him leave. Something about him had bothered her since she first met him and she stumbled to put it into words. "Your Majesty? I . . . May I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Have I been out of the world for so long that Elves have changed? In my time, no Elves wore beards. Yours is very fine, but still . . ."
Thranduil glowered and she thought he was just as handsome even when he was scowling, though rather intimidating.
"Nay, Elves have not changed. Neither have wizards," and with those cryptic words he departed.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil strode into the study where Mändel was going over the day-to-day business of the kingdom.
Mändel stood as soon as he saw the determined look on his former king's face.
"Assemble a rescue party to go to Mordor," Thranduil barked. "Legolas will be bringing people from the prisons. They will need help. Assemble healers and also the best warriors."
"Aye, my Lord," Mändel said. "Shall I lead them, Sire?"
Thranduil shook his head. "Nay. I will lead them, as I should have days ago. And now summon that dratted wizard to me!"
~ ~ ~
*Have no fear . . . have no fear . . .*
Romiël repeated the words over and over like a litany, but they gave no comfort. She snapped her eyes open, looking nervously around at the bright sunlight streaming onto the floor of her rooms. It was early afternoon, she could hear the sounds of the kingdom going on around her, all sounds that centuries ago would have seemed comforting and normal.
But now . . . tears leaked down her face. Everything was tainted by what had happened to her in Mordor. Deep in her mind, in the part that she had kept sheltered from the fear and madness she had endured, she knew that she must face her fears. If she were to ever have any peace of mind or self- respect, she must concur that which had terrified her. Her body and soul begged her reconsider the reckless idea that had come to her mind as she lay in the soft bed, but she knew that she must.
Shakily pulling herself out of the bed, she stepped out onto the balcony, blinking painfully in the dappled sunlight and gave a soft beseeching cry.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil did not stop to examine why he was returning to the she-Elf's chambers. He could have sent a servant to tell her that he was marching to Mordor himself, to help her people . . . and of course to help his own son.
But for reasons he chose not to examine, he went to her room himself. The sight that he found after softly knocking and then opening the door was not at all what he expected.
Romiël stood upon the balcony, her nightdress hiked up to her thighs as she tried to pull herself over the rail of the balcony. Since the drop below it was only a few feet, Thranduil did not fear for her life. But her behavior was very strange.
"And just where do you think you are going?" Thranduil asked, irritated that he had used those same words only a few days ago. Was everyone going to sneak away?
She turned to face him. "I am returning to help my people," she said, her shoulders thrown back defiantly.
Or at least as defiantly as her twisted and abused body could manage. Thranduil winced as the merciless sun outlined her painfully thin form beneath the shear nightdress. Scars crisscrossed her skin like lines upon a map, her ribs jutted out severely enough that he could count them, one leg was twisted, as was one arm and the toes had been cruelly hacked off of one foot.
For a people who prided themselves on their physical perfection, Thranduil should have been repulsed by the mangled body before him, but instead he could only admire the courage and determination that shown in her eyes. Sauron should have beaten that courage out of her centuries ago, but somehow it had survived. Romiël was a woman of extraordinary strength.
Romiël obviously became uncomfortable under his intense gaze.
"If what you see repulses you, then I suggest you look away."
Thranduil's eyes snapped up to her proud face. "It does displease me," he said frankly and she stiffened. "It displeases me," he continued, "that one so fair and brave has suffered so greatly. Your wounds are hideous, that is true, but you are not."
Romiël blinked in surprise. She had expected veiled looks of revulsion and dissembling words, but not this frank appraisal. She felt as if Thranduil had examined her soul and found it strangely to his liking.
"In my day," she replied after careful thought, "the king of Mirkwood was not known for such pretty words."
A smile curved the corner of Thranduil's mouth. "Nor is he today."
She was disconcerted again and did not know how to answer him. She had spoken more in this one day than she had in the last century.
"I must return to M . . . Mordor . . ."
"By crawling over the balcony? There is a perfectly good door."
Romiël gestured at the ground and as Thranduil came closer, he saw the magnificent form of the griffon walking toward them, his wings tightly folded against his body as he walked between the trees.
"The griffon will take me back," Romiël said.
Thranduil shook his had curtly. "Nay, my lady, I forbid it."
Romiël's head came up again. "Am I a prisoner here, as well?" she asked, her gray eyes losing their dullness and sparking with life.
"Nay, but you are not yet well. I am going to Mordor myself. We march upon my orders. I only came now to tell you of my plans. I will see to it that your people are delivered here safely."
"I . . . thank you," Romiël began, "but I still must go."
"But why?" Thranduil asked, stepping out onto the balcony with her, ignoring the griffon who rustled irritable feathers at him.
"I must . . ."
"Ssshe must faccce her fearsss," the griffon answered for her, his great beak swinging up to the king so that they were eye level.
Thranduil snapped him an irritated look. "I did not ask you," he said. Turning back to Romiël, he gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Is what the griffon says true?"
She nodded.
Thranduil examined her face for several moments, looking into her gray eyes for any sign of a death wish, but instead he saw only ghosts and a strong desire to be whole once again.
Releasing her, he stepped back. "I do not like this, it is foolish. You are weak and have taken little rest."
"I will never rest until I concur that which concurred me. At least let me face Mordor once again as a free woman and help to make my people free as well."
Thranduil hesitated. What she wanted to do could very well kill her. But the demons of her mind, might kill her just as well, only much more slowly. "Very well. But do not place yourself in danger. Comfort your people once Legolas has freed them, but do not approach the tower. Will you promise me that?"
Romiël hesitated. In truth she knew that in her weakened condition there was little that she could do. But she had to return if only to shake her fist at the cold stone and see her brother walk out of it.
"I promise," she said softly.
"Good. Then allow me to have clothing found for you."
Romiël looked down in surprise. The nightdress was more clothing than she had had in ages. She shook her head. "I do not wish to wait. My courage is very thin. If I wait . . ." She shrugged painfully and shook her head.
Scowling, Thranduil's hands went to the elaborate broach that clasped his cloak. Pulling it free, he settled it around Romiël's shoulders and lifted her onto the back of the waiting griffon as if she weighed no more than a feather.
"See to it that she comes back safely," he said to the griffon. Romiël looked down at Thranduil one last time and then with a mighty leap, they were gone.
Thranduil shook his head at this folly. He should have stopped her, even if it did mean making her a prisoner, but it would have been for her own good. Was he becoming too soft, so easily swayed that he did not look to the welfare of the people under his protection?
However the words that he mumbled to himself a moment later revealed that it was not empathy alone that had made him give into the lady's wishes.
"Why is it that women did not charge about the countryside in their nightdresses when I was in my youth?"
~ ~ ~
A/N: And now we need to get back to Legolas. :D I believe that the mountain troll had just swung his club at our hero Elf. Find out what's happening as the battle in Mordor continues with chapter 12 "The Female of the Species".
*** Original Character List ***
Alede the Green - Witch, healer and wizard. She is daughter of Radagast the Brown. After the death of her mother, she was raised in Rivendell for a while and learned healing skills from Elrond. She also developed a terrible crush on Elrohir, which he has gently teased her about for centuries. She also spent some time learning the wizarding craft at Orthanc under the tutelage of Saruman. Because she felt her healer's calling was more important, and because she considered herself a poor wizardess, Alede never completed her training at Orthanc.
Cyrus the Blue - The forth Maia to be sent to Middle Earth and friend to Radagast the Brown
Lomomir - Brother to King Thranduil of Mirkwood and a healer. He has spent the last many years in Rivendell studying with Alede and reading from Elrond's many books and journals.
Maladok the Red - The fifth Maia sent to Middle Earth. After a disastrous encounter with Saruman, Maladok has become a bit of a "black sheep" in the wizarding world.
Zarraweth - A young human witch with more plans and beauty than is good for her.
Malina - A healer and witch of the Angmar Mountains. She was married to Radagast the Brown and was Alede's mother. She was killed by a mob of religious fanatics who thought her witchcraft had brought plague to a village when instead she had been trying to cure it. Alede was only sixteen when Malina was killed.
Mändel - Legolas' steward. He originally served under Thranduil in Mirkwood in a lesser position.
Galomir - Ithilien's healer.
Girwyn - A general in Legolas' army. He is in charge of Ithilien's security.
Nimhith - A she-Elf of Eryn Culhallas, assigned by Legolas to be Alede's lady's maid.
Romiël - A she-Elf captured 700 years ago by Sauron as her people were making their way to the Gray Havens.
Chapter 11 ~ "Romiël"
Though the flight from Mordor took a little over an hour, Romiël was shaking with fatigue by the time the griffon circled the Elf kingdom in Ithilien. At some point during the flight, she had wrapped a loose end of the harness around her arm so that if she fainted, she would not fall. In spite of the horrors she had survived, the desire to live and recover from her ordeal burned fiercely in her heart.
Despite her fear of falling, the flight over the Ash Mountains and the lush forests of eastern Ithilien had already begun some emotional healing. The air was cold aloft, but not so cold as the stone dungeons of Mordor. The sun shown upon her back and the clean air surged into her lungs.
Romiël thought that there was little else in Middle Earth that could make one feel as free as riding upon the back of a griffon.
The feathers of his upper body were white, edged with pure gold. The damage done by the witch had already mended itself, the dark magic unable to keep a hold on the magical creature. The feathers glinted brightly in the sun. His back and hind legs were a deep russet color, the fur smooth and sleek. A long feline tail flowed out behind him. The breadth of his wings was greater than the height of four Elves and they stroked through the air with confidence and ease. He was truly the most magnificent creature Romiël had ever beheld. Even her dim memories of Unicorns paled in comparison to this mighty creature.
"Beleg Soron," Romiël whispered. *Mighty eagle*
Maladok the arrogant, bumbling, fool of a wizard was gone forever.
~ ~ ~
The griffon circled the Elf kingdom and cried out a fierce avian scream that sent Elves scurrying out of their dwellings and looking up at the sky. His sharp eyes easily penetrated the leafy canopy. There was no place wide enough for his great wings to land, so he chose instead a rocky outcropping and back winged carefully, that he might not jar his passenger.
"Are you well, little Elf?" he asked as claws and talons gripped the craggy granite and he folded his wings against her legs.
"Yes . . . that was magnificent. You are magnificent . . ." To Romiël's horror tears welled up in her eyes and she could not stop herself from crying. "I am sorry," she choked.
"Do not apologize, little Elf. You have endured pain and torment that would have felled ssstrong warriors. Allow yourself to grieve for what you have sssuffered."
Elves were already climbing toward them and Romiël wiped a dusty hand across her face, smearing the tears there. She unwound the harness from her arm and tried to sit up straighter, but fatigue made her limbs tremble and by the time the tall golden haired Elf reached them, she was close to fainting.
She focused on his breathtakingly handsome face as she tried to keep herself upright.
"I am Romiël, daughter of Romedon who was Keeper of Horses in the Northern Realm. I have been a prisoner in Mordor these past seven hundred years until I was freed by the griffon." Her voice was little more than a croak by the time she finished, but at least she had gotten her speech out.
Astonishment and concern shown in the Elf's beautiful twilight colored eyes and then he bowed to her.
"I am Thranduil, Son of Oropher, King of Eryn Lasgallen."
Romiël nodded to show that she understood, but then the world seemed to close down upon her and she felt herself falling. Warm hands and strong arms caught her and held her secure. Romiël gave in to the darkness.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil paced impatiently outside the hallway of the healer's rooms in the Great Hall.
"Any news about Alede and Legolas?" Radagast asked, slightly out of breath as he puffed up the stairs.
"Nay. Do you not think that I am as anxious for news of them as you, Wizard?" Thranduil snapped.
"You need not shout," Radagast said offended, drawing himself up. They were still furious with each other after their argument and neither had backed down. Radagast was chafing at his confinement. Thranduil would not allow him to leave the kingdom and he was very irritated at his daughter for asking such a promise of the stubborn elf. But at least Radagast was trying to be civil.
Thranduil on the other hand . . . Radagast watched with amusement as the King of the Greenwood scratched irritably at the beard the wizard had cursed him with. It was a rather fine beard, neat and nicely trimmed, but Thranduil did not seem to appreciate it. Despite the King's fury, Radagast had no intention of removing it until his wishes had been satisfied.
"As it happens," Radagast said rather smugly, "I do have news. The griffon is actually an old friend of mine. He was once a wizard named . . ."
"I do not care if the griffon was your grandmother," Thranduil roared. "What news does he have?!"
"Alede and Legolas reached Mordor safely and were intending to engage the witch and what ever Orcs they found early this morning."
Thranduil waited. "Is that all? Do you know nothing else?" he finally asked impatiently.
Radagast shrugged. "He confirmed that the witch was indeed from the Angmar Mountains. She was an outcast from her people because of her greedy ways and that is where she bespelled my old friend. She was using his tears, or rather the griffon's tears to gain power and wealth.
"It also seems that she has been behind the items of black magic that have been leaking out of Mordor. Apparently her mother began looting the ruins of Mordor not long after the Dark Lord's fall and passed the skill on to her daughter. That's probably how the Faerie Goblet found its way into the hands of a trader. There is one more thing." Radagast nodded toward the door. "The she-Elf was not the only prisoner in Mordor. Apparently there were more of her people there and Legolas pledged himself to free them."
Thranduil eyed Radagast in stony silence for several moments before he finally spoke. "You just may get your wish after all, Wizard."
~ ~ ~
Romiël lay back in the warm bed and allowed herself a sigh. She could almost think herself happy as she lay among the clean linens with a nightdress of the softest silk caressing her frail body. She had been fed, bathed and her wounds tended by a gentle healer. He had even assured her that if Legolas had promised to rescue her brother and the others of her clan, then it was as good as done.
Closing her eyes, she let herself drift, trying to allow nerves that had been stretched to breaking for so long to finally relax. Outside her window birdsong lulled her into a state of calm, assuring her that the nightmare was over, she was safe . . .
Orcs and blood and knives flickered against the insides of her closed eyelids, screams echoed in her ears and Romiël sat up with a gasp as someone entered her room.
"I am sorry," King Thranduil said as he approached the bed. "I did not mean to startle you."
She shook her head. "Nay, twas not you. I . . ."
"Had a nightmare," Thranduil said gently.
She nodded and looked down at her hands clasping and unclasping themselves upon the soft blankets.
Romiël felt horribly uncomfortable beneath the King's bright eyes. Once she would have thought herself equal to any king, even Oropher's impetuous son. Her family was not of nobility, but Romiël had prided herself in her skills as a rider and a hunter. She had been so proficient with the bow that the Lord of her clan had begged her to ride at the front of his hunting party.
But that was long ago and the Elf maiden who used to playfully outrun her brother could barely walk across a room now. The toes of her undamaged foot curled with embarrassment. Elves found physical deformities repulsive.
Once she might have tossed her bright hair and thrown King Thranduil a cheeky smile, but now she could only cringe under his scrutiny.
"May I?" Thranduil asked quietly, gesturing toward the chair beside the bed. He was rather astonished by the she-Elf's appearance. The petite she- Elf before him, with wheaten colored hair, bore no resemblance to the filthy, raged creature that had fallen off of the griffon and into his arms.
Her face was finely sculpted, haggard by starvation and torment, but the bones bore testament to the beauty that had once existed in her features. He could see that she was uncomfortable by his gaze, yet there was a defiant tilt to her small chin. The amount of courage and shear force of will that this woman had astonished him, nothing else could have allowed her to survive Mordor with this much of her soul intact.
Romiël looked up at him with soulful gray eyes and nodded, indicating that he might take the chair. He sat down with infinite care, as if she were a wild creature that might suddenly vanish should he move too quickly. He took one of her hands in his own since she continued to pluck at them. It was surprisingly warm, considering how frail it looked.
"The nightmares will be with you for quite some time," he said gently, absently stroking her rough skin with his thumb. "I cannot cast them away for you, but I will help you all that I can."
Romiël looked up at him in surprise, wondering if she were delusional. She had known so much pain and despair and now this golden haired king sat stroking her hand, compassion filling his beautiful eyes.
"My people suffered much from Orcs," Thranduil explained. "I am sadly familiar with the types of torture they prefer to use. I am also familiar with the methods for healing wounds of the mind. But it will take a long time, Romiël. You have a difficult journey ahead of you."
She shuddered slightly. She was so tired that even healing sounded exhausting.
Thranduil patted her hand. "Do not worry. You are safe here and you will heal at your own rate. I will not pressure you, but I will help you."
"And . . . my brother and the rest of my people?" she asked timidly.
"Aye, once they arrive we will help them as well. Now what can you tell me of my son, Legolas?"
Romiël told him what she remembered, though she had nothing to add that he had not already heard.
Thranduil rose. "I thank you for your information and will leave you to rest now. Have no fear."
"Thank you," she said softly and then when he was at the door, she called out, reluctant to have him leave. Something about him had bothered her since she first met him and she stumbled to put it into words. "Your Majesty? I . . . May I ask you a question?"
"Of course."
"Have I been out of the world for so long that Elves have changed? In my time, no Elves wore beards. Yours is very fine, but still . . ."
Thranduil glowered and she thought he was just as handsome even when he was scowling, though rather intimidating.
"Nay, Elves have not changed. Neither have wizards," and with those cryptic words he departed.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil strode into the study where Mändel was going over the day-to-day business of the kingdom.
Mändel stood as soon as he saw the determined look on his former king's face.
"Assemble a rescue party to go to Mordor," Thranduil barked. "Legolas will be bringing people from the prisons. They will need help. Assemble healers and also the best warriors."
"Aye, my Lord," Mändel said. "Shall I lead them, Sire?"
Thranduil shook his head. "Nay. I will lead them, as I should have days ago. And now summon that dratted wizard to me!"
~ ~ ~
*Have no fear . . . have no fear . . .*
Romiël repeated the words over and over like a litany, but they gave no comfort. She snapped her eyes open, looking nervously around at the bright sunlight streaming onto the floor of her rooms. It was early afternoon, she could hear the sounds of the kingdom going on around her, all sounds that centuries ago would have seemed comforting and normal.
But now . . . tears leaked down her face. Everything was tainted by what had happened to her in Mordor. Deep in her mind, in the part that she had kept sheltered from the fear and madness she had endured, she knew that she must face her fears. If she were to ever have any peace of mind or self- respect, she must concur that which had terrified her. Her body and soul begged her reconsider the reckless idea that had come to her mind as she lay in the soft bed, but she knew that she must.
Shakily pulling herself out of the bed, she stepped out onto the balcony, blinking painfully in the dappled sunlight and gave a soft beseeching cry.
~ ~ ~
Thranduil did not stop to examine why he was returning to the she-Elf's chambers. He could have sent a servant to tell her that he was marching to Mordor himself, to help her people . . . and of course to help his own son.
But for reasons he chose not to examine, he went to her room himself. The sight that he found after softly knocking and then opening the door was not at all what he expected.
Romiël stood upon the balcony, her nightdress hiked up to her thighs as she tried to pull herself over the rail of the balcony. Since the drop below it was only a few feet, Thranduil did not fear for her life. But her behavior was very strange.
"And just where do you think you are going?" Thranduil asked, irritated that he had used those same words only a few days ago. Was everyone going to sneak away?
She turned to face him. "I am returning to help my people," she said, her shoulders thrown back defiantly.
Or at least as defiantly as her twisted and abused body could manage. Thranduil winced as the merciless sun outlined her painfully thin form beneath the shear nightdress. Scars crisscrossed her skin like lines upon a map, her ribs jutted out severely enough that he could count them, one leg was twisted, as was one arm and the toes had been cruelly hacked off of one foot.
For a people who prided themselves on their physical perfection, Thranduil should have been repulsed by the mangled body before him, but instead he could only admire the courage and determination that shown in her eyes. Sauron should have beaten that courage out of her centuries ago, but somehow it had survived. Romiël was a woman of extraordinary strength.
Romiël obviously became uncomfortable under his intense gaze.
"If what you see repulses you, then I suggest you look away."
Thranduil's eyes snapped up to her proud face. "It does displease me," he said frankly and she stiffened. "It displeases me," he continued, "that one so fair and brave has suffered so greatly. Your wounds are hideous, that is true, but you are not."
Romiël blinked in surprise. She had expected veiled looks of revulsion and dissembling words, but not this frank appraisal. She felt as if Thranduil had examined her soul and found it strangely to his liking.
"In my day," she replied after careful thought, "the king of Mirkwood was not known for such pretty words."
A smile curved the corner of Thranduil's mouth. "Nor is he today."
She was disconcerted again and did not know how to answer him. She had spoken more in this one day than she had in the last century.
"I must return to M . . . Mordor . . ."
"By crawling over the balcony? There is a perfectly good door."
Romiël gestured at the ground and as Thranduil came closer, he saw the magnificent form of the griffon walking toward them, his wings tightly folded against his body as he walked between the trees.
"The griffon will take me back," Romiël said.
Thranduil shook his had curtly. "Nay, my lady, I forbid it."
Romiël's head came up again. "Am I a prisoner here, as well?" she asked, her gray eyes losing their dullness and sparking with life.
"Nay, but you are not yet well. I am going to Mordor myself. We march upon my orders. I only came now to tell you of my plans. I will see to it that your people are delivered here safely."
"I . . . thank you," Romiël began, "but I still must go."
"But why?" Thranduil asked, stepping out onto the balcony with her, ignoring the griffon who rustled irritable feathers at him.
"I must . . ."
"Ssshe must faccce her fearsss," the griffon answered for her, his great beak swinging up to the king so that they were eye level.
Thranduil snapped him an irritated look. "I did not ask you," he said. Turning back to Romiël, he gently cupped her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Is what the griffon says true?"
She nodded.
Thranduil examined her face for several moments, looking into her gray eyes for any sign of a death wish, but instead he saw only ghosts and a strong desire to be whole once again.
Releasing her, he stepped back. "I do not like this, it is foolish. You are weak and have taken little rest."
"I will never rest until I concur that which concurred me. At least let me face Mordor once again as a free woman and help to make my people free as well."
Thranduil hesitated. What she wanted to do could very well kill her. But the demons of her mind, might kill her just as well, only much more slowly. "Very well. But do not place yourself in danger. Comfort your people once Legolas has freed them, but do not approach the tower. Will you promise me that?"
Romiël hesitated. In truth she knew that in her weakened condition there was little that she could do. But she had to return if only to shake her fist at the cold stone and see her brother walk out of it.
"I promise," she said softly.
"Good. Then allow me to have clothing found for you."
Romiël looked down in surprise. The nightdress was more clothing than she had had in ages. She shook her head. "I do not wish to wait. My courage is very thin. If I wait . . ." She shrugged painfully and shook her head.
Scowling, Thranduil's hands went to the elaborate broach that clasped his cloak. Pulling it free, he settled it around Romiël's shoulders and lifted her onto the back of the waiting griffon as if she weighed no more than a feather.
"See to it that she comes back safely," he said to the griffon. Romiël looked down at Thranduil one last time and then with a mighty leap, they were gone.
Thranduil shook his head at this folly. He should have stopped her, even if it did mean making her a prisoner, but it would have been for her own good. Was he becoming too soft, so easily swayed that he did not look to the welfare of the people under his protection?
However the words that he mumbled to himself a moment later revealed that it was not empathy alone that had made him give into the lady's wishes.
"Why is it that women did not charge about the countryside in their nightdresses when I was in my youth?"
~ ~ ~
A/N: And now we need to get back to Legolas. :D I believe that the mountain troll had just swung his club at our hero Elf. Find out what's happening as the battle in Mordor continues with chapter 12 "The Female of the Species".
*** Original Character List ***
Alede the Green - Witch, healer and wizard. She is daughter of Radagast the Brown. After the death of her mother, she was raised in Rivendell for a while and learned healing skills from Elrond. She also developed a terrible crush on Elrohir, which he has gently teased her about for centuries. She also spent some time learning the wizarding craft at Orthanc under the tutelage of Saruman. Because she felt her healer's calling was more important, and because she considered herself a poor wizardess, Alede never completed her training at Orthanc.
Cyrus the Blue - The forth Maia to be sent to Middle Earth and friend to Radagast the Brown
Lomomir - Brother to King Thranduil of Mirkwood and a healer. He has spent the last many years in Rivendell studying with Alede and reading from Elrond's many books and journals.
Maladok the Red - The fifth Maia sent to Middle Earth. After a disastrous encounter with Saruman, Maladok has become a bit of a "black sheep" in the wizarding world.
Zarraweth - A young human witch with more plans and beauty than is good for her.
Malina - A healer and witch of the Angmar Mountains. She was married to Radagast the Brown and was Alede's mother. She was killed by a mob of religious fanatics who thought her witchcraft had brought plague to a village when instead she had been trying to cure it. Alede was only sixteen when Malina was killed.
Mändel - Legolas' steward. He originally served under Thranduil in Mirkwood in a lesser position.
Galomir - Ithilien's healer.
Girwyn - A general in Legolas' army. He is in charge of Ithilien's security.
Nimhith - A she-Elf of Eryn Culhallas, assigned by Legolas to be Alede's lady's maid.
Romiël - A she-Elf captured 700 years ago by Sauron as her people were making their way to the Gray Havens.
