A/U: Phew!!! Holy smokes! Has it been a long time or what guys?! A few months maybe….Jeeze! I'm such a procrastinator. I'm really bad at getting to updates, but hey, things have been one hellova pain in the butt lately. Just haven't had the time. You know how things get huh? But anywayz, here's chapter four, a hopefully good enough chapter to make up for that sorry excuse of a chapter I put up eons ago. And boy, I know that chptr three sucked beyond belief. But enough rambling! I know you all hate RAMBLING, so I won't spare you the details. Enjoy and REVIEW!!!!!
Chapter Four
Eomynne slept longer in a hazy state of lethal fever than she would ever care to guess at. The nights were long and filled with frightening nightmares that left her fearing sleep. Cold sweat was almost a friend, sparing her the head pounding heat that her fever would sometimes wrack upon her ravaged and bruised body. Shivering spells and periods of dry-heaving were commonplace, and became almost expected. And above everything that made Eomynne wish for death, trying to forget and push away that one terrible midnight made her exhausted and scared. She knew well and truly that sleep would only give that man another chance, and many a dark and lonely night was spent sitting at vigil, waiting for him to reappear. But he never came, and sometimes Eomynne would grant herself those precious hours of sleep, that might just give her body a chance to recover, even if they were interuppted by more nightmares that became worse every time.
On once such night, Eomynne sat square in the middle of her unmade bed, hugging her knees tightly, eyes never leaving the door that was almost indistinguishable in the darkness. During her days of trauma, she had never bothered to find any more clothes, after the warriors garments had been torn off so ruthlessly. There was simply no need to exhaust her already limited strength trying to dress, since no one every came in to the large and spacious room. Just keeping her eyes open and keeping each ragged breath even, was more than enough. Hunger had been ignored aswell after the first morning. Eomynne had soon discovered that her stomach would except no such offerings. The second morning, she had tried to eat a small apple lying in a bowl by the bed, and saw it once more very soon. After the next few days, she had simply begun to forget about it, concentrating on her vigil more than anything, and escaping from the emotionally straining nightmares.
Gaze leaving the door for a moment, Eomynne's eyes fluttered shut, a sigh escaping her parched and dry throat, a sigh which sounded more like the scaping of sand-paper. Her meager energy had begun to fade quite quickly, and suddenly, Eomynne felt no more reserve to continue on. A tear slid slowly down her pale and hollowed cheek, cool against the burning skin.
Quicker than what she was accustomed to, Eomynne began to feel her consciousness threading away, strings of darkness and horrid dreams replacing it. She willed herself to escape the nightmare, to feign sleep once more. But she was just so tired……
A sudden creak by her door left all thoughts of sleep in the dust.
Sitting bolt upright, Eomynne's bloot-shot, somewhat silvery blue eyes focused on the small trail of light that began to creep across the floor. The tiny hairs on her neck stood, blood turning to ice. Her heart was beating so erratically and loud, she was certain whoever was outside could hear it. Whatever colour there had been on her face drained as the door opened fully, the shadow of a broad shouldered figure appearing in the milky moonlight which could only be a man.
Limbs frozen with unrivalled fear, Eomynne could only sit and watch as they approached slowly at a slow saunter, almost as if he had known she was waiting for him, and had no need for stealth. Her gaze darted to the bedstand, where the still blood-coated dagger lay dormant. She had used it once. She would surely use it again if nessicary. Closer and closer he came, closer to the shaft of light beaming through her window, the light that would tell Eomynne who he was. Once again her gaze left him, darting to the open doorway. She could probably make it, if she stabbed him quickly and effectively. Then she would get Caelidur and Elleduil if they were un-guarded, and together they would escape….
Without warning, he lunged at her, grabbing her wrist and flinging her down on the bed.
Eomynne's mouth is open in a silent scream, eyes wide with disbelief and terror beyond terror.
"Why are you doing this Ardarauko?!" Eldarion hissed, his eyes spitting ice. "Do you intend to starve youself and let your body wallow in sickness until you die?!"
Eomynne did not answer. Her mind was a jumble of thoughts, a maelstrom of words and screaming voices. There was this mute ache inside of her, as if she shouldn't have been surprised it was Eldarion all along. He was the someone who would do such things. But all the same she was caught off balance by this. She knew she would never be safe again. If Eldarion was her asaulter, he would do whatever he pleased with her. There would be no escape….no freedom….She would die in this room, in his arms as he ravaged her over and over. That was the way it would be.
"Why?!" Eomynne choked, her throat suddenly constricting into a knot. "Why did you come and hurt me as you did?! There are plenty of women in this cursed place that would be your whore! Why choose the only one who has no choice?!"
"What?!" Eldarion shouted, leaning over her with a menacing smile curving his lips. "You were raped?!"
An icy laugh peeled through the silent night. Eomynne shivered, suddenly wishing she had dressed herself.
"Answer me when I ask you a question Ardarauko." Eldarion continued somewhat quieter. "Were you raped?"
Eomynne could not find her voice. She felt relief building inside of her, a kind of sick, morbid relief that held no ease to her sleepless nights. Eldarion could be lying. He could very well have done it….
"Yes." She croaked, wishing with all her might that he wasn't so close. His breath scorched her already fever burned cheeks, his body was leaning over her, so close she could almost see the corded muscle on his chest ripple when he moved. Oh he was so close….Why wouldn't he just leave….?
Suddenly, as if reading her very thoughts, he moved back, and stood with arms folded at the foot of her bed. Despite backing off, the amused smile remained, and Eomynne shivered again, holding her knees close, trying furtively to cover her nakedness. There was silence for a long while, and Eldarion's cold eyes never left hers. They were stripping her, layer by layer. She could almost feel him moving inside her head, knowing her emotions, knowing her aches and pains, knowing her inner most secrets. It was terribly unnerving, and Eomynne wanted to look away, but her gaze was held, and she would look away when Eldarion wanted her to look away.
"Who was it?" he finally asked, voice tight.
Eomynne shivered again, pulling her eyes away from his with much strain. "I don't know." She whispered, somewhat shakily. "I didn't see. I hurt him….to—to make him stop, so it would be easy to find out….."
"I have no urge to make amends for this." Eldarion replied, chuckling coldly to himself, "You are no fine lady, who's stolen innocence should be avenged by blood and sword. What befalls you here is of no concern to me, though I will make sure this certain….inconveiniance does not occur again. I will make it known that no man or woman will lay a hand on you besides myself."
Eomynne was not assured in the slightest. If anything, her worries were doubled, for at least a man of middle class would have some difficulty coming again. Eldarion had all power. He would do anything as it pleased him. Guards were of no concern to him. They did not care what happened to her, and even the most foolhardy would never stand against the King's word. Eldarion's word was law, and all would abide by it.
There was a polite knock by the open door, and Eldarion turned, regarding the two maids hovering just outside. Their faces harboured nothing but deepest respect, though their eyes told a different story. There was a wild fear about them, and Eomynne noticed the slightest of shivers slide through the first's slim frame. Perhaps Eldarion thought his people were devoted folk, with nothing but admiration and respect for him, but Eomynne could tell different.
"My Lord." The first whispered, her eyes demurely downcast. "Is the---ah…Lady ready?"
Eldarion glanced back at Eomynne. "Ready enough." He said with a little smile, voice low.
Without further order, the two of them bustled into the room, bathing oils, a basin, a comb and a fine gown in hand. Perhaps they thought Eomynne would listen without question, but she did nothing of the sort. She stared unblinking at Eldarion where he had seated himself in a chair by her bed, long legs stretched and crossed before him. He stared back, that little smile never leaving his lips. The two maids glanced at eachother, lips thinned, until the second, a short, matronly, plumpish old woman spoke up.
"My Lord." She said firmly, in a no-nonsense voice that spoke of all authority in the matter. "Would it not be proper to leave while the Lady bathes and changes? You shame her by remaining even now."
"She is no Lady." He replied, eyes glinting dangerously. "And she has no shame."
There was a heavy pause.
"As you wish my Lord."
The two set about their work, and Eomynne had no choice but to listen and do as they bid. They scrubbed purposefully at the grime on her skin, frowning a little at the purple bruises blooming about her wrists and hips. Neither said a word, but they cast another glance between them, an unspoken message in their eyes. With patience they washed and combed out her hair, letting it fall down Eomynne's back silky and smooth as it had once been.
"What lovely hair." The young one said, almost in awe. "It is like spun gold, would you not agree Manille?"
Manille cast a judging eye over the long strands, muttering "Tis not uncommon among her kind Vera."
The first fell silent, and continued her combing, while Manille dressed Eomynne in a fine gown of yellow velvet, with a low, drooping neckline of loose fabric. She muttered to herself, placing a stitch here and a tuck there until she pronounced herself satisfied. A small oak box appeared from her basket, which Eomynne soon found to contain little jars of lovely perfume, powders of various colours and shades and a cream of deepest rose. Manille applied the mixtures to Eomynne's face, and she assumed these things were used by women to make themselves more beautifull.
"How could such a lovely creature as yourself happen upon such a horrid scar?" Vera whispered, inspecting the long mark slicing down Eomynne's cheek. She refrained from answer. Whether Vera thought her mute or not, Eomynne would never recall that story. For her, it was too close. There was no telling how much courage it would take to say such things, and not break down in sobs at just the mention of her brother. To her surprise, it was Eldarion who suplied a sufficient reply, though it could not have been more wrong.
"This Ardarauko may seem a creature of grace and beauty," he murmured, eyeing Eomynne steadily, "but underneath there is nothing but a killer of the worst kind. In her capture, nearly one third of my men were killed, their wives widowed and their children denied a father. That is pure sin, and I have no doubts as to how she claimed the scar which she bears."
Once again, Vera was struck silent, glancing furtively at Manille who seemed not to hear a word Eldarion said. Her startled gaze shifted to Eomynne, but she had no answers for the distressed woman. To deny would mean she would be forced to tell the tale, and that was one thing she could not do. Without even looking, she could see Eldarion's triumphant smile, chilling her to the core.
The rest of Vera and Manille's work passed without further discussion, and soon, Eomynne was standing like some prize of war before Eldarion, his icy granite eyes burning through her while he inspected the maid's handiwork. Eomynne shivered at his scrutiny, wishing with all her might that she could dissapear, that she could be back in the Haven with Haldir, and her brothers, her mother and father. Legolas had said it would be a hard, and daunting task. How could she have known it would be this hard?
The only relief, was her passing fever. She'd been given a sweet smelling concoction from Manille to battle the ill humours, and already the heat was nearly gone from her brow, and her stomach seemed to be willing for some simple fare. Eomynne was pleased with this, though still a trifle unsettled, for it was Elven blood that flowed in her veins, as surely as the sun rose and set, and yet her body had not fought the sickness and healed her without help of herbal remedy. It was the same with her disfiguring scar. To any other Elf, the gash would have healed, and no mark would remain. Perhaps, because her Mother had once been human, the ability was somewhat dampened. Whatever the reason, she intended to find out.
"Thank-you for your assistance." Eldarion said lightly, as if he did not care in the slightest. "The Ardarauko in my care now. You may return to your chambers for food and drink. Your regular duties resume on the morrow."
Manille nodded gravely, and Vera bobbed an awkward curtsy, then they were gone.
Eldarion turned his attention to Eomynne, his expression ammused. "Those two are far different than others you will meet here." He informed her. "Their views on your evil kin are somewhat…..differed than those of my court. Do not expect to receive such light treatment from any other, for if you believe such nonsense, your days are numbered indeed."
Without permission, he looped his arm through Eomynne's, gripping her wrist when she flinched away. A mirthless smile stretched his lips, showing straight white teeth underneath.
"It is proper behavior for a Lady." He whispered, close to her ear. "It shows she is claimed, and under her Lord's total control. Leave my side tonight and you will find that your safety is unguaranteed. None would dare approach you while you belong to me. On your own….is a different matter entirely."
Eomynne did not let herself think about what he meant.
With a tug, they were off, walking briskly down the narrow pathway, the pillars which held the overhanging roof in place casting long shadows across the stone. Eldarion kept a quick pace, unusually silent. The quiet was a blessing for Eomynne. There was altogether too much noise in Gondor. She longed for the peaceful fields of the Haven, broad hills and valleys carpeted in green. She wished for the cool serenity of the Golden Wood, or the dark, silent forest of Mirkwood. Her father had spoken much of both. It was a tragedy that they were now a mere memory, long destroyed by Eldarion's men on his mission of blind revenge. Not even Rivendell had been spared, regardless of the home it had once been to his own father. Eomynne was glad the Lord Elrond, or Lady Galadriel, had not been present in the moment of their domain's destruction. They had already left for the Haven by that time. Legolas' own father, Thranduil, was one of the many dead that now littered the expanse of his beautiful home, where the mosses had crept over bone and flesh alike in the years past. He had not been so lucky. Perhaps now the only thing that remained was a stitch of a fine robe, or one silky strand of hair caught in the breeze; the breeze that mourned the death of the earth's most beloved children.
Finally, once they had passed the labriynth of passageways and high glass ceilings Eomynne had wondered at on the first day, and were now approaching a set of tall oak doors that seemed to stretch up forever, did Eldarion speak.
"In case you have not already guessed, I am hosting a ball." There was a smirk on his face that Eomynne itched to slap off. "I have decided to bring you before my people, to let them see you for what you really are. Your brothers will be present…" the smirk widened at Eomynne's shocked expression. "Yes my dear they will be there. I dare say I've had enough trouble trying to get them to speak, to give me something…..anything as to the whereabouts of your dirty race, because I know they're somewhere. It's only a matter of time before I find them. They say only the Elves know where your precious Haven is. Maybe, sooner than you think, all will know. Justice will be done."
Breathe Eomynne. Breathe and be strong….
The very thought of Eldarion going anywhere near the Haven made Eomynne tremble with panic and horror. He could never find it. Never. She didn't want to imagine what evil he would spread once he set his dirty boots on the pure soil of her home. Mass panic would ensue. None would be safe from the stretch of his hand.
"They will never tell you." She hissed. "They would rather die."
Eldarion looked thoughtful. "Perhaps that is the solution. Then you might let loose that priceless information instead. Tell me, how much could you stand to see my dear; how much are you willing to loose before you find there is no solution but to speak?"
Eomynne's blood ran cold.
"I thought so." Eldarion said to himself, no doubt noticing some effect to his words.
Without further talk, the King rapped on the doors neatly with a well manicured hand, casting a quick glance in Eomynne's direction before ushering her inside as the giant slabs of oak were opened.
It was beautiful. There was no other word to describe such architecture, such skill and such loveliness. Eomynne had never seen a structure as large. The glass ceiling, not unlike that of the labryinth, rose to unmeasurable heights, a dozen glass chandeliers illuminating the vast room and outshining the stars. The floor was a sweep of polished marble, so clear it was almost as if they walked on a mirror instead. Long arching windows seemed to touch the sky, meeting so sweetly with the dome ceiling above it, their frames of crafted silver. And the people. Eomynne was rocked to be in the vicinity of so many folk at one time. The throng that bustled about and craned their necks to see her as they passed, were sparkling beauties and handsome men, nothing more, nothing less. The blaze of light caught diamond necklace and silk gown alike, spraying them into a flamboyant explosion of glittering stars and shifting fabric. The dresses were beyond words, the shimmering hair tied up in artful creations instead flying free as that of her people. The sound was almost defeaning, until a hush spread over the crowd upon noticing Eomynne's presence, and a wave of whispers rolled about them. There was no blocking out the comments of those close to her, no matter how embarassing or rude.
"An Elf." One whispered to his friend. "And a fair beauty if I ever saw one."
"Beauty?" The other scoffed, wrinkling his nose in discust. "I see no such thing. Nothing but dirty they are. Not fit for even the lowliest farmer's bed."
Snatches from jealous and arrogent ladies.
"…..man must satisfy his needs…….only reason….."
"….man stealers they are…..once they draw their net….never even glance at another woman….."
And the more bold.
"Look at her." Another murmured, a hunger in his gaze. "Wouldn't mind a bout myself…if Eldarion's up for sharing that is." His partner gave a smile, whispering something under his breath.
Eldarion was oblivious to the entire shirade, though there was an unmistakable glint in his eye that showed he was listening very intently, and storing up the important for later. His grip was firm in her arm the entire time, almost a protective gesture, and Eomynne caught the disgusted looks of the fair ladies as she was whisked by, sharp gazes that shot daggers. She could feel the eyes of every person in that hall on her, and shivered involuntarily, trying to mask her fear.
Once they were seated at the King's table, above the dance floor on a high dais, did one tall man speak aloud.
"My Lord." He said, his voice quiet and yet seemed to carry through the entire room. "We welcome your presence here tonight. It has been a long and nearly fruitless season, your people are weary and in need of a firm hand. The threat of the Ardarauko—" his calm grey eyes flicked to Eomynne for just the briefest of moments, "—has finally been eradicated. Your people crave peace, and you have finally given them what they desire. Hail King Eldarion!"
"Hail King Eldarion!" was the echo, strong and resonating through the crowd.
Eldarion simply smiled, no doubt pleased which such a fine display of words. "Your good faith pleases me Simeon. Tell me, do all your brothers feel the same on such a weighty matter?"
"Of course." The fine lord replied, not a strain of doubt in his smooth voice.
There was a heavy pause.
"But…" he continued, somewhat reluctantly. "The one thing I fail to understand, is why you would choose to bring the very thing you despise to utterly into the heart of your court, dressed in all the finery and loveliness deserving of a Lady, when her evil kin destroy and mutilate for no good purpose, wreaking havoc on the land you fight to preserve."
There was an edge to his tone now, a kind of trembling bewilderment full to the brim with emotion that he could not hide despite all power of will. There were murmurings of agreement amongst the lords and ladies, and Eomynne shifted uneasily in her seat.
"Ah, always the first to point out the obvious." Eldarion purred. "I have always liked that about you Simeon. Straight to the point. Blunt. Never hide what you feel is right."
There was a taunt hidden somewhere in the silken folds of his voice, a kind of false praise that only the three of them could notice. Eomynne almost felt sorry for the man, the lines on his face more prominent in his old age. There was no doubting his seniority to Eldarion, by at least twenty years, if not more, and the golden curls that framed his strong jaw were somewhat dulled, touched gray at the temples. He'd once been a handsome man. Eomynne could almost see the youth in his long, straight nose, serene granite eyes and set chin, his firm shoulders and long slender arms. He'd once been something great, though age now seemed to creep up uninvited.
"You owe your people an answer." He said, strong and authoritive.
"I suppose I do don't I?" Eldarion mused, glancing at Eomynne again.
There was an expectant hush, and Eomynne felt a shiver strike up her spine, though she knew not why she should be afraid. Her eyes roamed the throng of be-jeweled bodies, trying desperately to pick out her brothers. They seemed to be nowhere, and a stab of agony sliced through her belly. Eldarion had said they would be here….He had said….
"Not two weeks ago, my troup of men, camped along the borders of Deadwood, were ambushed by three Ardarauko who had somehow crept unnoticed into the tent which housed more of their enslaved kin." Eldarion began, threading pretty words into his narative. "The woman, who sits by my side at this very moment, was the first to fight, though was not unaided for long. The two brothers came soon enough, and through them, your husbands were killed, your fathers were torn by sword and arrow alike, your brothers were denied the life given to them. Every man struck down was somebody's father, brother, lover. It is a cruel fate. Fortuneately enough, before more were slain, another force came upon the fray and soon dissabled all three Ardarauko. They are my prisoners now."
There was a gasp of horror as a side door was thrown open, a set of five guards dragging in two haggard men. But they were not men, not in the least. Eomynne's heart leapt to her throat at the familiar blaze of Elleduil's hair catching the light and sparkling copper, and Caelidur's cold blue eyes, a mirror to his fathers, spat ice and he growled hoarse Elvish curses at his captors.
Eldarion's smile was the stuff of nightmares, a sight to chill the bone. His eyes sparked with perverted pleasure, burning hotter as Caelidur turned his threats to him, screaming for all he was worth.
"Lay a hand on her and you assure your own demise Eldarion!"
"Be silent" Elleduil ordered, anger brimming in his normally calm voice.
Caelidur would not be silenced. "I swear, by Elbereth, when this is over, I will hew the very head from your shoulders scum!" he hissed, and Eomynne knew he was not bluffing. Given half a chance, the King of Gondor would be struck down by him before he had even time to draw breath. Caelidur did not make idle threats. Whatever he said, he intended to do.
"When this is over?" Eldarion repeated hautily. "When this is over, you will be long dead, your bones picked white by crow and raven. I do not wish to keep your foul presence in my home longer than I must. Know that, Ardarauko, and do not spit your curses at me, or it may be your dear sister who next recieves the brunt of my blow."
That was it. The guards had to physically bring him down with a well calculated blow, before Caelidur would be dragged away. If they hadn't, Eomynne was quite sure he could have broken the steel chains that bound him, and then who knew what havoc he would bring? Eomynne knew that more than just Eldarion would pay. Caelidur's blood-lust ran much farther than him. Much farther.
There was a distraught and frightened pause once Eomynne's brothers had left. No doubt every attendant was unsettled and wary at such a bold, and fiery display of rage, and there were more than a few men trying to hold their wives dead weight in their arms.
"As you can see," Eldarion began, as if nothing had happened, "the Aradarauko are a barbaric and evil race. I must beg your forgiveness. I had no notion that they would….speak in such a way. Their dirty tongue is not for a woman's ears. But please, let me finish my story."
Another silence.
"Now that they are my prisioners, I will extract important information from them, in one way or another. Their silence will not hold for long, especially when they are so closely tied. Threaten one, and the other two are straining at their leash like some hound frothing at the mouth. I cannot reveal my entire plan though, for it cannot be denied that their have been leaks, spills to the enemy. What I say here might be just as easily repeated to ears not of mankind."
"They might be of hostage value." One put in, stepping forward. I recognized him as Domic, Eldarion's captain.
"How are we to know?" Simeon queried, frowning.
Domic smiled ruefully. "Surely I cannot be the only one who does not recognize the son of Legolas Greenleaf? The one who spat threats at you so maliciously, was a mirror image to that of the Elven Prince. It could not have been any other."
There was a dangerous gleam in Eldarion's eye. Eomynne could almost feel the building anger rising off him in waves, and shifted nervously in her seat. Domic had guessed right on the mark. It was unsettling.
"Legolas Greenleaf." He rumbled, low in his throat. "My father never told me he bore children. The only woman for his eyes was the witch, the sorceress, who harnessed the True Ring that came so close to destroying us all. There was no other. Would not let his precious beauty slip through his fingers. Was after her like a bitch in heat; digusting, blasphemous. It was a blessing she was killed when she was."
Eomynne bit back her reply, forced into her seat by fear. She was trembling, horribly. She'd never been more afraid. Eldarion could inspire a terror none had the will to escape.
"That may be true," Simeon admitted, a slightly disgusted look to his serene features, "but might he have found another to fill her place? The race of Ardarauko are no ogres, or monsters. Take the Lady, for instance. I'm sure no man would turn his nose to such beauty if not for what she is, and the evil blood she bears."
"Hmm." Eldarion murmured, eyes trained on Eomynne's shivering figure. She had no doubt as to what he was thinking. Perhaps not all care for her pedigree, if they have a place to sow their wild oats.
"I will take into consideration what you impose Domic." He said. "Then she shall see."
"Thank you my Lord." Domic replied, bowing away into the crowd again.
"Now," Simeon raised his voice, arms held high, "return to your celebration people of Gondor, for victory is close at hand!"
There was a reasonable cheer, mostly from the men, though a few peels of laughter burst from the women's finely be-jeweled throats. With that, the ball was once again in full motion, stringed instruments harping away on a secluded platform. A low buzz of talk hummed above the music, lively and excited. There were less furitive glances in Eomynne's direction, and she thankfully was able to keep to herself. She had no wish to be part of this celebration, in which the people cheered for joy over the defeat of her kin, that they seemed to think was close at hand. Melting into her chair, not drawing any undue attention, that was her goal. If she could just do that, then maybe she would survive the night…..
"Ardarauko." Came a hiss in her ear.
Eomynne had been so absorbed in her own thoughts, she hadn't noticed someone had been trying to get her attention. With a muffled cry, she jerked, and meet Eldarion's cool gaze. He was smiling again.
"Care for a dance?" he purred, rubbing his thumb along the top of her white hand.
Eomynne's heart recoiled at the thought, her stomach churning uneasily.
"Don't get fidgity. I wasn't intending to share a bed for the night, little slut. Must put on a good show, you know. Let them see I've tamed the savage beast."
Eomynne muttered a sharp Elvish curse under her breath, spitting acurately on his finely polished boot. Eldarion's eyes flashed, turning a turbulent storm grey. He squeezed her hand tightly, and Eomynne bit back a yelp of agonizing pain. His gaze spoke an alarmingly clear message: Do not argue. That was not a question. It was an order.
Eomynne had no choice. Though her insides turned, and the thought of making an exhibition of herself, like this seemingly harmless dance would do, made her near faint with horror. This was not how it was supposed to work. Prisioners were kept in cells, away from folk's eyes, not paraded around in diamonds and fine silks, the King a constant shadow as if they belonged to him and him alone.
Eomynne sighed, the defeat showing on her face.
Eldarion nodded, then stood, taking her hand and leading her to the marble floor, meshing into the crowd. The music had changed to a lilting waltz, and they moved slowly together, Eomynne's hand resting hesitantly upon Eldarion's shoulder, and his placed protectively on her waist. Their intwined palms burned against eachother, ice on fire, hot on cold. Eomynne's cheeks were flushed with embarassment, and she could feel each and every pair of eyes on them, a sizzling brand on her exposed back. She wished desperately that she could dissapear, and escape their judging and hatefull gazes, their whispers and comments. They spoke as if she were a million miles away, not within hearing distance of every cruel barb they slung without scruples. It was a horrible experience, not one Eomynne would gladly repeat.
Eldarion moved in closer, and Eomynne shivered as his firm chest brushed lightly against hers, his lips feather soft as they moved against her neck.
"They're watching." He whispered.
As if I don't know, she thought petulantly.
"Should give them a good show. They want to see it. They burn to see it. And I assure you, there is not one man in this entire hall who would not want to be in my place."
Eomynne did not let herself think about that. She cast a quick glance around the room, as far as she could see, and met many gazes, though the eyes of the men she caught sent a chill down her spine.
"I cannot do this." She whispered, and for the first time, Eldarion actually listened. Without a word, he was gone, and she was left stunned, standing umcomfortably in the fray. He was not far, she could have felt his icy grey eyes a mile off, and they watched. She would never be out of his sight.
With a feeble sigh, Eomynne wove through the sea of bodies, and tried to think of better things.
A/N: Well here it is! Enjoy, and REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!!!!! And again I'm sorry for this being so late. Hope it's long enough to make up for my neglect.