"Move, Drow."
Tamuríl slowly opened her eyes and glared up at the soldier. He flinched visibly under her violet gaze, but then kicked her in the side. She didn't grunt, or wince.
"I said move. King Aragorn wants to speak with you, and you'd better speak with him this time," the soldier, young and annoying, glared at her. He hulled her up by the chain attached to the iron collar around her neck.
Sighing to herself, Tamuríl followed behind him in the required amount of steps. She'd been there long enough to know that the men on the surface both feared her, and her kind, and also hated them. She could understand it, slightly. She didn't look like them at all.
Tamuríl, like other drow, or dark elves, had white hair, ebony skin, and pointed ears. But unlike others, she had violet coloured eyes. She had ultra-violet vision, seeing in shades of heat instead of pictures. This enabled her to see in the dark. Her dark skin helped her blend in to the shadows, not to mention her ability to shadow-mold.
Why didn't the matrons send one of the males…she thought to herself. In the drow society, females had the highest power. Matrons were like high priestesses, ruling over their houses, which consisted of their family and family's militia. Under the matrons, were the real high priestesses, who were in training to be the matrons. The males were only used for breeding, the matrons would choose one as a mate.
Tamuríl had been close to becoming a matron of her own house, but had been sent to the surface to 'spy' on the surface-dwellers. Drow mistrusted these surface races, preferring to live in the Underdark. A series of major caves deep beneath the earth's surface.
Almost instinctively, her mind went over all the males in her group. She hadn't been sent up alone. Suddenly it hit her. The males sent up with her, had been rebels, needing to be disposed of. The Spider Goddess had learnt of her betraying thoughts! That was why she'd been chosen to do the job. The matrons wanted rid of her.
Growling at herself, she mentally swore to find her comrades, and raise an army large enough to overthrow the matrons, and blood-thirsty Spider Goddess.
Suddenly she felt a hand cross her face. The soldier had smacked her. Deciding not to retaliate, something she wouldn't have done in the past, she crossed her arms. The man opened the door and she walked pass him into the hall.
Blinking rapidly as her eyes adjusted to the shadings of heat, she centered her vision on the brightest one. The king.
"I see, drow, that you've still not gotten out of the outfit we found you in. How long have you been here?" his low voice was slightly mocking.
Tamuríl glared at him, and refused to speak. She wouldn't lower herself to a mortal's level to speak with him. She felt the soldier hit her on the back of her head. She growled at him.
"Six months…" another smack "your Excellence."
He nodded, seeming to not notice the fact she was being abused. Or maybe he's the one who ordered it…she thought.
"Well, you will change when the Prince of Mirkwood comes. He comes in a couple of days." His lips twitched in a smile.
He'd be good-looking if it wasn't for that elf next to him. She glanced over at Arwen, knowing her violet eyes flashed with disgust. Pitiful surface elves. She looked back at Aragorn.
"Yes, your Majesty. What do you propose I change into? A panther? Bird?" she asked, her hand unconsciously slipping into a hidden pocket in her spider-silk pants. Her fist clasped around a figurine, that if pulled out, would be the shape of a wolf, made of obsidian.
King Aragorn laughed. A drow had made the human king laugh. Tamuríl smirked slightly at the expressions on all the people's faces. They all looked shocked, as if a drow couldn't possibly have a sense of humour under that 'scary' appearance.
"No, no, no. I meant to have said, you will change your clothing."
She just nodded, "Aye, m'lord, I know."
He smiled kindly, "I see. Well, in a day or two, Arwen will help you pick out some different…clothes. Until then, you'll be staying in your…"
"My cell, m'lord."
She raised an eyebrow, he didn't look completely comfortable with that word.
"I wasn't going to say that. I was going to say your accommodations."
"Whatever you say…" she muttered quietly, earning herself a smack on the back of her head. She blinked back stars and closed her mouth, done talking. She stared at the ground, deciding she was tired of the heat shades.
Apparently the soldier got a message from Aragorn, and pulled on the chain, half-dragging her from the hall. Closing her eyes, Tamuríl forced herself to ignore the pain, and calm down. If only she had her twin scimitars…
Eärendur probably has them and is crying over the fact I "left" him. That wimp…it's a good thing he's handsome, for a drow, otherwise I wouldn't put up with it. She sighed softly and instantly reprimanded herself, He's not a wimp. He protected me, and even went with me to spy…unlike the others…I wonder if he healed from his wounds…She flinched. Am I worrying over a male? What is wrong with me? Ok…so the males aren't as hopeless as the matrons make us think. I should be nicer when—
Her thoughts were cut off as she was roughly shoved into her "accommodations".
"Some accommodations these are. Oh great, I'm talking to myself," she muttered, unconsciously reverting to her home language.
"Shut up in there, drow!"
Smirking to herself, she molded the shadows around her, and became invisible. The soldier looked in and yelled, "The drow's gone!"
Laughing wickedly, she faded back into sight. She raised an eyebrow, "I'm right here, you must be blind."
"No supper for you…" he growled, walking away.
She shrugged. The stuff that they called dinner…even the pets of the matrons ate better. It wasn't even real food. Leaning against the wall, she sighed. It was going to be a long day tomorrow…