Hey! Sorry this took so long-my computer had a virus. But a friend of mine came along and fixed it! Yay! Thank God for teenage computer geniuses, huh?
Anyway, this chapter has some major drama in it. While I wrote it, I listened to a combination of Papa Roach (Last Resort), Creed (One Last Breath), and Dido (Here With Me). Fun results! I really wanted it to be a good chapter, because it is a turning point in the story. So, here goes.
Disclaimer: You know the drill. I own nothing, nothing at all. I'm a teenager, for Pete's sake. Do I look like I'm going to claim all of this as my own?
With shaking hands, I poured water from a pitcher into a small porcelain washing basin. I cupped the cold water in my hands and splashed my face. The water cooled my flushed cheeks and cleared my thoughts. I dried my face with a linen cloth and took steadying breaths.
"That is all in the past," I told myself, somewhat defiantly, "and what has been done cannot be undone."
Hearing myself speak aloud into the darkness of my chambers was somehow comforting. I folded the linen and placed it beside the pitcher. Despite what I had told myself, I knew that sleep would not claim me again. Quietly I rummaged through a drawer and produced a tall, slender candle. A few passages from the books of lore that I carefully stowed in my room would calm me. As I placed the candle in a small lantern on the wall beside my bed, I heard a quiet rapping at my door. I wrinkled my brow, wondering who would be calling at this hour. In response to my hesitation, the rapping came again, this time more urgent. With a sigh, I went to the door and carefully pulled it open. Waiting outside was one of the Royal Guard. Before I could ask him why he had come, he spoke.
"Are you the Lady Elráwien, scribe who serves the King Thranduil?" He asked formally. Still a bit stunned, I could only nod.
"The Prince Legolas, heir to the throne, demands your presence," he continued.
"He wishes to see me now?" I asked, confused. The guard nodded.
"This matter is most urgent," he said.
"If-if I could just have a moment, please..." I stammered, "I must make myself presentable." I closed the door quickly. What could Legolas possibly want? Had something happened? My mind raced as I hastily pulled a dress over my head. Suddenly, I stopped as a thought crossed my mind. What...what if? No, that couldn't be it. But maybe...
Did Legolas want to see me for a special reason? The guard had said it was urgent. I smiled, scoffing at my own foolishness. It was not likely that Legolas wanted to see me in the middle of the night to profess his eternal love for me and sweep me off my feet. I laughed softly at my childish, romantic thoughts. It was more likely he was in search of an elusive tome, or some unimportant matter like that. Still, I reasoned with myself as I ran my fingers through my hair, it would not hurt to look decent.
When I stepped outside of my chamber and closed the door with a soft click, the guard motioned for me to follow him. He led me down stairs and through halls, into the tunnels that delved the deepest into the mountainside. These were where the councils were held; more importantly, it was where the royal family dwelled. I wished to speak to the Elf I followed, to ask him if he knew what I was needed for, but decided against it. His stoic façade and purposeful walk were intimidating, and he had said naught to me since we were at my rooms. As we walked, I studied my surroundings. Rich tapestries adorned the walls to my left; to my right was a portrait of Oropher, grim and regal.
When I began to wonder how much farther we were to walk, my companion stopped abruptly at a pair of doors. They were beautifully carved with a pattern of leaves, and elegantly painted with a gold leaf. I glanced uneasily at them, unsure of what to do. The guard inclined his head towards the door, and I cautiously opened it, the ornate handle cold in my grasp. I stepped inside, and the guard closed it behind me. I heard him walk back the way we had come, his footsteps growing fainter and fainter. I glanced around the room. It was wonderfully decorated as well; a chandelier with crystal drops held dozens of candles that shed a golden glow, and carpets made of fine materials graced the floor. The room was neat but not unlived in; a desk in a far corner was littered with papers, ink, and quills, and a fire crackled merrily in the hearth.
Despite this finery, what caught and held my gaze was a glass cabinet. It was fairly large, but its size was not what captivated me. Inside was a collection of weapons, each more beautiful and carefully made then the next. They had seen years of service in battle, yet they looked pristine and decorative. If I had looked more carefully, I would have noticed that the cabinet was slightly open, and there was a bare spot where a weapon had been.
"Elráwien," I heard Legolas say lazily, "you have finally arrived."
Startled, I whirled about, looking for the owner of the voice, and said, "I have."
A hand grasped my shoulder, and I turned to see the prince. I nearly gasped when I laid eyes upon him, such was my shock. His eyes were blazing, and he had an odd smile on his face. His clothes were slightly rumpled, and his usually carefully braided hair was loose about his face. In his hand was a long white knife. Before I could form a thought, I heard another speak.
"Indeed, this will be interesting." It was then I saw Galáril, sitting in a chair facing the fire. He rose, and his voice sounded almost gleeful when he echoed, "Very interesting."
"Galáril," I said with as much composure as I could, "why are you here?"
"I am here, my lady," he said, bowing to me mockingly, "because I was speaking with the Prince Legolas." Galáril began to say more, but he fell silent when Legolas looked at him, his triumphant smile disappearing.
"Leave," Legolas said, his voice hard.
"What?" Galáril asked, dumbfounded. "But, my Lord, I need to be present...it is only right-"
But he got no further. "Leave!" Legolas shouted in anger. Galáril muttered something unintelligible about stolen glory and began to leave. As he passed us, he paused and locked eyes with me. His face twisted into a loathsome combination of hatred and triumph. Then he silently swept out of the room, leaving Legolas and I alone.
When Legolas refocused his gaze on me, my stomach felt as if held a block of ice. I began to take a step back, but Legolas gripped both of my arms and held me in place. The force he held me with frightened me, and the weapon he held in his hand brushed against my arm perilously.
"Do not move," Legolas said in a dangerously soft voice. I stood rooted to the spot, afraid and confused.
"Legolas, I don't-" I said shakily as he began to circle me.
"Silence," he said. My hands began to shake, and my mouth became dry. What was going on? Why was he looking at me like that?
"Do you remember when our kingdom sought help from Rivendell? The Third Age, before even the Evenstar of the Elves graced our lands?" Legolas asked, studying the blade he held. Without waiting for me to reply, he continued. "Our kingdom was in danger of the growing shadows in Middle- earth. Loyalty to his land caused my father to desperately try to protect it. He carefully selected the group of Elves that traveled. They were warriors, strategists, and smiths; they would have been of the greatest use to Elrond if he chose to fight our enemies. But there were others that my father sent. Your father. Your mother. Your sister. You," He laughed, but it was a strange laugh. At this point my blood had run cold. My heart was beating so loudly I was sure Legolas could hear it.
"Of course, my father sent documents to Elrond. I remember one in particular; it told of an attack we had been planning on our own, to test the strength of the enemy, to see what we were against, if you will. There was one person, and one person alone that was entrusted with these. Your father. Your father was the one Elf my father trusted above all else."
"Please," I managed, "please, don't..." I begged, but my pleas fell on deaf ears.
"Your father was to carry the documents. But he did not carry them. He gave them to someone else," Legolas began to walk towards me, and when I stepped back he did not stop me. "Who, I wonder, did he give them to?" At this point, I had been backed up against the wall; I had nowhere to retreat to. "Who?" Legolas demanded, his voice growing louder. His blade glittered dangerously.
I swallowed hard and whispered, "He gave them to me."
"Yes," Legolas said, his eyes flashing, "He gave them to you. With complete trust, he gave them to you. You begged him for that honor. He did not wish to give them to you, but you swayed him. A few days later, you were attacked. Anáwiel ran off, but she was not immediately killed, like you had said. No, not immediately. She was in grave danger, and instead of fighting, you betrayed your home. You gave the plans of attack to the Orcs. Your father's love for you clouded his judgment, just as it clouded mine," Legolas, in one fluid motion, had the blade at my throat. I screamed and tried to wrest the weapon away from him, but he was much too strong.
"Do you have any idea what you did? The enemy knew of our plans, and was prepared. It was massacre! A blow to our already dwindling numbers! My father struggled to keep our people safe; he had no Ring of Power, no sanctuary of fabled beauty. The Elves of this realm trusted him; he believed that he had failed them. I wonder, if your father had known what his daughter was, would he have entrusted her with so sacred a duty?" Legolas struggled to control himself, and the blade pressed into my neck.
"I had no choice!" I cried. I felt sick. This was not the Elf I loved. I had unleashed a violent side of him I had never seen before. He was being driven mad because of me. Oh Eru, what I done to him?
"You had a choice! You chose to betray us all, to cause the deaths of my comrades, my family, and my people! You nearly destroyed us. I helped bury them, all of them; there were over three hundred corpses. You could have prevented it. And you said not a word, breathed not a whisper of warning to anyone. Only now has the truth been uncovered. By now the blade had drawn blood, and tears fell freely down my face.
"If you are going to kill me," I said through my tears, "please, do it now."
"Kill you?" Legolas laughed, "No, no, my Lady Elráwien. That is to kind a fate." He threw the knife down, and turned his back on me. It was only after I collapsed on the floor I realized that he had been holding me upright. I bowed my head, my hair forming a curtain around me. I wiped the blood off of my neck and wept.
"If Galáril had not untangled your webs of lies, would I have lived all my long years wondering? He had always suspected you, he told me, but he had never been able to prove it. We all believed the Orcs had stolen the plans from you after you were injured. Now because of him I know the truth."
Galáril had told him everything. He knew what I had done, I realized, because he had been there, that very day of Anáwiel's death. I should have realized what had happened as soon as I had seen him here with Legolas. I remember him leading a girl on a horse, blending into the crowd as he always had. His hood always drawn, except around her. She had been a warrior, killed in the battle I had practically won for the Orcs. Galáril had survived it; before he was a scribe he was a warrior. He must have been sickened with guilt every time he lifted a weapon; he had survived, and his love had not. He spent his life searching for the truth, and now he had found it. I had never realized, I thought bitterly, that he had lost someone he loved. And now I knew how he felt.
"I have never been betrayed by one I had loved before," Legolas crouched next to me, and lifted my chin so his eyes bore into mine. Suddenly, he looked away in disgust. "Never."
"Legolas," I let out an anguished sob. I could not stand it. He had loved me, looked at me in a way no other had. I needed him. In a moment of sheer panic, I did the only thing that I could possibly think of: I kissed him. Desperately I clung to him, putting all that I was into the kiss. Legolas' hands tangled in my hair and pulled me closer, reciprocating in equal desperation. Suddenly, he pushed me away forcefully.
"No! I cannot. I can no longer look upon you. You are stained with the blood of the dead." He said, cradling his head in his hands. "How can I love you now?"
I wrote this chapter kind of from experience. Not on this grand of a scale, obviously, but based on that. When I found out what the person had done, I lost the ability to think rationally, and I felt an intense surge of hatred directed towards that person. Not pretty at all. Tell me what you think. Thanks.