I assume this is punishment
For the mistakes I have made
In a world where my actions
Speak louder than words...
Cuz I'm lonlier now than I've ever been.
Limp Bizkit - "A Lesson Learned"
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Author's Notes: *Hangs head in shame* Okay! Okay! You caught me. I've been slacking in the adjectives department lately. But this is why I love reviews, even slightly scary ones about the gates of hell [lol]. Perhaps all I needed was a kick in the butt? And about the whole 'Mary Sue' thing -- I'm trying to stay away from it, but it *is* kind of hard as this story *is* a romance. Don't gag, I warned you all way back in the beginning. Many people automatically presume a romance will become a Mary Sue and so I'm trying to prove them wrong. *Not saying this about anyone in particular..* But yeah. I don't know if I'm succeeding but oh well, I really don't care too much about Mary-Sue and her oh-so-perfect ways. Yeah, my character is pretty (#1 sign of a Mary-Sue) but my character is an elf! She has to be pretty! I suppose I could write about a hairy dwarf-woman, but who even knows if they exist? I'm going with the dwarf springing out of the ground theory, but don't tell Gimli ;)
And oh yeah - don't worry about Seasa becoming the noble little elf who betrays her father for the sake of righteousness, love and justice. It makes for nice fluff, but not in my story. Seasa is convinced she's on the right side here, and I for one am not going to argue with her. Woe to he who does (*cough*Legolas*cough*) So yeah. I'm going to stop boring you now. This chapter is my Holiday present to you *cheesy grin*. So I hope you all like it! [And btw - thanks soo much for the reviews everybody, it really makes my day :)

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Night had fallen on Mirkwood. Swift as a shadow, silent as death, it took the mighty forest in its hold and sucked the light out of even the most open of pockets.

Mirkwood's Prince surveyed the land with narrow eyes, his gaze often falling to the glimmers of firelight scattered throughout the forest - the only sign of life besides the uncomfortable rustle of leaves and occasional hiss of Valar knows what. He looked at home, perched among the leaves and birds of the night, but the elf's mind was not as peaceful as his physical appearance may have led some to believe.

Legolas dangled one hand off the side of the thick branch he was perched on, leaning his head back against the sturdy trunk. Below him, his men had retreated to yet another flet - though this time, there was only one necessary.

Sindatil's men had never come back.

Thoughts, ideas, half finished fragments of concepts so horrifying he refused to complete them rushed through his head, but still Legolas couldn't imagine what could have happened to them. Surely the Orcs wouldn't be able to wipe out the entire group - would they? Legolas shuddered, the ghastly thought striking terror into his heart. He had to believe they would return -- they were the best of the Mirkwood guard. The elite, the untouchable, the best of the best. Their skills would see them through.

The waning moon barely highlighted Legolas's golden hair, and his eyes sought out the stars. Even their light seemed dim; shadowed, somehow, by the overwhelming heaviness pressing in on the fair Prince's heart. The willow he was in towered over many of the other narrower trees, and it's thick branches just forced its way through the tree canopy.

A brisk wind whipped through the sky above the treetops, gently tugging at Legolas's hair and stroking his face. But unconsciously, Legolas winced. Even the refreshing breeze stung his sore face, the long, thin marks left by Seasa's rage standing out in vivid contrast to the elf's normally pale and clear complexion. The skin where Seasa had dug her nails in and viciously tore out his flesh had finally stopped bleeding, but the skin around it was red, raw and extremely sensitive.

That afternoon's incident played before his mind's eye as he thought of his injuries, and he frowned, his mouth set into a firm line. Sighing, the stars above twinkled as he slowly slipped his hand into his pocket. His fingers closed around the star jewel and he glanced down at it, sprayed across his palm. Even in the weak light, it gleamed and Legolas frowned. A bird screamed across the sky, flying towards home, but Legolas took little notice of his glossy black feathers -- it was merely a raven, nothing more and Legolas ignored it, his gaze focused on the jewel in his hand. There could be no question now of the Lady Sea-- no, he corrected himself bitterly, the *captive's* intention. She was Valneuma's daughter, a spy sent to be an intricate part of Mirkwood's undoing. Her plan would have eventually ended in his father's death, his own death, and any who opposed her -- or her father .

Legolas sighed, leaning his head against the trunk as he closed his eyes. He slipped down to the lower branches, ducking back into the dark warmth of the forest. Climbing onto one of the largest branches, he eased his back against the heavy trunk. He could see into the flet where his warriors dwelled, but he still retained his privacy. Lazily, he bent one knee, letting the other dangle over the side. He carefully dropped the necklace onto his knee -- so he wouldn't have to touch it any longer. Even the touch of the cursed necklace felt like it was burning into his palm and he had to reassure himself that the star hadn't left a scar with a searching glance.

Bitterly, he regarded the charm. He resisted the urge to throw the necklace -- to cast it off, deep into the forest where it might never be found. He had to keep it now, even though the very thought of it made him flush with rage. Just imagining the event caused him to turn bright red with embarrassment and he fought the flush rising in his cheeks even as he sat there in the dark. He was a Prince; he was to be respected by his subjects. How could they respect him if he allowed himself to be beaten by their only captive? Only female captive? Legolas could feel his rage stirring and took several deep breaths. He sighed, glancing once again at the necklace. He couldn't destroy it, though he longed to -- longed to see the look on Seasa's face when she realized that her precious necklace was gone forever. He smirked at the thought. But he couldn't get rid of it. He couldn't. It was evidence.

He knew what she was there for. He knew her plan. There was only one thing left to figure out.

What was he going to do about it?

With a deep sigh, coming from the very recess of his soul, Legolas stood up, his legs wobbly. His mind was set; his face was grim. "I hope this necklace meant a lot to you," he whispered to himself, his heart, for some reason, terribly sad, "because it just cost you your life."

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Seasa closed her eyes. The low murmuring of the elves around her just floated over her consciousness; she could hear them talking, knew they were discussing her, but most of them spoke in the common tongue to disguise their speech. Seasa had never learned the common tongue; her father deemed it too human-like.

Thick vines, fresh from the forest, had been wrapped around her wrists to serve as make-shift ropes, and with her back hidden as she kept her face turned towards the warriors, she worked diligently on untying them. But it was proving difficult; everytime she looked up, there was a different pair of eyes on her. Everytime she tuned in to listen to their conversation, it would drop to a hushed whisper. And everytime she met their eyes, she could read their thoughts; on their lips were whispers of her future, what would become of her. Their thoughts, at least for this moment, were in unison.

She knew very well Mirkwood's penalty for assaulting a royal -- and they knew it too.

Death.

She rolled her neck back, letting her head dangle backwards -- almost as if her thoughts were too heavy for her to carry. She couldn't believe she had assaulted the Prince; he had deserved it, of course, but her whole plan of manipulating him vanished. As well with any hope of being set free. Her mission had evaporated, transformed into a new, desperate chapter of her life. Escape was her only option, her only hope.

She was not prepared to die. She was immortal; death was not in her future.

Before, all she wanted was to make it out of this successfully. Now all she wanted to do was escape out of this alive.

But in the many hours between her confrontation with the Prince Royal of Mirkwood -- after they had subdued her, bound her, and stuck her in this forsaken flat -- her thoughts had been running. A new plan emerged. She'd escape and return to her father. His wrath would be quick, it would be furious, it would be severe. But it would be like a storm she could weather out; Legolas's would be a quick spinning tornado -- short lived, but deadly.

Her thoughts full of these dismal half-formed plans, she snuck at glance at the warriors -- Astalder met her gaze head on and she quickly jerked her eyes away. There was something about that elf she didn't like, didn't trust; perhaps it was his random acts of kindness that unsettled her. Or maybe it was the way his gaze looked right through her, so that she swore he knew exactly what she was thinking. She forced her gaze away from the fair haired elf, directing her eyes towards the forest. It looked particularly dark and formidable tonight, Seasa reasoned, probably due to the dark situations surrounding it.

She did her best to keep her face blank; her eyes unconcerned. Her fingers picked and pried their way into the tight vines, having minimal success. But a quick glance up again showed that Astalder would not be deflected that easily, and their eyes met again.

The elves that made up the Mirkwood Guard were all huddled together, but conversation was at a minimal. They spoke with quick whispers, quiet glances and telling nods. Lembas bread crumbled in their hands before it reached their mouths, and the stale water did little to improve the quality. Seasa had no idea where the Guard had been before picking her up; but if they were half as exhausted as she was, she was amazed the were sill alert. Their faces seemed tight, tense - their motions listless. They ate only to keep up their strength, but it was easy to see in their faces they were tired of this mission -- of any mission -- and wished to return home -- if only for a little while. Worry for their friends who had gone with Sindatil into the depths part of Mirkwood plagued their thoughts and many were craving the sweet release of sleep from the agony of simply waiting.

Astalder and two other elves stood; their arms were crossed and their eyes dark. They were the highest ranking elves in the party; but unlike in other systems, they did not eat before the elves they controlled. They ate after them, as a sign of respect towards their men's skill, dignity and responsibility they all had towards one another. Sindatil usually stood among these elves; but he had not returned.

The trio spoke to no one, the candle light making them formidable foes, but Astalder suddenly left the wall. He exchanged a telling look with one of the standing elves, circled around his men once, as if to make sure everyone was all right, then slowly ended up next to Seasa. He gently eased himself to a sitting position next to her and her head swung towards him in surprise.

Her eyes regarded him warily, and his gaze flickered into hers for a brief instant. His face was handsome, and peaceful and as she stared, something like pity stirred in his eyes. The darkness of the forest clawed at her mind, and she was almost welcome for the intrusion upon her thoughts -- she was thoroughly exhausted of imaging the many torturous ways she would be killed if she didn't escape, and soon. She said nothing to him, and he said nothing to her.

His tunic was torn, having been grabbed by branches in his many tree climbing escapades in the last two days. No blood splattered his clothing, however, Seasa noted dully. He was obviously an expert marksman. I just hope I am not his next target, she thought bitterly.

She was expecting something vaguely like a lecture, but instead he when he opened his mouth, he said calmly, "Sindatil has not yet returned."

Seasa arched a delicate brow, unsure if a reply was warranted. When he continued to stare mildly at her, she said hesitantly, "I'm sure the Captain will return shortly, my lord."

Astalder nodded slowly, his gaze wandering to the elves in front of him. They were doing their best to accept orders patiently, but for such a large group of the Guard to have been sent out to catch one female spy irked their egos and it was written in their faces. "The Guard is weary," Astalder noted. "They wish to return to Thranduil's Halls."

Seasa's face paled at the mention of the King, and again she shot Astalder a puzzled look. Why was he having this conversation with her? For that was what it was -- indeed, a civil conversation. It struck her as odd that she took great pains to be polite and respectful towards this elf, when she went out of her way to be disobedient and abrasive to his -- their -- Prince.

"I am sure all of us would like to go home, sir," She replied after a moment.

Astalder looked at her, his shoulder just brushing hers. Her fingers slowed in their adamant pursuit of freedom and she stopped tugging at the ropes, suddenly terrified he knew what she was planning. "Do you wish to go home, milady?"

Seasa's heart stopped and she stared blankly at him. Her voice came out rushed, excited. "My lord, do you mean to set me--

He finished her sentence in his mind and shook his head slightly. She stopped speaking abruptly, her hopes fallen. "I mean, do you really?" He clarified.

Seasa's spirits crashed, her heart suddenly beating painfully again. She looked away from him, her gaze once again taking refuge in the forest. This was nothing but cruelty, mockery-- "With all due respect, my lord, I do not wish to be preached to."

Astalder again shook his head, the candlelight making his face seemed older than it truly was. The elf's patience was renown among his men and he fell back on it now.

"That is not my intention. I merely inquire as to your true thoughts. What waits for you home?"

Seasa didn't reply. Her body had grown stiff with renewed hatred, and an icy wall had been quickly constructed behind her eyes. A long moment passed, and then Astalder answered it himself. He leaned his head back, his eyes closed dreamily as he rested against the tree trunk. A lazy smile lit his lips. "I have a family awaiting me," He said softly. "A little boy who yearns to carry his father's cares and a wife so beautiful not even Lúthien Tinúviel casts her in shadow."

Seasa did not turn her head towards her; but he knew she was listening. "My little boy is truly something," he continued, in that same, awestruck yet wistful voice. "He is trying to teach himself how to fly. His mother tells him it's not possible, but I tell him he needs bigger wings." Seasa finally glanced at him, out of the corner of her eye but said nothing. Her silence, however, was all the prompting Astalder needed to continue. "He asked me where I go sometimes when I don't come home for a very long time. I tell him I am out working, protecting our people. He tells me I better come home with some present for him." The tiniest of smiles worked its way onto Seasa's face. "He wants to come with me, sometimes. He is big enough, he boasts, to take down a whole pack of Orcs. I do not doubt it, I tell him, but perhaps we should wait until he can hold a bow. So I give him a different job. You must be the man of the family, I say, until I return. Don't let Nana fall in love with anyone else." Astalder sat up straight and smiled, as if he could see his little boy's solemn face as he made the promise, standing right before him in the flet. He shot Seasa a look. "He takes his job very seriously."

Seasa smiled slightly. "I am sure he does, my lord."

Astalder's eyes fell on his men again and he heaved a sigh. "The Guard too, is eager to return to the Halls. Before this whole business -- " he gestured towards her -- " we had already been on the move for almost four months. It is time for us to return to the Palace, and switch positions with the other half of the Guard. These elves have families too."

The elf grew quiet and Seasa glanced into his face at his finely chiseled features. His face grew greatly troubled and she couldn't help but asking -- "My lord?"

He glanced back at her, surprised almost to see her still listening to him. "I am just thinking of Quental's family," he explained softly. "It was but his first outing with the Guard."

Seasa's emerald eyes studied his proud face, surprised to see the overwhelming sadness. "We are at war." She said finally. "There can be no victory without suffering."

Astalder shot her a sideways glance. "Is that what you believe?"

"Yes." Seasa replied firmly, then added, "It's what I was taught."

Astalder nodded thoughtfully. "Ah," he said. "You see, I was taught..with suffering, there is no victory."

Seasa's startled gaze flew to his, her mind balking at the outrageous notion. "But you are a warrior!" She exclaimed. "Surely you must appreciate the reality of death!"

"It is a reality," Astalder acknowledged, "but a reality that is needless, especially in the world of elves. Why suffer, why die, when we were born to live?"

Seasa opened her mouth to say something, her face flushed with her own passion for the subject, when suddenly the volume of the area dropped dramatically. She raised her eyes to see the reason for the sudden hush, and her gaze fell on the stony Prince of Mirkwood.

Legolas seemed unaware the effect his presence was causing, and his eyes slowly prowled the room. He nodded slightly at the majority of the Guard, but when one of the elves standing hesitantly and approached him, he looked terribly uneasy. "Your Majesty, is there any news of Captain Sindatil?" Legolas didn't meet his eyes when he replied, in a terse, short voice, "No."

"Ah--" the elf seemed to draw back towards the shadows and Seasa didn't blame him. Legolas radiated foul energy and displeasure, and she could tell the young Prince was in a stormy mood. "Where is Astalder?" he snapped and the elf besides Seasa eased himself to his feet. "That's my cue," he muttered, but to his Prince he said, "My lord?"

Legolas didn't seem surprised to see Astalder next to the captive, but he made a mental note to question his friend about their discussions. The captive, Legolas noted, had turned away as Legolas approached, almost as if she knew her decision already.

He pulled Astalder aside, his arm tightly grasping his friend's elbow. "Is all well, my friend?" Legolas asked, his voice low. Astalder nodded. "Yes, my lord. Some of the Guard are keeping watch, and have neither sensed nor seen any disturbances." "Good, good," Legolas said, "we shall set back for the Palace at first light tomorrow."

"First light?" Astalder said startled. "My lord, what of Sindatil--"

Legolas raised a hand to stop him. "I will ask for two or three volunteers to wait for a few more hours, or days -- whatever they deem necessary. But there is work to be done at the Palace for we have been away for far too long, and --- "Astalder saw the glance the Prince threw towards Seasa and his brow creased with worry, "there are things to be dealt with."