A r w e n e l l a
Hello! To all my readers: THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING! It might seem like a small thing but for a writer like me it's a really huge favor! Thank you! I'm glad you're all enjoying it. As usual, be patient if the chapters come slow- I try to construct them and upload them from every other day to three days. If it's any more than that, that means I'm real busy, hehe! Anyway, again, I totally appreciate it. Keep it up! .::Meggin::.
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Chapter Four- Cruelty
Delia grunted pathetically as she began lifting up her trunks and suitcases and boxes. She whimpered, gave up, and crossed her arms.
"Hey! Arwen! Why don't you stop lying around and give me a hand here, will ya?" she yelled. Arwen stood up from her corner and walked over to Delia. It was shortly after Lord Elrond's departure , and now Lady Uggalflaed and her daughters were moving into the house. Arwen was trying to the best of her ability to be nice to her new sisters, but it was getting extremely difficult with them being so darn provocative. Delia kicked at her large trunk and huffed. "Carry that! And follow me to my room!" Arwen snorted.
"Excuse me?" Arwen retorted angrily. Delia sighed in impatience.
"Hurry up! You're so slow! Follow me!" Delia picked up her skirt delicately and pattered into the palace. Not even a 'please', Arwen thought to herself bitterly, grabbing hold of the trunk and lifting it. She lagged after Delia who was searching through all the rooms in excitement, banging open the doors and rushing to the windows to see if they had good views. Finally she sighed in pleasure. "This one will do," she muttered to herself, twirling on the hard wooden floors of the second to the largest room in the castle. "Well, go on, set down my trunk and get my other things. And hurry up, I need help unpacking right away."
Just as Arwen was about to retaliate, Lady Uggalflaed appeared in the doorway. She smiled, and laughed. Arwen cringed.
"It's nice to see you girls getting along together," she commented in a rather syrupy voice. She fluffed her hair. "Well, I will be in my room unpacking. Arwen, why don't you make use of yourself and help Delia and Primrose get their things?" She hoggishly laughed again and left the doorway, leaving her strong scent of perfume lingering in the air.
Delia slammed her fist down in impatience.
"Arwen, did you not hear my mother? Get my things!"
"They're your things as well, maybe you should go get some yourself!" Arwen screamed. Delia began brushing her hair as if she didn't hear her. Arwen fumed, balling her hands into fists. She delighted in the idea of punching Delia's face in, but controlled her anger and went down the stairs, breathing deeply.
Outside she met Primrose, who had a much fewer amount of luggage than her sister.
"She can get a bit bossy, eh?" She asked, grunting as she lifted her stuff against her frail body. Arwen glanced at her, and groaned.
"Tell me about it," she muttered through clenched teeth. Primrose stopped, and tapped her chin.
"Will you help me with my stuff too?" she asked eagerly, figuring if Delia could boss Arwen about she probably could too. Arwen sighed laboriously, and shrugged.
"I guess," she answered. "I better get Delia's stuff up first." Primrose giggled in glee.
Arwen lugged Delia's stuff into her room, thumping it loudly beside her other junk. Delia stopped brushing her hair and looked at Arwen blankly.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Arwen snarled. "I got your stuff for you, you could at least unpack yourself. Jeez!" Delia stood up menacingly, and walked slowly over to Arwen, her eyes getting beady.
"Nobody talks back to me, you hear? What I say goes. Do you understand?" She boomed. Arwen rolled her eyes.
"Whatever!" Delia huffed superiorly and knelt down on her knees, unzipping one of her bags. Arwen stood up and made her way out the door. She heard a soft gasp behind her. She couldn't help but turn around, and look.
Delia was on her feet, unfolding a large poster, and pressing it against the wall. Arwen squinted her eyes. Printed upon it was a picture of what looked like a blond elf. Delia sighed lovingly and pressed her body against the poster, nearly swooning. As if in a trance, she extended her head and kissed the picture. Arwen coughed. Delia jumped, and turned around.
"How dare you!" she raged, dropping the poster, blood rising to her cheeks. "How dare you, invade in such a private moment!" Arwen laughed.
"Private...moment?" She stepped forward, and Delia stepped back, eying her suspiciously. "May I see your poster? Who is the elf upon it?" Delia hesitated, then stooped down and lifted it up. Arwen peered at the beauty before her, secretly starting to admire this unknown person. The dreaminess came back to Delia's eyes, and she sighed.
"This is Legolas Greenleaf, the Prince of Mirkwood," she cooed in a trance-like way, rocking back and force with the poster in her embrace. It was a slightly disgusting sight. "The love of my life," she whispered dramatically under her breath. She gasped again, and spun her head to look at Arwen, who was staring at the poster in interest. "How dare you!" she screamed, suddenly realizing she was pouring out her deepest thoughts to someone she barely knew. "I...I command you to tell no one of this!" she yelled stupidly. Arwen shrugged.
"Sure." Delia stared her down.
"You must promise!" Arwen laughed.
"Could you tell me more about this Legolas? I mean, have you two met before?" Delia went back in the trance in the mere mention of his name.
"Well, I have never met him before, but I most certainly would love to. He is fleet-footed, keen-sighted, and a wonderful archer and knife- fighter, and he is so cute!!!" She muttered this last word in a high squeak. Arwen was fascinated and had a longing to meet this interesting creature herself. She was jolted out of her thoughts as she heard Delia's normal, loud, snotty voice. "Hey! Don't just stand there, vermin, help me unpack!"
She might as well have said "unpack", for Arwen did all the work anyway.
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As the days flew by Lady Uggalflaed and her daughters became slightly crueler and bossier. Before Arwen knew it she was forced out of her bedroom to make way for a 'second bedroom' for Delia, and began sleeping downstairs on mangy cots with the servants. She was sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, cooking, literally slaving away at all the chores that were to be done around the castle. Although this was all very wrong indeed, Arwen wanted her Father to come home proud and happy of her daughter, so she kept her feelings in and persisted. And all the while, Arwen became more and more miserable.
As Arwen was scrubbing the floor she ran into a large mirror, simply hanging against the wall. She stopped, and stared at herself, as if she hadn't seen herself for ages. She touched her dirt smeared face, her tangled hair which hadn't been washed for days. Her hand drifted down to her dress, dirty and stinking from the kitchen work, and to the apron hanging about her waist, smudged with dirt. She stared at herself, trying to recognize her reflection. Who was this? Certainly this could not be Arwen Undomiel. It couldn't be the royal maiden, daughter of Elrond, the Princess of Rivendell. Princesses don't scrub floors and wear dirty aprons.
"Arwen!" Delia's snot stricken voice rung in the air. It was filled with hatred, authority, and impatience. Mechanically Arwen rose to her feet, and rushed into Delia's room. She stopped, gasping for air. Delia looked at Arwen, and laughed. She got off her bed and began circling her, staring her down. "Look at yourself," she muttered, slightly gloating. "Wearing those rags. Look at your hair, your face." She laughed again. "You look terrible!" Arwen stared at the floor, anger rising to her cheeks.
"Shut up," she murmured under her breath, clenching her fists. Delia raised and eyebrow.
"What did you say?" Arwen thought of her father, and took a deep breath.
"N-nothing, Delia." Her stepsister smiled.
"Good. You know no one answers back to me." She stopped to look at her fingernails. "Well then. We must get to work, shouldn't we? I want you to dust my room and sweep the floor. If I come back in this room and find it not spick and span, we shall have you sleep by the fireplace, on the ! Ha! Ha! Now get to work!" She rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her, ignorant of the fact that her skirt had caught in the doorway, and along with large RIIIIIIIIIIP, a huge chunk of her skirt had been torn off. Arwen smiled. She may be beautiful, but her stupidity had not lost its potency.
The only comfort Arwen found in working in Delia's room was the large poster hanging on the left wall. As she was sweeping the floor, she would always stop and look at it, to admire it, wondering about Legolas Greenleaf, and the yearning to meet him growing ever stronger.
Primrose barged in abruptly, and Arwen tore her gaze from the poster, dropping her broom in surprise.
"Primrose!" she breathed, breathless. "What are you doing here?" She skinny girl waved an envelope in the air.
"It's a letter for you. Just arrived in the mail today." She looked around her shoulder, making sure no one was listening. "Mother was just about to throw it away, but I snatched it when her back was turned." Arwen smiled. Primrose was her favorite of the stepsisters (duh), and although she was slightly...er...slow, she still managed to be kind to Arwen. "It's from Lord Elrond, your Father, and I know how much it would mean to you to get a letter from him."
A letter from Father!
Arwen dashed forward and grabbed it greedily from her, muttering a quick 'thanks'. She opened it and unfolded the slip of paper, scanning it quickly:
Dear Arwen:
I apologize for not writing to you soon enough, but the ill hobbits here certainly have kept me busy. How is everything there? I shall not worry, I know you are in good hands. Lady Uggalflaed is a fine maiden, as is her daughters. You should be all right with them. Anyhow, I regret to say I shall have to extend my stay here. The elvish medicine has helped the halflings' healing process quicken, oh yes, but the ailment has been highly contagious recently, and it has spread all over the Shire, and a bit beyond. Because I cannot handle all of this I will be soon calling for reinforcements.
Meanwhile, I want you to remember our agreement. Be on your best behavior. I look forward to our reunion.
As always,
Your Father, Elrond
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The lithe, blond elf stood calmly in front of the large, intricately carved wooden doors. Sighing impatiently, he knocked again, louder this time. With a large creak that rung out in the old Hall, the door was opened to him. Two guards nodded their heads in greeting.
"Your father Thranduil wishes to speak with you," one of them said.
"Thank you," the blond elf replied, and stepped forward, making his way down the corridor, later meeting with another large door. He knocked.
"Come in," came a gruff, distant voice. The elf twisted the doorknob and stepped it, quietly closing it behind him. It was dark inside, save the fireplace in which the flame within danced and crackled, sending a dim glow about the room. Thranduil the elf King sat in the Shadows, penning something on a piece of parchment. He stopped as his son approached, and glanced up.
"Legolas," he breathed. He gestured to another chair close by. "Take a seat. We must have little...chat." Ice ran through Legolas' blood. Knowing what it was probably about already, he obeyed and sat down, gripping the arm rests tightly in nervousness. Thranduil pondered, stroking his chin in thought.
"Well go on," Legolas interrupted. "I haven't got all day. I've got some hunting to do!" Thranduil raised a hand.
"Calm yourself, son. We must have a chat."
"WELL CHAT ALREADY!" Thranduil pondered some more, choosing his words carefully.
"Legolas, have you...ah...felt...different, lately? Sort of left out?" Legolas stared at his father in complete confusion.
"Um..." Thranduil sighed. Heck, let's just get to the point, the elf King thought to himself.
"I am thinking about throwing a Ball..." Legolas jolted up to his feet in rage.
"No! We are NOT having a ball, and we are NOT inviting elvish girls to it, and I am NOT getting married. Period. Duh." Legolas flopped back in his chair and sighed. (See, now you know the consequences of fame. They can be devastating.)
"Well..." Thranduil paused, a bit desperate. "That's...exactly what I was planning to do." Legolas groaned. "Son, I am doing this for you. I am doing this for your own good! It just pains me to see you walk around...walk around...single!" He yelled, for a lack of a better word. He sighed, and all of a sudden regained his authority. "Anyway, I will be sending out the invitations soon, for every eligible maiden to attend, whether you like it or not. We will be having this Ball in five days...whether you like it or not." Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil slammed down his gavel (hah! Like a judge!) in anger.
Legolas slumped in his seat, defeated. Thranduil smiled in the shadows, placed his pen on the parchment, and continued writing.
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Whoah, I thought I had writer's block there for a moment...halfway in this chapter. Anyhow PLEASE REVIEW AND RECOMMEND ME TO FRIENDS. PLEASE. .::Meggin::.
Hello! To all my readers: THANKS SO MUCH FOR READING AND REVIEWING! It might seem like a small thing but for a writer like me it's a really huge favor! Thank you! I'm glad you're all enjoying it. As usual, be patient if the chapters come slow- I try to construct them and upload them from every other day to three days. If it's any more than that, that means I'm real busy, hehe! Anyway, again, I totally appreciate it. Keep it up! .::Meggin::.
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Chapter Four- Cruelty
Delia grunted pathetically as she began lifting up her trunks and suitcases and boxes. She whimpered, gave up, and crossed her arms.
"Hey! Arwen! Why don't you stop lying around and give me a hand here, will ya?" she yelled. Arwen stood up from her corner and walked over to Delia. It was shortly after Lord Elrond's departure , and now Lady Uggalflaed and her daughters were moving into the house. Arwen was trying to the best of her ability to be nice to her new sisters, but it was getting extremely difficult with them being so darn provocative. Delia kicked at her large trunk and huffed. "Carry that! And follow me to my room!" Arwen snorted.
"Excuse me?" Arwen retorted angrily. Delia sighed in impatience.
"Hurry up! You're so slow! Follow me!" Delia picked up her skirt delicately and pattered into the palace. Not even a 'please', Arwen thought to herself bitterly, grabbing hold of the trunk and lifting it. She lagged after Delia who was searching through all the rooms in excitement, banging open the doors and rushing to the windows to see if they had good views. Finally she sighed in pleasure. "This one will do," she muttered to herself, twirling on the hard wooden floors of the second to the largest room in the castle. "Well, go on, set down my trunk and get my other things. And hurry up, I need help unpacking right away."
Just as Arwen was about to retaliate, Lady Uggalflaed appeared in the doorway. She smiled, and laughed. Arwen cringed.
"It's nice to see you girls getting along together," she commented in a rather syrupy voice. She fluffed her hair. "Well, I will be in my room unpacking. Arwen, why don't you make use of yourself and help Delia and Primrose get their things?" She hoggishly laughed again and left the doorway, leaving her strong scent of perfume lingering in the air.
Delia slammed her fist down in impatience.
"Arwen, did you not hear my mother? Get my things!"
"They're your things as well, maybe you should go get some yourself!" Arwen screamed. Delia began brushing her hair as if she didn't hear her. Arwen fumed, balling her hands into fists. She delighted in the idea of punching Delia's face in, but controlled her anger and went down the stairs, breathing deeply.
Outside she met Primrose, who had a much fewer amount of luggage than her sister.
"She can get a bit bossy, eh?" She asked, grunting as she lifted her stuff against her frail body. Arwen glanced at her, and groaned.
"Tell me about it," she muttered through clenched teeth. Primrose stopped, and tapped her chin.
"Will you help me with my stuff too?" she asked eagerly, figuring if Delia could boss Arwen about she probably could too. Arwen sighed laboriously, and shrugged.
"I guess," she answered. "I better get Delia's stuff up first." Primrose giggled in glee.
Arwen lugged Delia's stuff into her room, thumping it loudly beside her other junk. Delia stopped brushing her hair and looked at Arwen blankly.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Arwen snarled. "I got your stuff for you, you could at least unpack yourself. Jeez!" Delia stood up menacingly, and walked slowly over to Arwen, her eyes getting beady.
"Nobody talks back to me, you hear? What I say goes. Do you understand?" She boomed. Arwen rolled her eyes.
"Whatever!" Delia huffed superiorly and knelt down on her knees, unzipping one of her bags. Arwen stood up and made her way out the door. She heard a soft gasp behind her. She couldn't help but turn around, and look.
Delia was on her feet, unfolding a large poster, and pressing it against the wall. Arwen squinted her eyes. Printed upon it was a picture of what looked like a blond elf. Delia sighed lovingly and pressed her body against the poster, nearly swooning. As if in a trance, she extended her head and kissed the picture. Arwen coughed. Delia jumped, and turned around.
"How dare you!" she raged, dropping the poster, blood rising to her cheeks. "How dare you, invade in such a private moment!" Arwen laughed.
"Private...moment?" She stepped forward, and Delia stepped back, eying her suspiciously. "May I see your poster? Who is the elf upon it?" Delia hesitated, then stooped down and lifted it up. Arwen peered at the beauty before her, secretly starting to admire this unknown person. The dreaminess came back to Delia's eyes, and she sighed.
"This is Legolas Greenleaf, the Prince of Mirkwood," she cooed in a trance-like way, rocking back and force with the poster in her embrace. It was a slightly disgusting sight. "The love of my life," she whispered dramatically under her breath. She gasped again, and spun her head to look at Arwen, who was staring at the poster in interest. "How dare you!" she screamed, suddenly realizing she was pouring out her deepest thoughts to someone she barely knew. "I...I command you to tell no one of this!" she yelled stupidly. Arwen shrugged.
"Sure." Delia stared her down.
"You must promise!" Arwen laughed.
"Could you tell me more about this Legolas? I mean, have you two met before?" Delia went back in the trance in the mere mention of his name.
"Well, I have never met him before, but I most certainly would love to. He is fleet-footed, keen-sighted, and a wonderful archer and knife- fighter, and he is so cute!!!" She muttered this last word in a high squeak. Arwen was fascinated and had a longing to meet this interesting creature herself. She was jolted out of her thoughts as she heard Delia's normal, loud, snotty voice. "Hey! Don't just stand there, vermin, help me unpack!"
She might as well have said "unpack", for Arwen did all the work anyway.
.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.
As the days flew by Lady Uggalflaed and her daughters became slightly crueler and bossier. Before Arwen knew it she was forced out of her bedroom to make way for a 'second bedroom' for Delia, and began sleeping downstairs on mangy cots with the servants. She was sweeping, mopping, doing laundry, cooking, literally slaving away at all the chores that were to be done around the castle. Although this was all very wrong indeed, Arwen wanted her Father to come home proud and happy of her daughter, so she kept her feelings in and persisted. And all the while, Arwen became more and more miserable.
As Arwen was scrubbing the floor she ran into a large mirror, simply hanging against the wall. She stopped, and stared at herself, as if she hadn't seen herself for ages. She touched her dirt smeared face, her tangled hair which hadn't been washed for days. Her hand drifted down to her dress, dirty and stinking from the kitchen work, and to the apron hanging about her waist, smudged with dirt. She stared at herself, trying to recognize her reflection. Who was this? Certainly this could not be Arwen Undomiel. It couldn't be the royal maiden, daughter of Elrond, the Princess of Rivendell. Princesses don't scrub floors and wear dirty aprons.
"Arwen!" Delia's snot stricken voice rung in the air. It was filled with hatred, authority, and impatience. Mechanically Arwen rose to her feet, and rushed into Delia's room. She stopped, gasping for air. Delia looked at Arwen, and laughed. She got off her bed and began circling her, staring her down. "Look at yourself," she muttered, slightly gloating. "Wearing those rags. Look at your hair, your face." She laughed again. "You look terrible!" Arwen stared at the floor, anger rising to her cheeks.
"Shut up," she murmured under her breath, clenching her fists. Delia raised and eyebrow.
"What did you say?" Arwen thought of her father, and took a deep breath.
"N-nothing, Delia." Her stepsister smiled.
"Good. You know no one answers back to me." She stopped to look at her fingernails. "Well then. We must get to work, shouldn't we? I want you to dust my room and sweep the floor. If I come back in this room and find it not spick and span, we shall have you sleep by the fireplace, on the ! Ha! Ha! Now get to work!" She rushed out of the room and closed the door behind her, ignorant of the fact that her skirt had caught in the doorway, and along with large RIIIIIIIIIIP, a huge chunk of her skirt had been torn off. Arwen smiled. She may be beautiful, but her stupidity had not lost its potency.
The only comfort Arwen found in working in Delia's room was the large poster hanging on the left wall. As she was sweeping the floor, she would always stop and look at it, to admire it, wondering about Legolas Greenleaf, and the yearning to meet him growing ever stronger.
Primrose barged in abruptly, and Arwen tore her gaze from the poster, dropping her broom in surprise.
"Primrose!" she breathed, breathless. "What are you doing here?" She skinny girl waved an envelope in the air.
"It's a letter for you. Just arrived in the mail today." She looked around her shoulder, making sure no one was listening. "Mother was just about to throw it away, but I snatched it when her back was turned." Arwen smiled. Primrose was her favorite of the stepsisters (duh), and although she was slightly...er...slow, she still managed to be kind to Arwen. "It's from Lord Elrond, your Father, and I know how much it would mean to you to get a letter from him."
A letter from Father!
Arwen dashed forward and grabbed it greedily from her, muttering a quick 'thanks'. She opened it and unfolded the slip of paper, scanning it quickly:
Dear Arwen:
I apologize for not writing to you soon enough, but the ill hobbits here certainly have kept me busy. How is everything there? I shall not worry, I know you are in good hands. Lady Uggalflaed is a fine maiden, as is her daughters. You should be all right with them. Anyhow, I regret to say I shall have to extend my stay here. The elvish medicine has helped the halflings' healing process quicken, oh yes, but the ailment has been highly contagious recently, and it has spread all over the Shire, and a bit beyond. Because I cannot handle all of this I will be soon calling for reinforcements.
Meanwhile, I want you to remember our agreement. Be on your best behavior. I look forward to our reunion.
As always,
Your Father, Elrond
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The lithe, blond elf stood calmly in front of the large, intricately carved wooden doors. Sighing impatiently, he knocked again, louder this time. With a large creak that rung out in the old Hall, the door was opened to him. Two guards nodded their heads in greeting.
"Your father Thranduil wishes to speak with you," one of them said.
"Thank you," the blond elf replied, and stepped forward, making his way down the corridor, later meeting with another large door. He knocked.
"Come in," came a gruff, distant voice. The elf twisted the doorknob and stepped it, quietly closing it behind him. It was dark inside, save the fireplace in which the flame within danced and crackled, sending a dim glow about the room. Thranduil the elf King sat in the Shadows, penning something on a piece of parchment. He stopped as his son approached, and glanced up.
"Legolas," he breathed. He gestured to another chair close by. "Take a seat. We must have little...chat." Ice ran through Legolas' blood. Knowing what it was probably about already, he obeyed and sat down, gripping the arm rests tightly in nervousness. Thranduil pondered, stroking his chin in thought.
"Well go on," Legolas interrupted. "I haven't got all day. I've got some hunting to do!" Thranduil raised a hand.
"Calm yourself, son. We must have a chat."
"WELL CHAT ALREADY!" Thranduil pondered some more, choosing his words carefully.
"Legolas, have you...ah...felt...different, lately? Sort of left out?" Legolas stared at his father in complete confusion.
"Um..." Thranduil sighed. Heck, let's just get to the point, the elf King thought to himself.
"I am thinking about throwing a Ball..." Legolas jolted up to his feet in rage.
"No! We are NOT having a ball, and we are NOT inviting elvish girls to it, and I am NOT getting married. Period. Duh." Legolas flopped back in his chair and sighed. (See, now you know the consequences of fame. They can be devastating.)
"Well..." Thranduil paused, a bit desperate. "That's...exactly what I was planning to do." Legolas groaned. "Son, I am doing this for you. I am doing this for your own good! It just pains me to see you walk around...walk around...single!" He yelled, for a lack of a better word. He sighed, and all of a sudden regained his authority. "Anyway, I will be sending out the invitations soon, for every eligible maiden to attend, whether you like it or not. We will be having this Ball in five days...whether you like it or not." Legolas opened his mouth to protest, but Thranduil slammed down his gavel (hah! Like a judge!) in anger.
Legolas slumped in his seat, defeated. Thranduil smiled in the shadows, placed his pen on the parchment, and continued writing.
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Whoah, I thought I had writer's block there for a moment...halfway in this chapter. Anyhow PLEASE REVIEW AND RECOMMEND ME TO FRIENDS. PLEASE. .::Meggin::.