Half a week later found Peter ensconced in the privacy of solitude. The house he had been given was quite spacious, and Peter found himself staring out of a grand window in one of the many sitting rooms.
"Might I enquire as to what lays so heavy upon you my Lord?"
The voice made Peter jolt. Turning his head he saw Lord Peridan making his way to the window.
"I was merely thinking," Peter said with a small smile. Crossing his arms he continued to stare out the window.
"All this thinking may not have something to do with a certain King, and a couple of Queens, could it?"
Now a full smile bloomed across Peter's face, "You seem to know me quite well."
Lord Peridan returned the smile, "It comes with the territory, Your Majesty."
"Now please Peridan, could you leave off with the formalities. We're friends, remember?"
"Of course, sorry Sir," His response got an agitated glare sent to him by the royal. To which Peridan's response was a smile. But then his face grew serious, "Though it seems to me that it is not family, nor home, that weigh down your thoughts."
Peter let out a weary sigh, "No, it is not. It's this whole country, and the way life is treated. It is not a sacred thing here."
"Does your anger perhaps stem from the man you saw at the dinner days ago?"
"I do not believe the term 'man' would suffice. He was something different,"
"By your description, I would have to agree. I do not recall meeting any sons of Adam with pointed ears,"
"It is true that what I saw that day angered me. But I have seen many other things in this place," Peter turned and looked Lord Peridan in the eyes, "And I am helpless to do anything. I do not know the fate of that Being, whatever he may be. Am I not a High King? The equal of the Tisroc. Yet I have no say."
"I do not know how to counsel you, my Lord, for we find ourselves in a strange and cruel place. Yet they label us the barbarians. Though I have no doubt that if we do not watch ourselves, our wellbeing could be in danger."
"That is very true, Lord Peridon. It is a perilous place, this Colorman," a new voice spoke from behind them, causing Lord and King to turn around.
"Captain Oron, we did not hear you enter," Peter told the Faun who was in charge of his protection while he was abroad.
A small smile graced the Captains features, "Not many do, Your Majesty. Though I did not mean to eavesdrop. I came to report that the Prince that has been entertaining you has been spotted headed this direction with quite a large entourage."
"And here I thought I had seen the last of him," Peter's annoyance was made known by the crease between his brows.
"What would you have me do, my King?"
"Have Savvick keep an eye on them, and keep me appraised."
"It is done." With a bow the captain left.
Turning to Lord Peridon Peter said, "Let us go and prepare for our guests. It seems this adventure is not yet over."
The Prince had set a leisurely pace, and was taking his time to arrive. Peter, in his Kingly dress was reclining in a rather large chair situated in the largest parlor of the borrowed house. Also in attendance were Lords Peridon and Alastair- a severe looking dark haired man; with the powerful arms and shoulders of a swordsman that came in contrast with the graying at his temples that betrayed his age. Behind Peter stood Captain Oron as still as a statue, and beside him stood Gamri- a black dwarf, and one of the few who had fought for a free Narnia since the beginning, and afterward had pledged his life to always serve the Kings and Queens.
A flapping at the window drew everyone's attention. On the sill stood a very large raven.
"What news have you Savvick?" the King asked.
Bowing his head the raven answered, "My Lord, the Colorman approach, and it seems they bring with them a prisoner."
"A prisoner? Could you make out his features?"
"No, King, He is a Son of Adam, it seems, taller than those around him, and his hair is very light, though it is long. I could tell you no more."
"Well, my King, we will soon find out what this Prince wants," Lord Peridon said as he saw a guard approach, "For it seems he is here."
"The Prince is at the gate, my King," the arriving guard said.
"Show him here," Peter stated
With a bow, the guard left.
"O Barbarian King, it fills my heart with joy to see you once again," the Prince was practically dripping in honey.
Still sitting in his chair, Peter gave a nod of acknowledgement, and said, "How is it that I may help you."
The smile dropped off of the Prince's face, it seemed he did not appreciate not being spoken to in reverence. But Peter didn't really care what the Prince appreciated. He was a King, he did not grovel to princes.
"I bring a gift for you, O King, from the Tisroc (may he live forever) himself."
The prince gestured to a guard behind him, and to Peter's surprise, in was dragged the golden haired being. He looked much worse than the last time Peter had seen him. It was obvious that he had faced a whip, and much else. There was not a part of his exposed skin that was not marked. It caused such an anger in Peter that he feared he would kill the Prince with his bare hands. But he forced himself to stay seated and keep the hate off his face. It was one of the hardest things Peter had ever done.
"I thank you, Prince. It is very kind of The Tisroc. Please convey my thanks to him," at least he managed to keep his voice even.
With a stiff bow the Prince realized that Peter did not intend to say anything else and turning he left with his entourage. It was obvious that he wasn't too happy with the reception his gift got, he was expecting Peter to be much more excited it seems.
As for the gift himself, he stood still as a statue in the middle of the parlor, looking it seemed, to some far off spot out the window. Until the movement of Peter slowly getting up from his chair, caught his attention. And Peter once again found himself caught in that gaze. But this time instead of finding one of the polar spectrum of ice or flame, he found nothing. The gaze was empty, devoid of all, be it hate or love-if there was any left to be found at all. And it scared Peter more than the flaming angered gaze he had met before.
He took a step closer to the Being, and to Peter's relief he saw the cerulean eyes sharpen and a warning flash through them. It seemed the fight had not fully gone out of the Being. Peter paused his movement, and slowly stretched out his hand towards lord Peridan, who had gotten the keys to the shackles that adorned the Being, and waited for them to slowly be placed in his hand. Then with key in hand Peter started walking forward slowly, until he stood before the Being. Neither of them moved, until at last Peter raised the key and gestured to the shackles, asking. Peter was sure a lifetime had passed before the shackled hands were slowly raised up, and just as slowly Peter opened them. He showed no reaction to the broken and bleeding skin that they left in their wake, he was sure the Being would not have appreciated it. And as the shackles fell Peter sensed Captain Oron tense, prepared to intervene on his King's behalf, and no doubt Gamri stood beside him just as battle ready. It seemed the Being also noticed, causing him to also tense, and for all his bedraggled and bloody appearance, Peter could not help but feel that he was a force to be reckoned with.
Backing up-much to his Captains relief-Peter spoke to Gamri, though he did not take his eyes from the Being, "Would you be so kind, Gamri, and bring some food for our guest."
As the dwarf made his way out of the parlor, the Beings eyes followed his every step with obvious distrust. Peter was not sure if he could gain his trust, though he did figure that the Colormen were not great hosts and his new guest was probably hungry.
It was a tense time as they waited for the dwarfs return. Peter wanted nothing more than to have the Being sit down and have his wounds looked after, but he knew that that was not possible, at least not yet.
It was one of the longest fifteen minutes of Peter's life, or so it felt, until at last Gamri returned carrying a tray brimming with food. He set it on a table situated in front of a comfortable looking couch that was pushed up against one of the walls. Now for the hard part. Peter wasn't sure how he was going to convince the Being that it was a better idea to sit and eat in a room full of strangers than to try to fight his way out. Which really should have been common sense, but seeing how the Being had already been treated he was probably expecting the food to be poisoned. And with that thought an idea struck. Slowly moving toward the couch, Peter took a seat, and then looking expectantly at the Being he gestured to the empty spot. Then he waited.
Peter wished he could tell what the Being was thinking, but he just stood in the middle of the room and looked at everyone present in turn, until his eyes landed on the food, then on the couch, and at last, on Peter. He was gauging them, Peter realized, it was obvious to anyone that this was no dumb beast-as the Colormans seemed to think-but an intelligent individual capable of weighing all his options. And for whatever reason, Peter felt that the Being had weighed more options than Peter himself could see available.
Deciding that he should move things along a little more, Peter took an apple from the tray and slowly took a bite from it, then just as slowly he outstretched his hand toward the Being- offering the apple. Peter really hoped he didn't just offend, but he could not think of another way to show that the food was, in fact, not poisoned.
The Being stared. Peter waited. Then as if in slow motion a pale hand reached forward and to Peter's surprise, took the apple. Then to much greater surprise the Being- on cautious steps- made his way to the couch and gracefully sat down. It seems the options had been weighed, and a decision reached.
Thranduil was hungry. He hadn't been given anything except a couple handfuls of water since his capture, if he had been a man he would most likely have died, but he doubted his captors would have minded too much. They were cruel, those men, but for whatever reason he had scared them, or something had scared them. Whatever it was it had caused them enough fear to get rid of him as quickly as possible. Why they did not just run a blade through his heart he did not know, but now he found himself in a new situation-with entirely new creatures. Except the men and dwarf. And at least the dwarf was familiar, even if he usually avoided them. But the men, they were different than the ones he had already had the displeasure of meeting. They were...well he had yet to fully see what they were, but at least they were better-for now. One thing he was sure of was that the window was enticingly close and if he made it he could...he could. He could what? Get caught again? He still did not know where he was nor did he know the language. And if he was honest with himself, he was not exactly in good enough condition to take on a room full of warriors. It was obvious that that was what they were.
Thranduil looked to the man sitting beside him. He seemed young-even by mannish standards-but an obvious King, and not just by the crown on his head. They made eye contact and Thranduil was almost taken aback by what he saw in the blue gaze. It was kindness. Then the man slowly (he had been doing everything slowly) reached toward the tray and grabbing a goblet that was obviously filled with water, he handed it towards Thranduil, who in turn looked suspiciously upon it. Then with a small smile, the man brought the goblet to his lips and drank from it, then he once again handed it to Thranduil, who accepted it. The water could have been from the pits of Angband for all Thranduil cared; to him it tasted as if he was drinking from the very palm of Yavanna herself. Though he was sure not to guzzle it-he was going to keep any remaining dignity he had left.
The King beside him started talking to the others. The words were unlike any he had known before. They were definitely a mannish tongue, yet not one he had heard before. Now that he was sitting down he became very aware of how much he actually hurt, and he was sure he was still bleeded in multiple spots, as well as the original wound on his shoulder was probably infected, but he could not give in-not yet.
Then the dwarf (on what seemed a command from his King) left again, and Thranduil could not help but track him out of the room. But then the man caught his attention back by taking another item off the tray and once again taking a bite out of it before handing it to Thranduil. This must be what a skittish horse felt like; yet Thranduil could not muster up the energy to be offended. He just took the offered food and ate.
Peter continued taking bites out of every new food item before handing them to the Being and he could tell everyone else in the room was tense. He had sent Gamri back out for medical supplies-he just hoped the Being would accept it. It was obvious he was hurt, and bad. Peter was not quite sure what was keeping him conscious-other than pure stubbornness-but Peter was sure that sooner than later his body would give out.
"Sir, I would advise caution," Captain Oron spoke quietly from where he had come to stand guard beside the King.
"Of course, Captain," Peter said.
"I am not comfortable with you putting yourself in such a position. We do not know what he is capable of, Your Majesty."
"Look at him Captain. I do believe we are quite capable of handling anything he might decide to do. Besides I am comfortable in my position," Peter smirked, "You have to hand it to these Colormen, at least they have comfortable couches."
The Captain's only response was an agitated exhale. It brought the eyes of the Being to the faun. They were not scared or glassed over as might be expected of someone in his state, no, instead they were calculating-weighing.
"I would not underestimate him, your Majesty," Captain Oron said as he held the blue gaze.