A/N: Hello again, my faithful readers!
First and foremost, thank you all for your continuous support of this story. I'll continue to update it when I can, but until then, I humbly ask that you be patient with me.
As for "Captnshcick58's" question about what time frame this story takes place in - you'll just have to wait and find out. ***wink, wink***
And now, without further adieu...
Aderyn
I awake to the sound of someone entering my room on quiet but purposeful feet.
"Good morning, my lady." It was Belwen—a beautiful, red-headed woman who was to be my lady-in-waiting for the duration of my stay, or so Legolas had informed me the day before.
With a tired groan, I roll over onto my back. "What time is it?"
"It is a quarter past eight," Belwen pours a pitcher of water into the ceramic bowl atop the nightstand. "And the ernil will be expecting you for breakfast soon."
I blink. "Who?"
"The prince," she clarifies.
"Oh." I slowly sit up. "Is that what he's called in your language?"
"No," Belwen says, approaching the ornate dresser across from my bed. "My native tongue is that of the Nandor."
...Ok, then. "So your kind speak... Nandor?" What a strange word.
"My people speak many languages." Belwen pulls out a beautiful, yet simple, emerald dress from the dresser. "But yes, we—the Silvan—speak Nandorin."
So there were different elvish clans within this strange world. Interesting. "And what is the common language spoken in this kingdom?"
"Nandorin, Sindarin." She carefully set the dress atop the rumpled covers of my bed. "For now, we shall continue to speak Westron."
"Westron?"
"The Common Tongue.'" Belwen tilts her head. "Do your people not call it that?"
"Umm...," I clear my throat. "Yes and no. I'm also fluent in Portuguese, and can speak a little Uto-Azetecan."
"I've never heard of those languages before." She gives me a curious look. "Where are you from, exactly?"
"Does it really matter?" There was no doubt in my mind that the king had chosen Belwen to recover as much as she could from me in regards to my personal life, and I wasn't about to cooperate with him just yet.
"That depends," she says. "Strangers are few and far within the Rhovanion these days, and it's been over a century since I've stepped foot into Dale, but never into Haradwaith."
Rhovanion? Dale? Haradwaith?
"I should get dressed," I say, not wanting to make myself feel even more foolish than I already was.
"Yes," she agrees, and we did not speak again as she began preparing me for the day.
~xXx~
I should've known better than to assume that Legolas and I would be breaking our fast alone.
"Lady Aderyn," King Thranduil greets, his tall frame lounging comfortably at the head of the table.
From the left side of his father, Legolas gives me a subtle nod. Judging by his strained expression, I knew he wasn't pleased about this dining arrangement. Good, Belwen gestures me into the dining room. That makes two of us.
Upon my approach, the prince immediately stands and rounds the spacious table to my side. "Good morning." He pulls out my chair for me.
"Good morning," I greet back, leveling a cool stare at his sire. "Your Majesty."
"Please," the king gestures towards the small spread of fruit, bread, cheese, and pastries before us.
With a nod, I pile my plate with a bit of everything. "How is your arm and chest?" I asked the prince.
"Still a bit sore at times." Legolas answers. "I trust that you've slept well?"
"Of course she did," Thranduil answers on my behalf. "After all, what prisoner wouldn't enjoy the cozy accommodations of our hospitality?"
"Adar," Legolas gives his father a warning look.
With a casual shrug, Thranduil fixes his attention onto his food.
"It's alright, my lord," I tell Legolas. "Your father is only confirming what I am to your people."
"Indeed I am." The king pours a glass of juice and hands it over to me.
Wordlessly, I bring the drink up to my nose, and sniffed.
"You dare to assume that I would try to poison you?" Thranduil gives me a dangerous grin.
Legolas stiffens within his seat, and I shrug. "One can never be too careful," I tell the king. "I've learned that the hard way."
"Oh?" His cerulean eyes crinkle with amusement. "Please, enlighten us." He leans forward, placing his elbows on the edge of the table as he rested his chin atop of his folded hands.
"I was a soldier once," I tell them.
Shortly before my deployment, Travis's grandfather had shared with me his experience of being brought in by the enemy during World War II, and how they would subtly bribe him with food and drink in order to loosen his tongue about any useful information they could use against the Allies. 'It worked for the most part,' he'd told me. 'They treated me like an old friend, and in turn I would answer their questions, albeit not all truthfully."
"I thought you were a healer," Legolas frowns at me.
"Among other things," I spear a piece of fruit with my fork. "My... regiment and I had been sent to lend aid to a small village that had been pillaged by the enemy, where we were betrayed by one of the survivors."
I hold their attentive gaze with my own, and Thranduil exchanges a look with his son. "I would expect nothing less from a Southron," he tells him.
"Southron?" I frown.
"That is what we call your people, the Haradrim, down here in the West," says Thranduil.
"Yet she was not clothed in their traditional attire when we found her," Legolas says.
I had no idea what they were talking about. "And what makes you think," I calmly set my utensils down. "That I am one of them?"
"Your complexion is a dead giveaway," says the king. "Not to mention the endless civil wars that has plagued your lands since the First Age."
So I just happened to share the same facial features as some warmongering race. Great. Just great. "Maybe I am a Southron," I say carefully. "Or maybe I'm not."
"Call yourself whatever you like," Thranduil says. "But we will never forget the atrocities your people have committed in Middle-earth. Should you betray my trust," his cerulean eyes flash, "I will not hesitate to kill you myself."
I will myself to remain calm, relaxed. "Understood."
Thranduil scoffs, and turns his attention back to his unfinished meal.
I look over at Legolas, whose piercing gaze stares deep into my soul before he too turns away from me.
~xXx~
Once breakfast had finished and the king had excused himself, Legolas escorts me down the hall, his expression tense, ruminating.
"Do you truly believe," I murmur, "that I am no better than those who enjoy war and destruction?"
Legolas kept his eyes trained forward. "No," he says quietly. "I do not."
"It's a shame your father doesn't feel the same way."
We did not speak again for several moments. "My people have tangled with the Haradrim before," Legolas says, and I glance up at him. "The stories they'd brought back about them were... deeply disturbing." His beautiful face hardens. "What they have done... what they are capable of doing..."
"Aren't we all capable of doing terrible things?"
"The Haradrim have brought nothing but death and ruin upon Middle-earth." He exhales a tired sigh. "It is a simple, yet terrible, fact."
"There's nothing simple about it," I snap. "If you truly believe that the Southrons, my people, are so evil, then why bother being generous to me at all?"
He halts in his tracks, and my irate expression melts at the sight of his apprehensive countenance. "I'm sorry," I whisper, and turn away from him. "It's just... these past few days have been exhausting, and I..." I hold back the tears that were threatening to spill forth. "I miss my family."
Especially my husband.
"There is nothing to apologize for, Aderyn." Legolas stands behind me. "In spite of my kin having only seen the worst of the Southrons, I was wrong to assume that of all of them, and for that, I apologize."
Slowly, I face him. "Did you debate killing me that day, when we first met?"
"No," he answers firmly. "You were unarmed. It would not have been honorable on my part."
"Do you normally extend such a courtesy to your other enemies?"
"You are not my enemy."
"But the Haradrim are," I counter, and he looks away in shame. "And if you, or your father, are planning to glean from me whatever information you can use against them, then don't bother. You'd both be only wasting your time."
"Aderyn." Legolas grasps my arm as I stormed off. "Aderyn, wait."
"Let go of me, Legolas." I shrug his hand off of me. "I don't have anything useful to tell you." Which was the truth.
He runs around in front of me, halting me in my tracks. "Please, just... just listen to me."
I cross my arms, waiting.
Legolas takes a deep breath. "I did not anticipate that my father would be joining us for breakfast," he says. "But you have nothing to fear of him."
"Nothing to...?" I glare at him. "He threatened to kill me."
"So long as you abide by our rules, he can't touch you." Oh, yes he could. Thranduil was the king, after all. "My father may be unsettling, but he is not dishonorable. You have my word on that."
His voice was so sincere and gentle, it was getting harder for me to assume the worst of him. After all, Legolas had been the only one to vouch for my release from the dungeons, but not from the kingdom. Who knows how long it would be before his father ever considered letting me go. Maybe I should just give them what they want, concoct whatever negative lies I could weave about a race I had no real knowledge of. Then again, what if my dishonesty brings a devastating war upon both sides? Thranduil would definitely have my head for sure, and Legolas would probably commit the execution himself.
"Aderyn?" His concerned voice pulls me out of my dreadful thoughts. "Are you alright?"
"I need a distraction," I bite out, and he narrows his eyes. "Is there anything..." I search for the right words, "fun we could do?"
"What sort of activities are you fond of?"
"Umm..." Honesty would get me a long way if I played my cards right. "Reading, horseback riding..." And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. "Archery."
His somber expression immediately shifted into one of great intrigue.
~xXx~
We arrive at the training grounds a half hour later, after Legolas had insisted that I dress into something that was a little more suitable for the occasion.
"Truly though?" the elvish prince tilts his head. "You enjoy archery?"
"Is that a problem?" I lift the training bow he handed me, inspecting the fine wood and string, which was so smooth to the touch.
He shrugs. "I wouldn't say so."
I raise a cynical brow at him. "Are the women in your kingdom not allowed to use such a weapon, let alone serve on the battlefield?"
"Of course they are." He stands in front of me. "I just never took you for a warrior."
"There are many things you don't know about me."
"Indeed." His cerulean eyes stare deep into my own hazel ones.
"Right." I clear my throat and held up my bow. "Excellent craftmanship," I say. "Even by training standards."
"I'm glad you appreciate it," says Legolas, a small smile gracing his sensuous lips.
I return the gesture before focusing onto my bow once more. "Pretty bold of you to assume that I wouldn't use this against you, being your enemy and all." Although a playful shot, there were some truth to my words.
"I would not humor you otherwise if I truly considered you a threat."
"How do you know that I'm not a threat?" I tilt my head. "I have killed people before, you know."
A fact that I will never be proud of.
"You've had every opportunity to kill me since we've first met," he reminds me. "And I doubt my father's guards would allow you to even lift a finger against me should they suspect such sinister intentions from you."
I turn my gaze towards the side of the court, where several elven warriors, all armored and armed with their own bows and arrows, watched us with speculative eyes. "I hope they enjoy the show, then."
"That depends." Legolas rubs his healing chest.
"On what?"
"On whether you'll give them something to cheer or laugh about."
Haha, what a comedian. "Careful now." I twiddle one of my arrows in front of him. "Even little princes can be on the receiving end of a training accident."
He chuckles, and with an incline of his head, steps away to join our audience.
Biting my lower lip, I turn to face the first target not fifteen yards away from me, and knock my arrow into the string of my bow before pulling it back in one fluid motion. I glance at Legolas, who in turn gave me an encouraging nod. Without wasting another second, I release my arrow, watching in satisfaction as it soared into the bullseye with deadly accuracy.
~xXx~
Until next time, my faithful readers! As always, your reviews are much appreciated.
