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*** Note I – A big thank you to those favoring, following and reviewing my fanfic, it really lifts my spirits~! You people are awesome~! :D ***

*** Note II – Disclaimer: I obviously do not own the too-awesome-for-words Tolkien Universe. I only own my OCs – Lyrial, Thranéal, Aeluin, Arayan, Siraphin, Ciertan, Cierdan, and Dûrion. ***

*** Note III – I feel bad when I don't update for a while . . . Even if it is just a week . . . But it's been over a month. QAQ I blame school work and the fact that I don't publish until the chapter is as humanly perfect as possible. . . ;_; The patience is, however, much appreciated, so thank you~ \(^-^)/ *CoughSucreTeen123CoughRemindingMeEveryDamndayCough.* xDDD ***

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~ 003 - Intervention ~

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"How beautiful is this life? How painful is this life?"

~ CL, MTBD, 2NE1

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Thranduil sat on a soft, green pile of grass with his long legs stretched out before him. His back connected to the bark of a tree, whose leaves displayed vibrant colours of red, orange and yellow. Sleep had not graced him, for he only had three hours of it. As soon as he woke up early in the night, the Elvenking pulled on his light brown leather boots and made way to the private gardens; without bothering to grab for a night-robe or overcoat. Since then, he had been relaxing in said lovely private garden. Two sentinels stood at the entrance, a third stood ten feet to the king's left and a fourth stood ten feet to his back.

The fireflies created a magical effect on the garden as their light touched the plants and flowers with such gentle, delicate grace. A few landed in Thranduil's hair, complementing its platinum blonde colour perceived as silver in the dark. The breeze was chilly albeit he found it mildly cool.

Spotting lilac-coloured hyacinths a few feet away, Thranduil's mind wondered to an elleth he imprisoned a week and almost two days ago. The purple of the flowers immediately reminded him of her eyes, her delicate rich amethyst eyes. He found them quite captivating; beautiful, and he was drawn into them. He never meant for the questioning to turn into an argument, but certain fears pertaining to the past had him saying what he had said.

He was in shock-surprise when Lyrial mentioned her ending up here from a different world where she was a human. He actually, in a way, believed some parts of her story; but was unsure about most of it, as he did not entirely believe the "different world" portion. He knew she was not sent from the enemy; and yet, he ordered her imprisonment due to caution and slight fear clouding his proper judgement: She came questionably and innocently, just as Mairon did as he had oh-so-graciously presented rings of power to the different races. She could have had ulterior motives; Mairon sure did, the sneaky bastard. He had then contemplated her as a possible collaborator to the assassination attempts as his mind briefly wandered off to the failed one, fifteen hours prior to her arrival.

When he gripped her jaw and forced her to look into his eyes, Thranduil wanted to read into her to know for sure that Lyrial was not an enemy and that she was speaking the truth. The fact that he saw nothing made him cautious and uneasy.

The Elvenking had voiced out these thoughts of his to Thranéal, the day after she confronted him about the resumption of the attempts. She had smiled at him, and had given him a hug, for she completely understood him; and their avoidance and brief hostility towards each other stopped.

And then she said: "At least consider the truth to her 'story.' You were not able to read her, correct? That could be because she is foreign, and not, in fact, from this world."

Bright sunlight peeking through the edges of the world brought Thranduil out of his thoughts. He stood up and strolled into the palace.

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"Lirimaer, you seem troubled. Talk to me."

"I want out. NOW," Lyrial demanded grumpily. "I've been cooped up for years."

Aeluin light-heartily laughed and rose his brow in amusement. "A week and almost nine days is considered years for you? Do not worry, I'm sure my brother will change his mind." She hummed doubtfully.

"There is something else on your mind," he stated after a moment whilst his eyes pierced intently through hers.

"There is . . . It's really important, but Thranéal needs to be present as well. Where is she?"

"Bathing –"

"I'm here!" The Sinda princess came into view, to which Aeluin mumbled a "Never mind."

He flicked his finger at his sister's forehead. "Well that was fast."

Thranéal harshly poked her brother's waist with a glare, then turned to Lyrial with a smile. "Lyrial, my darling, if there were no bars, I would attack you in a hug."

Lyrial smiled back, pleased at how far their friendship has gotten within only nine days. "Thranéal, darling, if there were no bars, I would do the same. Oh, and since you're both here. . ." she stood closer to the bars, ". . . I have something to share, regarding another assassination attempt against your brother scheduled for some time today."

The elven siblings looked at each other gravely, then back to Lyrial, and they stood closer to the bars as well.

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An arrow lodged itself in the target's center. Another was lodged one millimetre above that. And then another. And another . . . All situated around the centre.

Thranduil notched a fifth arrow and released the bow string. Unlike the others, this arrow pierced the edge of the target, to which he sighed and glared at the arrow.

"You almost missed. So unlike you. . ."

"Yes, Aeluin, thank you for stating the obvious," the Elvenking sarcastically replied and fixated his younger brother with eyes of irritation. His gaze travelled to the ellon behind him, and he gave a small smile of satisfaction. "Suil, Arayan."

The emerald-eyed captain returned the smile and bowed his head. "Suil, mellon nîn! 'Tis a fine day for archery, is it not?"

Before Thranduil could respond, Aeluin spoke up. "So, you greet him and ignore me? How kind of you to do so. . ."

"I am trying to relieve stress, Aeluin," Thranduil began sassily, gesturing to the arrow-filled target, "And your presence is just escalating it."

The icy blue-eyed prince feigned hurt as he dramatically closed his eyes and placed a hand above is chest over his heart. "Oh, dear brother, your words wound me so! How did I warrant such treatment?"

"By being you," an amused Arayan stated and poked Aeluin's waist, to which his eyelids snapped open, and he returned the poke with a little more force.

Thranduil chuckled and playfully rolled his eyes, and took aim at his target once more. Peripheral vision-wise, he noticed the two ellyn having a mini archery contest: Arayan situated a few feet from him, shooting at a target some feet next to his; and Aeluin, aiming at the target next to the captain's.

His thoughts travelled to one of the recent causes to his stress, regarding a morning conversation with Dûrion, one of the councillors. Sure, he was straight-forward and unhesitant, but. . .

"Kill her."

"Excuse me?"

"I am suggesting that you order her execution, Aran nîn."

"I do not kin-slay, Dûrion, you know this. And do not even get me started on the Moriquendi; their fate to die is inevitable."

"Ahhh, but what if your little prisoner is, in fact, a Dark Elf?"

"I know for sure that she is not. In fact, I am considering to believe her story."

"Aran nîn, why? Even if she is from another world, she does not belong here. Execute her, and rid this world of an unnecessary foreigner."

"I am not going to kill her for that reason! She could have been sent to Arda, for a simple second chance at life; to create a better life for herself than the one she had before."

"Her ostensible innocence is affecting you."

"It is not, Dûrion. I will not end a possible innocent life."

"Hm, then I do hope that you see through her illusion."

"If there is even an illusion to see through. Why are you desperate to want her dead?"

No answer. . .

Hmm, yes: Why did Dûrion want her dead so badly?

A sudden crunch of wood returned Thranduil to the present, as his just recently-fired arrow split the arrow protruding from the center in half.

"He seems to be in deep thought. . ."

"He is in deep thought," responded Aeluin as he plucked his arrows from the target, and placed them in his quiver.

Arayan, doing the same thing with his arrows, hummed in response. "We should keep a sharper eye; the hour after the midday meal is almost up."

Aeluin noticed some slight movement in one of the trees, many feet away from Thranduil's back. "Yes . . . we should. . ." As they strolled away from their freshly plucked targets to where they were shooting from; Aeluin, with his eyes, indicated to the tree he witnessed movement from. Arayan, following that indication, briefly glanced over the tree. He had seen no movement, but had instantly caught on, and gave an understanding nod of his fair head.

They stood at their original positions, aiming at their targets once again. Their sensitive ears were on full-alert, listening to every sound, down to the lightest rustle of leaves. They were in sync as they released their arrows, landing in the center of their respective targets.

The prince and captain heard the unnatural movement of a tree branch, to which they shared a look. Arayan secured his bow to his back, loosely crossed his arms, and made himself look like he wanted to observe his friend shoot. Aeluin, on the other hand, slowly twirled an arrow between his fingers.

Their ears picked up the feint sound of a bowstring being pulled back. It was not Thranduil – else the sound would not have been feint – and it was certainly not them.

And then all that mattered was speed and agility.

Arayan twirled around whilst unsheathing his intricately designed curved elven broadsword and extended his arm, so that his blade covered a part of Thranduil's fair head. Half a second later, a poison-tipped arrow bounced off of his sword and dropped to the grass.

Simultaneously, Aeluin spun around while notching an arrow, and released it into the trees. A figure landed flat on the ground, with Aeluin's arrow embedded in his right temple.

Thranduil, eyes widened then narrowed, looked over the dead figure. "A Haradan assassin . . . ?"

A pinecone fell from a tree across the archery range.

Arayan made to block the incoming arrow, but Thranduil was faster. The Elvenking pivoted and blocked the second poison-tipped arrow with his intricately designed curved elven long dagger. He muttered, "Huitho," as the arrow flipped backwards on impact and dropped to the ground.

As that happened, Aeluin notched another arrow to his bow and released it into the direction that the arrow came from. A cry of pain was heard, followed shortly by a second Haradan assassin falling to the ground, an elven arrow embedded into his right shoulder. He staggered up and turned to escape, only to have a harsh kick delivered to his abdomen. The back of the olive-tanned man from Harad collided with a sturdy tree and he fell to his knees.

A familiar head of wavy pale gold hair came into sight, as Thranéal bent down, hauled the man to his feet, and secured his arms behind his back. She had her grip around his wrists as she walked him down the range towards her brother, whom she saw give orders to two sentinels. They lifted the dead Haradan and carried him away, right after Aeluin pulled his arrow from the mortal's temple.

Thranduil turned to the Southron in Thranéal's grip. The mortal gazed up in trepidation at the Elvenking towering over him with unreadable eyes, and he felt an uncomfortable presence entering his mind. The presence was unexplainable to the mortal, but he had felt violated as a few scenes from his memories suddenly appeared to the front of his mind.

Thranduil mockingly smirked, and he gave a tug on the arrow protruding from the man's right shoulder, to which said man gave a brief cry as more blood spurted from his wound. The ellon turned to two other sentinels. "Send him to the prison once his wound is treated. I do not want him to die of it before I question him."

The ellyn saluted their king, grabbed the Haradan, and marched on to complete their orders.

Icy sapphire eyes turned to his siblings and the captain, and he rose a questioning brow. . .

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The CiCi Twins – as Lyrial mentally dubbed them – led her through the winding halls of the Elvenking's palace, for said king requested to see her. Oh, how good it feels to be out of that prison! The sun was setting, but the interiors were a lot brighter compared to the prison.

The handsome face of Captain Siraphin graced her eyes, as the three of them turned a corner to find him exiting the throne room. She avoided his narrowed gaze and brief scowl at her, and focused her eyes to the doors behind him. The twins saluted their golden-haired captain, to which he nodded his head in acknowledgement, and his violet eyes turned kind upon looking at his nephews. He left, and the twins and elleth entered the throne room.

Thranduil stood majestically tall, a few feet from the stairs to the throne, with his arms loosely clasped behind him. Thranéal stood to the side with her arms loosely crossed, and resting along her abdomen. Her deep turquoise eyes sparkled, and she produced a comforting smile to which Lyrial returned it with a weak one. He stopped their approach when they stood at a mere times two arm distance from him, and dismissed the twins. Cierdan gave Lyrial a comforting squeeze on her shoulder and left, followed closely by Ciertan.

Lyrial's discomfort flashed in her eyes as the Elvenking stepped at a closer arm's length. She had not bathed in nine days: She smelled, she knew dirt was visible on parts of her skin; the dirtiest being her still-bare feet, and her dress was dirty along the hems. She did not want him to come any closer. Why is he so damn beautiful? No, beautiful is an understatement . . . No, stop looking at me.

Thranduil's simple one-word question interrupted her thoughts: "Why?"

"Because it's wrong!" Lyrial blurted out, but quickly recomposed herself. Seriously, I save his life and he asks this?! Does he really need more proof – Oh . . . wait. . . Thranduil blinked back at her elfling-like response, and kept silent for her to continue. "I mean, overhearing the conspiracy, I had to tell someone. Life is a precious gift, and to be robbed of it, especially when one doesn't deserve it. . ." she sighed. "I know some wanting others to die . . . The murders, are common; but, it's just so . . . terrible. . ."

Thranduil noticed her lovely eyes watering, and had felt relieved when she blinked back her tears. And then he wondered: Why did he feel relieved when she did not cry; and, why did his heart panic when she was about to? He definitely did not believe in love at first sight, the whole concept, he found, was ludicrous. Albeit, he did, however, believe in intrigue at first sight. . .

"You did not entirely call me here for that."

The Elvenking smirked at her statement. "How perceptive of you." The façade of his unreadable yet calculating eyes lessened to a kinder, I-acknowledge-you look. "I want to thank you for what you've done. . ."

Lyrial bit her lip, confused, and rose a brow. He's being nice to me now?

". . . and I shall no longer deem you a prisoner." Her eyes widened, and she was speechless, for she was now free. "Although I suggest that you stay here for the time being. It will not be wise to leave the realm and explore without much knowledge of this world."

Lyrial nodded in understanding. "So, you believe me, then?"

"I no longer believe you to be an enemy," Thranduil began, "however, I shall believe the fact that you used to be human. And I will accept that you are unfamiliar with these lands. In regards to you hailing from another world: I am considering the truth to that."

She was surprised at his answer, and was quite pleased. Lyrial could not help but smile, although shyly. "Thank you . . . for doing so."

"Think nothing of it."

"Also," Thranéal spoke up happily and moved closer to the two, "I have volunteered to become your temporary guardian until you have adjusted to this world. Now come," she took Lyrial's hand and pulled her to the doors, "You need a bath."

Thranduil had to bite back a snicker at his sister's comment as his eyes lingered on Lyrial's head until they were out the door.

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Musical laughter came from the Sindar princess as Lyrial exclaimed nonsensical things upon entering her new, decently large room.

". . . And oh my goodness, it's an actual BED!" Lyrial jumped onto the queen-sized mattress and sprawled on her stomach with her eyes closed. "Mhmmm . . . A bed . . . It's so soft . . . And big . . . And it smells good, like flowers . . . My precioussss."

"Darling, don't fall asleep; you need to bathe first!" Thranéal tittered, feeling like a mother for a second. She sat on the bed to Lyrial's side and placed a slender hand to the top of her head. "I had a bath prepared for you; at least take it when the water is still warm."

Her head snapped up, and Thranéal's hand recoiled immediately. Lyrial jumped to her feet, her head in the direction of the adjoining bathroom. "Yay, a bathroom!"

"Please do not start," Thranéal face-palmed, to which Lyrial tee-heed and entered the bathroom.

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"They knew, elf. How could they?"

"Oh, do not blame me, mortal! I gave you two orders –"

"You did, and there was no one else in the prison. Save for that she-elf, but she was sleeping."

The elf had a thought. "Or was she?"

The assassin's eyes widened. "So she told them!"

"This is far from good. I still have plans and they will be ruined if she recognizes my voice and informs the King."

"You want me to kill her, then?"

"Yes. Tonight. How is your wound?"

"Elvish medicine really is a wonder! Although my movements will be slowed and I cannot fight to my full potential, I can take care of a weak she-elf."

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Lyrial stepped out of the bath and wrapped herself up in a soft, fluffy towel. She loved it, for she was dirt-free, her hair was no longer oily, and she smelled of cherry blossoms. And then she yawned, for she was sleepy, and the bath had relaxed her tremendously.

She took off her towel and wrapped another, dryer one, around her wet hair. She then grabbed at the nightdress hanging from a hook next to the towel rack and dressed herself. The white gossamer fabric was soft against her skin. Aww, crap . . . LACES. And they're to my back too. I hope Thranéal's outside . . . She removed the towel from her damp hair and raked a hand through it, freeing it from the clumps that stuck together due the wetness.

She opened the washroom door, and shyly took a few steps out whilst supporting the upper part of her nightgown. Thranéal, who was lounging on Lyrial's bed with a book in hand, turned her attention to the younger, shorter elleth. "Oh, right, I gave you the one with back-laces! Turn around."

Lyrial turned so that her back faced the elven princess, to which said princess commenced the lacing. Her amethyst eyes looked over the nightdresses and undergarments piled on top of her desk; and remembered Thranéal mentioning that she had placed orders for her clothing about two days prior. So far the only items completed had included the undergarments, nightwear, and a pair of soft-fabric slippers. The rest of her clothing and footwear will not be finished until three days to a week from now; although, one dress was almost done, and will be ready for wear sometime tomorrow.

"All done."

The bodice was comfortably secure and Lyrial managed another yawn. She turned and hugged Thranéal, and yawned again. "Mmm, thank you."

Thranéal hummed in amusement and returned the hug. "You're welcome; but please, do not fall asleep on me."

"Okaaaayyyy," Lyrial dragged the vowels as she detached from the hug. "Have a good night!"

"You too," Thranéal smiled and grabbed her book.

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She screamed when she woke up, as she felt a sharp point to her throat. She instinctively lifted her knees, one of them bumping into something organically hard. There was a brief male cry, as the assassin fell over the bed and clutched his groin.

Lyrial's legs were tangled within her blankets, and she tripped as she tried to get up. She managed to stand up next to her bed and made to run, but she was slammed against the wall and felt as though the wind zapped out of her.

The assassin had his left hand around her throat. It was tight enough to prevent her from screaming, but not enough to completely restrict her breathing. Her throat hurt, and she felt his nails dig into her neck – she wouldn't be surprised if blood made way to the open from his nails. Oh, fuck it, I'm gonna die! She brought her hands to his single hand, and tried to pry it from her throat.

And then he spoke: "How dare you intervene!"

To which she managed a choked: "I don't . . . K–know . . . What you're . . . Re–referring too!"

"Yes you do!" A long knife cut her cheek, and she gasped in pain. "Hm, from another world, eh? Killing you wouldn't matter, after all, you do not belong here."

Lyrial's eyes widened. How did the human know that?

The Haradan rose his right hand, in which held the knife, but dropped it yet again and doubled over; for the elleth had once again kneed him in the family jewels.

She ran to her door, opened it and took at least two long strides outside into the hallway, before she was slammed into the hallway wall with more force. She screamed, as this time, she was pressed to the wall from her front, and her forehead throbbed in pain as it was pretty much the first thing that slammed into the wall.

"Fucking she-elf!"

She felt dizzy, but would not succumb to feint. And her head hurt and felt as a burning sensation as one of the Haradan's hands held a steady grip in her long platinum blonde locks, pulling on them. She felt him cut a long, painful line from the back of her ear, down to her upper back. It had been slow and painful, and she clenched her teeth as tears made way down her cheeks. Blood was most likely flowing from that carve-in.

Both her arms, unfortunately, happed to be trapped in between the wall and her upper body. How is there no one around here?! She screamed louder and choked on her sobs. "NO, LET GO! GET OFF! HELP, PLEASE!" Someone. . .

And then she felt his grip loosen; his long assassin's knife clanged on the floor, his body following a few seconds later. Her ears picked up the running of boots. She sniffled and sighed in relief.

Lyrial collapsed, unconscious, but was caught by Captain Arayan, as he immediately lifted her into his arms. There were a few sentinels surrounding them.

Thranduil gazed over the dead Haradan with eyes of rage. He roughly pulled his curved long dagger from the mortal's skull.

"Burn his body."

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Lirimaer – Lovely One - (Sindarin)

Suil – Greetings - (Sindarin)

Mellon Nîn – My Friend - (Sindarin)

Aran Nîn – My King - (Sindarin)

Huitho – Fuck - (Sindarin . . . xD)

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*** After Note I – 'Mairon,' meaning "the Admirable One," is Sauron's original name~ :3 ***

*** After Note II – Moriquendi refers to the Dark Elves, as it translates to "Elves of the Darkness." ***

*** After Note III – Haradan is a singular to 'Haradrim.' There were many different terms to this; but it got complicated, and I got lazy . . . OxO . . . So I settled on 'Haradan.' ~ =3 ***

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