Lastande knew she shouldn't do it. But she was never one to listen to logic, and her hotheaded temper often got her into trouble. Only this time, she wasn't in trouble with some language tutor or archery trainer. No, now she was in trouble with the King of the Woodland Realm, and she was actually fairly pleased with herself.
In all honesty, he was asking for it. Thranduil's provocations – his harsh words and his close proximity to her face – all added up to one simple, brash solution: a quick spit in his face and a powerful head-butt to his forehead. It wasn't nearly as elegant a response as she had desired, but the usually composed king's stumble from her bedside and gasping for air made up for that small sacrifice. She grinned, a small laugh escaping her lips at his pain – a laugh that was quickly silenced by a single, darting glare from his piercing eyes. Her mouth grew serious, but her eyes still danced with amusement at Thranduil's surprise.
"Your father – " he hissed at her.
"My father," she cut him off sharply, "Is leagues away in Gondor. What will you do, light the beacons to tell him of this latest offense?"
Thranduil fumed across from her, but said nothing. Lastande's stomach clenched slightly, much preferring a confrontation to his silence. They sat staring at each other for several moments, she gazing defiantly, he glaring angrily, until the Elven king broke their silence.
"May I continue?" he asked snidely, raising his eyebrows at her.
Lastande smirked and nodded her permission, remaining silent in the face of Thranduil's attempted intimidation.
"Your father," he continued, "Has requested you travel with me to Rivendell-"
"Rivendell!" she exclaimed. "Why would my father…?" She trailed off upon seeing the anger return to Thranduil's eyes. She closed her mouth and nodded, face burning with embarrassment.
"Thank you," he nodded with a slight smirk playing on his lips. "We leave tomorrow. That is all you need to know."
The king stood and sauntered away, gathering his grand robes behind him and starting to leave her glimmering quarters. A sharp cry from Lastande stopped him.
"Wait! You have to tell me more. You've just said my heritage might not be what I assumed. Now you're telling me that, within the mere past hours, you've received word all the way from the City of Gondor from my father. What do you keep from me?"
Silence came from across the room. Thranduil stood motionless, his grand robes shimmering with the starlight pouring through the branching ceiling of her room. He turned slowly to face her, still standing near the door.
"You need to know nothing. Everything will be told to you as pertinent. Until then, consider yourself under my protection."
She snorted.
"Consider myself under your protection?" she responded mockingly, imitating the slow grandeur of his voice. "I'm not so certain how I feel about that. You, who shut yourself and your kingdom away for centuries within this dark hole at the corner of Middle Earth, you, who refuse to aid others at your borders who demand help, you, who turn away the weary and the lonely-"
A stinging slap to the face cut off her words. She hadn't even seen the elven king move, but she sat in gaping silence now, clutching the stinging cheek and attempting to stem the tears that pricked at the corners of her eyes. Thranduil stood dangerously close, his eyes blazing with anger.
"Do not speak to me of my kingdom," he hissed. "You could never understand ruling, you could not possibly comprehend the sacrifices I have made for my people."
He stood and turned away from her, staring into the starlit ceiling. Lastande sat silently, warily watching his movements. He again broke their shared silence.
"I will protect you to my best, Lastande," he said softly. "But your enemies are numerous, your adversaries are countless." Thranduil turned to face her. "I do not expect you to trust me. I've turned you away from our borders too many times; I've sent you back to a homeland where you do not belong. But now, the darkness grows in the deep, and the shadows stretch again into our lands. Now, we must put aside past things for things greater and deeper and more sinister."
Lastande sat in raptured silence at his words. Slowly, she nodded her comprehension. He turned to face her as she did. His face seemed to have aged a thousand years; his eyes seemed burdened with the weight of the lives of a thousand souls. He nodded his response and walked toward her. She shrank back, but he reached out slowly to her angrily red cheek and touched it with a cool hand. Immediately, the pain receded. She smiled. He nodded.
"I will send a servant to help you pack and to dress your wound for the journey. We cannot reach Rivendell quick enough with your spreading poison. Until tomorrow, Lastande," he bowed his exit.
"Until tomorrow, Thranduil," she responded, whispering against the starlight.