Chapter 2 - Miraculous
Isobel couldn't think. She could hardly breathe as her feet carried her automatically from the king's halls. Angrily the young woman charged out into the cool night air, hardly noticing that she'd brushed past the guard with such haste she'd nearly knocked him over. The ground crunched softly beneath her boots as she broke into a sprint. Greenery blew past her in a blur as her exhausted body, fuelled only by fury at this point, carried her forward, irrationally as if she could outrun her troubles. Ahead, a low-lying branch lay over the path. Leaping lightly, Isobel caught the roughness beneath her fingers to gracefully flip herself up onto the limb. Further and further she climbed, hardly realising how far or how long she'd been going until her head erupted through the canopy.
The air was much cooler up here as it blew past the young woman's skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake. Only then did her mind begin to slow. Isobel closed her eyes momentarily, bidding her sprinting heart to slow while she took stock of her current location. For how long she had run or in what direction, the young woman couldn't conceive. Her body had reacted upon impulse and thus when she opened her eyes once more, Isobel found herself upon the highest branches of a tree somewhere in the forest. Leaves caressed her arms softly, eliciting more shiverings from the young woman. The stars were bright tonight, she mused tiredly, allowing her to see clearly through the darkened evening. Spy a flet nearby, the young woman slid down a couple of branches to allow her to move more easily between the trees. Hauling herself up onto the timber platform, she crossed her legs as she settled herself in for a long night of subversive thoughts.
How could he be so arrogant, she wondered angrily. How could he be so so cruel and dispassionate? She loved Legolas! Surely that should have been enough. What gave the ill-tempered being the right to dictate the terms of their love?
He's the king, the rational voice in her mind reminded her dryly. And as the king, he gets to write the rules for all those in his domain. Including Legolas. Including you.
But that sentiment hurt the young woman fiercely nonetheless. After the events of the War of the Ring and the subsequent peace that she'd made with herself, Isobel had naively thought that all of her past anxiety was behind her. She had known that the king upon first instinct would baulk against her union with Legolas, purely because the elf prince was his son. But she had naively hoped that her history with Thranduil, through the love and respect they'd developed for one another, that he would come to embrace her as his daughter. But alas, no. Instead there were more rules. More hurdles to jump through, more tunes to dance to; ever someone else dictating the terms of her own life and body.
What the hell did that even mean anyway?! "Reach your true potential?"
Had she not grown so much while she was away? She was now fully in control of her magic! There was no longer a reason to be afraid, not for herself and not for others. Isobel truly believed that she was freed from that cage. But Thranduil has demanded something more from her. What exactly, the young woman could only begin to guess.
The hours rolled by silently for Isobel as she sat as still as a statue, lost in thought. It was here that Legolas eventually found her. In her haste, Isobel had not paid any mind to hiding her tracks when she'd left and so the fair elf had been able to follow her well, even through the dark. Gracefully he bounded between the branches, leaping and weaving with ease, to settle himself beside the young woman.
"Hi," she said quietly, staring at her hands as they lay twisted in her lap.
"Isobel," Legolas breathed a sigh of relief. After his father had informed him of the ultimatum he had fixed upon their union, Legolas himself had needed some time to settle his own thoughts. But when the young woman failed to return after several hours, he grew worried. Finding her here safe, did settle his heart briefly. But not enough.
"He told you," the young woman said. It was not a question.
"Yes."
Nodding slowly, a sigh left Isobel's lips. "Now what?" she said, almost ruefully.
Taking a deep breath, the blonde elf replied cautiously. "My father and I don't always see eye to eye. There are many things that we've clashed heads over through the years. And there are many times where I have defied him. But Iz," the elf paused briefly, to meet his young lover's stare. "I happen to agree with him on this one."
Surprised indignation coloured Isobel's face, her jaw falling open in both disgust and distress. Raising defensive hands, Legolas' quickly clarified.
"I don't agree with placing restrictions on our union. I will marry you, one way or another. But I do think he's right when it comes to your powers."
Isobel said nothing, unable to speak behind her hurt as wide sapphire eyes stared disbelievingly at the elven prince. Leaning forward to capture her small hands in his own, Legolas clutched them tightly as he spoke. She felt cold beneath his touch, whether from the cooling night breeze or shock, the elf was unsure.
"I love you. And I only want the best for you. But I can't help but feel that there's more for you. It's inexplicable but I can feel something inside you, like a light as powerful as the sun, bursting to get out. I think this is what my father sees too. Behind the facade he loves you too. Although he's not so diplomatic with words."
"I – I don't -" confused, Isobel could hardly form words as her mind turned over Legolas' admission.
"I will marry you, Isobel. Even if I have to defy my father. Again. But I do believe it would be remiss of us to not explore this further."
"How?" The word tumbled out of Isobel's numb lips.
"There is a wizard who resides nearby here. I wish to take you to see him."
"Okay." the young woman murmured, still in shock and decidedly unsure of herself once more. Questions raced through her mind. With a sombre expression, Legolas leaned forward to press his lips softly to her own. But the young woman, still entangled in the web of doubt, did not respond. Taking her face in his hand, Legolas forced her to look at him.
"I will marry you," he reiterated, cerulean eyes flashing with conviction. With a sigh of acquiescence, the young woman gave herself over to the determined kiss.
Thranduil walked through the darkened forest of his home. He often liked to take a late night stroll through his domain. Especially when his mind was troubled, as it was this night. It was a pleasant night. There was a peace in the trees as he strolled noiselessly along. The king allowed it to settle in his heart, quelling the malcontent that had settled there. Even as he had said the words to Isobel this evening, his long and buried heart had rebelled in protest. He knew it was cold. Cruel, even. But he had been unable to stop himself from uttering them, nonetheless. It wasn't so much that he objected to Isobel as a daughter-in-law. No, quite the opposite, as he wholeheartedly believed she'd make a exceptional wife for Legolas and princess for Mirkwood. But what he saw within the young woman was in fact hope. A subtle hope. But one that he, himself, had long thought dead beyond possibility. And so, as brutal as it had seemed, Thranduil had pushed Isobel away in a bid to inspire her. He could only hope that she was up to the challenge.
How long he had strolled aimlessly through the woods, the elven king did not know. But as the wind gently stroked his body, it carried with it the soft sighs of intimacy from above. Thranduil felt a rueful smile tug at his lips as memories of his own marriage flitted through his mind.
Yes, he thought. Judging by the sounds of elation in the canopy, Legolas and Isobel were an irrefutable match.
oOOOo
Having fallen asleep beneath the stars, the pair of lovers had woken somewhat uncomfortably. Sometime in the early hours of the morn the winds had changed direction, bringing with it a ghastly breeze and the cool trickle of rain. Isobel opened her eyes to long brown hair plastered to her face as icy droplets slid over her skin. Unconsciously, when the temperature had dropped so suddenly through the night, Legolas had wrapped himself around her body, cradling her in his arms. As Isobel arose now, it was to one heavy limb draped over her shoulder, effectively pinning her down. With the absence of feeling in the arm trapped beneath her torso and a throbbing pain in her hip from being pressed into the unyielding timber all night, she was feeling a little less than forgiving. With a nudge of her elbow she woke Legolas. A gentle chuckle escaped his fair lips as he took stock of their current predicament. They were soaked through. But how neither had awoken through the downpour was neither surprising nor remiss for exhaustion, both emotional and physical had consumed them both.
Still unable to move courtesy of the weight over her body and the stiffness of her limbs, Isobel was grateful when Legolas mercifully rolled her on to her back. Amusement coloured his cerulean eyes, long streamers of wet platinum hair falling around them them as he positioned himself over her. A melodic chuckle broke through his rosy lips as the fair being noted his companion's disgruntled expression. But as a trickle of water slid down the the handsome elf's cheeks to settle on the tip of his nose, the young woman felt a smile tug at the corner of her lips too.
"Well, this is an interesting way to wake," Legolas said, enjoying the feeling of her lithe form beneath his. Smirking once more, his gaze raked her body, revelling in the way her saturated tunic clung to her, leaving little to the imagination.
"You're cold," he murmured, noting her strained nipples as they peaked through the thin fabric.
Leaning down his breath tickled her ear as he whispered suggestively, "Luckily I know a way to warm up."
Despite the chill, gradually their clothes were lost once more, their fëas rejoicing as their bodies united once again.
oOOOo
The pair returned to the citadel much later, and impossibly, much wetter. Despite the continued dreary weather, the young lovers had spent the day laughing, kissing and touching beneath the foliage of Legolas' home, both desperately needing to feel the wholesomeness of their love. By the time they'd returned, solemnity had settled in their hearts once more. As they approached the gate they were met by a pair of stern-faced guards. These were indeed the same pair that Isobel had nearly knocked over as she'd flown out of the castle gates in her haste yesterday. Suffice to say they were less than impressed when the sodden pair returned, seeking entrance once more. Rebellion clung to the both of them, as did their clothes, all manner of decorum having washed away in the downpour. It would have been improper for lowly guards to pass judgement upon their prince for his current bedraggled state. So the pair instead fixed Isobel with a withering glare that belied their rank disapproval. Rolling his eyes, Legolas ignored the guards to snatch Isobel's hand in his own and pull her through the archway. Meeting his amused stare, the lovers snickered as they bounded up the stairs in search of warm clothes.
Having dried and dressed, Isobel now found herself seated at a table of what could only be described as torture. Clothed in a delicately embroidered gown, she had been unable to formulate an acceptable refusal when the king had invited her to dinner. And so here she now sat at the elaborately carved table in awkward silence with Legolas and the prospective father-in-law who had just rejected her. Dimly, Isobel wondered if this had been how it was between father and son before her arrival all those years ago; superficial conversations reverberating around an otherwise barren relationship.
As their first course was placed before them, the king eyed the young woman impassively. Her long chestnut hair flowed in waves down her back, the delicateness of her porcelain features, wide almond-shaped blue eyes, topped off with soft, rosy lips; she really was beautiful, even by elven standards. Even the way she conducted herself, with careful gestures and astute words, was nothing short of flawless. And as she spoke to him now, despite their disagreement earlier, Isobel conducted herself with faultless decorum, her distinct dislike for the elven king masked indiscernibly behind a well practised facade. Only those who knew her well, as Thranduil did, would have ever detected the subtle glint of distaste in her eyes. The girl's sense of propriety would serve her well in these halls, the elven king mused.
Their food was largely consumed in silence, so Thranduil found his mind wondering to the passage of change the young woman had brought to his halls. In those first few months after Legolas had dragged her through his doors, Thranduil thought of Isobel as nothing more than a helpless whelp. For lack of a better description, he would have described her as caved in on herself, like a dog, down-beaten and desperate as it begged for scraps at it's superior's table. She'd cowered from him the first time he'd encountered her alone, seemingly waiting for him to strike. But he had not for it was not in his nature to mindlessly squash ants.
In those early days, the king had found Isobel's presence an annoying aberration, one that he'd hoped his son would rectify quickly. But alas, the months had stretched on and so had the time they'd spent together. And day by day, through the patience, understanding and friendship of his son and the ranger, gradually the withered blossom had begun to bloom. She became a proficient master of archery and swordsmanship, her lithe form serving her well where sheer physical strength did not. And before long she was able to spar efficiently, matching elven masters far older and more experienced than her own tender years. As her competency and control had grown, so had her confidence. And so it turned out that beneath the shadow the whelp was in fact charming, intelligent and had a wicked sense of humour. The laughter that touched her eyes brought with it a vibrancy and vitality that the stale halls of Thranduil's kingdom had been missing for many millennia.
It was one such evening, not unlike the present, that Isobel had first joined Thranduil on his nightly stroll through the forest. Needless to say he was irritated by the company and the string of inane questions that had fallen from her lips to fill the void of silence between them. Probing questions, that largely were none of her business, and while the elven king had half a mind to tell her so, had had answered them nonetheless in the interests of maintaining civility. Things like, "What was Legolas like an elfling?" "Why do you reside under the mountain?" and "How fast can an elf run?"
But occasionally, the young woman would ask something completely out the blue. Something soulful and profound that belied her young years.
As the elven king sat with the pair in awkward rumination, he was reminded of one such time. It was a few days after she'd begun to join him on his habitual strolls through the trees. Uncharacteristically, Isobel had been silent this night, seemingly lost in thought over the events of the day. Unsurprisingly, Thranduil had been grateful for the reprieve. But just as they were nearing the halls, Isobel had turned to him with a saddened vulnerability written all over her face that had surprised the older being.
"My Lord," she had murmured, her alabaster skin reflecting in the moonlight. "Do you believe in love?"
The elven king had baulked, coming to a sudden stop to face the origin of the deeply personal question. Arching one delicate eyebrow, he remained silent for a moment as he formulated a response to the surprising enquiry.
"Do you?" he asked finally.
Isobel's brow had creased, a pained expression flitting briefly across her features, before it was lost behind the mask once more.
"No." she said with finality. "How can I? My brother sold me like nothing more than shiny trinket to a tyrant."
While the elven king had said nothing in response, he was left with the echo of the probing question flickering through his own mind. Did he believe in love? After so much pain and loss, the fair being didn't know anymore. But what surprised him the most was that he'd found Isobel's reply distressing, despite previously claiming to hold no affection for her. It was in that moment that Thranduil had realised that the young woman had in fact wormed her way into his heart.
By the end of the meal only words of triviality had been exchanged. Seemingly neither Legolas nor Isobel had wished to endure his presence longer than necessary and they'd both risen to depart as soon as the final course was finished. And while that sentiment pained the elven king, he could not allow himself to feel regret. He needed to drive Isobel to be greater. Mirkwood needed her to be greater.
A hand clamped itself around the young woman's wrist as she turned to depart, a gasp falling from her fair lips as she turned sharply to face the king.
"Be safe," was all he said and for a moment, Isobel thought she saw a shadow of affection in his otherwise steel grey eyes.
oOOOo
Legolas and Isobel, along with a small contingent of elven warriors, had departed the next day. As was custom when they travelled, only meagre supplies had been brought with them, allowing the companions to live largely from the land. Housed in the small brown pack on Legolas' back was a couple of water skins, their sleeping rolls and a few rations of dried meat. While for many travellers this would seem inadequate, for the elves the unencumbrance allowed them to travel swiftly and efficiently. And with the added advantage of having a witch with them who also happened to be an animagus, that meant that any further supplies could be easily sought.
The three compansions who travelled with the pair were trusted friends and confidants of Legolas'. While many elves had not initially accepted Isobel so readily in the early days, these three in particular, had always been warmly welcoming and she, in turn, trusted them implicitly.
The first of the three, Tauriel, was a beautiful elf maiden with long auburn hair. As Mirkwood's captain of the guard she was also a fierce warrior and champion of the forest. But she was also deeply saddened. Isobel had first met the elven warrior fresh from rescue by Legolas and Aragorn. And in the early days the grief and terror that had shrouded the young woman's soul had inadvertently found kinship in the redheaded guard. Though initially she hadn't understood it, there was a sense of familiarity, a comradery that seemingly came from being different in the eyes of their Silvan compatriots. Isobel was the mortal in amongst those with endless life, and, as she'd learned in time, Tauriel was the elf maiden who had fallen in love with a dwarf; one who was now dead. And while Legolas had explained that had been many years ago, for the way it dampened the elven warrior's spirit this was irrelevant. Until she'd met Isobel, many had considered Tauriel to be living a half-life; one where the body remains, but the soul is absent. But as Isobel had healed, unconscionably she had taken Tauriel with her. And while the redheaded warrior would never shine bright the way she once had, she had found herself once again through a friendship with a young mortal.
Their other two companions were Legolas' childhood friends, Elfaron and Rìan. One was tall and blonde, the other short with dark brown hair and a bold personality to match his diminished stature. Both were like brothers to the elven prince. Though they had initially expressed their reticence at Legolas bringing a clearly troubled young woman home with him, it hadn't been long before they too had fallen for the charm of the diamond behind the tainted shroud.
The group chatted happily as they travelled through the greenery, the glory of the day bringing a lightness to their hearts. Ecstatic at being reunited with the trio of elves, Legolas animatedly retold their story of their travels from Rivendell to the conclusion of the war at the Black Gate. Isobel had observed the monologue through silent joy, allowing the elven prince the time and freedom to reacquaint himself with his dearest friends. Only when Legolas had reached the dramatic end, the part where Isobel had decimated the armies of Mordor with a single spell, did their attentions fall upon her. Three pairs of wide eyes had turned to the young woman, the shock plainly evident on their fair faces. While they had known of Isobel's abilities, never in the wildest depths of their imagination had any of them thought she could be capable of such magic.
For a tense moment, Isobel had thought that Legolas' had perhaps erred when he had revealed her power, for the elves remained motionless, their mouths hanging open dumbly as they continued to stare.
But it was then she noticed the wetness glinting in the corner of Tauriel's eyes. "You did that?" the redheaded elf breathed, a combination of awe and gratitude evident in her fair voice.
Biting her lip, Isobel only nodded once. In a blur of auburn hair she was enveloped tightly as a rush of words tumbled from the female warrior's lips. "I never – I always knew there was something incredible about you." Isobel heard Legolas' familiar melodic chuckle through the air as two other pairs of arms wrapped themselves around the women. Soon the group were pseudo-wrestling, laughter falling easily between them, as the males of the group turned what was meant to be an affectionate gesture into a competition over who could squeeze the young mortal tighter.
"Okay, okay," Legolas said snickering, his eyes still alighted with amusement as he pried the elves away from his lover one-by-one. Once free, the elven prince slid an arm around Isobel's slender waist, squeezing her gently as he kissed her temple. Pride emanated from the fair being, washing over the young woman evidently still decidedly unsure of her place in the world. As pleasant as this was, this was all new to Isobel – the acceptance – and she was not quite sure she could believe it. Experience told her that people's opinions of her could alter as swiftly and unpredictably as the changing of the winds.
Friendships were easy to betray when you were afraid.
Legolas' eyes met with Isobel's own, the warmth of the elven ones effectively quelling the tension that had settled within the young woman's heart once more. Yes. Just maybe, she thought as the taught lines softened on her face.
But the reverie was broken by the sharing of a knowing stare and a snigger between the lovers' male companions. Legolas' expression was dark as he turned an unamused glower on the immature warriors, causing Elfaron and Rìan to dissolve into fits of uncontrollable laughter. Fortunately their joy was infectious and before long all five were howling along with one another.
It felt good to be so free.
Having finally regained their composure, the group resumed their journey once more, and before long they had reached the enchanted river that cut through the heart of the forest. The mood between the group suddenly became sombre for they knew they would have to cross. Having spent many years in the woodland realm, Isobel was well aware of the stories. Never touch the water, never drink from it's depths, they said, lest you fall into an endless slumber.
Wordlessly, Legolas had led them to a particular spot well known to the elves, and often used for crossing the river. Here, long tree limbs extended low between the embankments, acting as a make-shift bridge. Though the limbs were sturdy, they were not particularly wide. And while that was not an issue for her fleet-footed elven companions who gracefully glided over the bark, for the marginally less agile mortal woman, it took a good deal more nerve and concentration. Courtesy of the deluge the day before, the moss that coated the limb of their bridge was slippery beneath her feet and for one horrifying moment, Isobel felt herself stumble. Falling to a crouch with a gasp, she managed to regain her balance, the slimy moss squishing between her fingers as she registered just how close she had come to falling into the ominous black depths. Accursed torrents trickled past with an almost soothing sound as the water weaved casual paths around fallen rocks. And for one curious moment, the inky darkness, so dense it produced no reflections, almost seemed inviting to the young woman in it's oddity.
Only now did she register that something had already begun in her mind; a thrumming of sorts. An insistent nagging, it begged her to let go and slide into the cool.
"Isobel?" Rìan questioned from the other side of the embankment, noting with concern that the young woman had not yet regained her footing.
Confused, Isobel stared with knitted eyebrows and ever increasing intensity, her gaze trying to pierce beyond the surface and deeper into the blackened depths.
"It calls to me," she replied softly, not looking up.
"What?"
But before the elves could register, Isobel let go, stretching her lithe body out as she dove into the cursed river. Panicked shouts reached her ears just before she plunged into the icy gloom and deafening silence. The cold stole the very air from her lungs and she could not see a thing but her head was clear as she swam deeper and deeper against the current. The young woman could not explain it but there was something in the water; something that wanted to be found. Even if she could not see it, she could hear it's call deep in her mind. Like the pounding of a thousand drums, it became louder and more insistent the further she swam. Finally it reached a deafening crescendo and she reached out blindly, the sandy riverbed sliding between her fingers as her hand closed on something small and hard. With the last burst of her breath, Isobel's feet desperately sought the floor of the river where she launched herself towards the surface. Blackness began to fade her senses, her lungs burning to draw breath. Just as she could hold on no more her head broke the surface.
With a cry, strong pairs of arms hoisted the young woman's body from the water. Carefully she was laid in a trembling heap upon the soft grassy embankment. The sodden young woman was a mess. Desperate coughing racked her small frame painfully, her panicked lungs seemingly expanding beyond their capacity, as the little water she'd swallowed made it's way up. Wrapping her ribs in unsteady arms, the Isobel curled in on herself while her assaulted body attempted to calm.
Irate blue eyes and platinum hair danced before her vision as long slender fingers gripped her shoulder almost painfully.
"Have you taken leave of your senses?!" Legolas snapped, his fair voice marked with a hardness she'd never heard before.
But between the sprinting her heart and the violent way her chest had her still gasping, Isobel was unable to speak. Instead she flopped a shaky arm down flat on the grass, her palm falling open to reveal her prize. The group stared at the small almond-shaped object. No bigger than a pebble, the black and grey striped offering sat accusingly as it lay upon her pale skin.
"What is it?" Elfarion asked from behind the group.
Unable to answer, Isobel had closed her eyes now in a bid to slow her panicked body and tame the shivering that had begun unbidden across her frame. Before any further questions could be uttered, the soft voice of Rìan spoke.
"Legolas look!" The tall blonde elf's voice was full of wonder as he pointed to the river. For the minute Isobel had removed the item from enchanted waters, a change had begun. It was as if someone had pulled the plug from a putrid drain. The black had begun to fade, swirling away downstream as inky tendril, leaving behind only crystal clear water and nothing more than a foul memory.
For the group of elves, still young in the minds of the firstborn, they were seeing the river anew for the first time in their lives. As they stood marvelling at the beauty, mouths agape, they could see that the bottom of the riverbed was flush with life. Aquatic plant life swayed gently with the smooth current, tiny fish weaving darting between the reeds.
"You broke the enchantment," Rìan murmured, wonderment alighted in his moist blue eyes as they fixed upon the young woman.