CHAPTER 5 - Venom
Wide cerulean eyes surveyed the unconscious woman before him, confusion mingling with the horror as Legolas held her in his arms. She lay as limply as a fish, her back arched awkwardly over the prince's arm, her own arms dangling behind. Blood trickled down Isobel's pale face, her eyes oscillating unnaturally behind her closed eyelids. A dampness began to seep through the prince's own tunic where her body was pressed to him and he realised that Isobel was soaked through. Crinkling his nose at the pungent smell, Legolas surmised with some disgust that this too must be blood.
Harrowed, the elf prince's mind couldn't fathom what could possibly have happened for her to now be as she was. She'd only been gone a few minutes!
Behind him, the shrill sounds of battle strung through the air; the shrieking of metal, the grunts of exertion and the crunching of bones. But the prince had no mind to pay it any attention. Not while his heart lay broken as she was.
"Iz,?" the distressed being whispered urgently, squeezing the young woman's shoulder. "Isobel?"
But there was no response. Whatever horrors had gripped her a moment ago were clearly still active in the young woman's body.
"Legolas!" Tauriel's voice shouted in urgent warning as she parried another foe, tearing the elf prince from his distraction. "This isn't working!"
As he wrenched his gaze from his lover's face, Legolas quickly agreed. With a fierce swipe of his sword, Elfarion sliced the skull clean from one foe's spine. It flew through the air like a ball in some childhood game, landing in the dust several feet away. But this did nothing to slow the smaller elf's opponent whose headless corpse lunged at the warrior with clawed fingers, attempting to tear at his flesh. Elfarion ducked beneath it's outstretched arms, before spinning around to kick it from behind.
For the seasoned warriors the pace was relentless. Their foes were merciless in their blows and near invincible to their defences. In the elf prince's mind it was quickly becoming an unwinnable battle. "Retreat!" he called sharply, sliding an arm under the knees of the young woman to hoist her in his arms.
With a few final quick blows the companions were off, deftly dancing and weaving through the rubble as their sluggish opponents gave chase. Even Legolas, whose lithe prowess was only marginally hampered by the weight of the unconscious woman in his arms, was swift in his retreat. Though gentle, the landscape was rough and guilt spurred through the elf prince each time Isobel's limp head jolted in his arms.
Given how slow their opponents were in their awkward movements, it wasn't long before the elves had far outrun them. They slowed for a moment, though none seemingly out of breath, to take stock of their current predicament. Carefully Legolas lay Isobel's prostrate form on a soft bed of grass, to kneel over her, stroking her face with anxious hands. The young woman was disconcertingly still now, the roving movement of her eyes having ceased sometime during their escape. Worryingly, her shallow breathing was near imperceptible beneath the fair elf's touch.
"Is that blood?" Tauriel asked softly, her brown eyes turning wide as she knelt beside the pair. "What happened?"
"I don't know," Legolas bit, more harshly than he'd intended. Worry had gripped his heart in a tight grasp and was stubbornly refusing to let go.
A hand clapped the elf prince's shoulder, redirecting the distracted elf's attention. "Legolas, we should keep moving. It does not bode well to dwell idly," Rìan whispered urgently, eyeing the trees from where they just came. The elf prince following his friends gaze to scrutinise the foliage with his own discerning eyes.
"We should make for Minas Tirith," he replied, his voice audible despite his lips barely moving as he spoke to the breeze.
Their journey took further few days. A silence hung over the group as they trekked, marked distinct by their increasingly desperate steps as they got closer to their destination. Isobel had yet to wake. Truthfully, given the continued unresponsiveness from the young woman, the elves were beginning to wonder if she ever would. Though his head stoically refused to believe that sentiment, through the panic that tightened in his chest with every step, in his heart Legolas wasn't so sure for even the light of her fea eluded him. The elven prince had refused to be parted from his young lover each night as they'd taken rest. Instead, night after night, he'd insisted on keeping watch while his companions slept. While after the third night they'd had half a mind to argue to the contrary, it was Tauriel who dissuaded them. Tauriel, whose own lover had died in her arms so many decades ago, who would have given anything to spend another waking second with him, knew all too keenly the agony racing through their prince's heart.
By the time they'd arrived at the upper reaches of the citadel, Legolas was could only be described as a shell of his former self. Exhaustion and terror had eroded his resilience like sand on the shores of the sea, stooping the shoulders and shadowing in the eyes of the once proud elf. Aragorn had hardly recognised his friends as the prince had deposited the unconscious young woman upon the table before him, having wordlessly burst in to interrupt a council meeting.
Shock struck itself like lightening through the king's grey eyes as he took in the broken forms of his friends; the wasted shadow of the elf prince and the unearthly stillness of the young woman beneath the bloodstains that marred her skin, hair and clothes. Without another moment's hesitation, Aragorn scooped Isobel up in his arms to carry her to her chambers, their elven friend trailing close behind. What followed was a blur of barked orders to the king's servants for healing herbs, towels and hot water. Calloused fingers, gentle though they were, raked concernedly over the unnatural paleness of Isobel's cheeks as the king softly uttered to her in Sindarin, calling her back to the light.
It was only after a few tense minutes by which time Aragorn had assured himself that Isobel was not in any immediate danger, that he noted the shattered form of the elf prince as he lay slumped in a nearby chair. "Out," the king commanded gently, placing his hand upon the knee of his dearest companion.
Legolas opened his mouth to protest but Aragorn cut him off before he could speak. "There is nothing further any of us can do. We just need to give her time." Sensing further hesitation as it played across the elf's features, he continued with a wry grin, "You must rest. You're no use to us half-alive."
Legolas' features disintegrated into a glower as he recognised the words that he, himself had thrown at the ranger not so long ago before their victory at Helms Deep. With a snort of frustration that sounded so unbecoming from the proud elf, Legolas reluctantly acquiesced, rising upon unsteady feet to retreat to his own room in the king's guest halls.
When Legolas awoke much later in the day, he found Isobel resting peacefully in her room. Sometime during his absence the servants had scrubbed the filth from her hair and skin, before redressing her in clean clothes. As the elf prince approached, he thought with some small measure of comfort how in this moment Isobel could have simply been asleep. Certainly, her breathing was much more even than it had been and with the scents of tranquillity filling the air from the herbs nearby, the fair elf was feeling substantially calmer himself. Carefully he leaned over the prone young woman to place a tender kiss on her lips before settling himself in the softness of the nearby armchair to watch over her.
oOOOo
The smell; this was the first thing that assaulted Isobel's senses as she stirred from her long slumber and she found herself inhaling deeply, the familiarly sweet scent drawing her consciousness forth from the haze of her mind. The second thing she noted was that she was impossibly comfortable. And warm.
Eyes still closed, her brow creased as she dimly recalled how this should not be so. Confused, Isobel stirred, her back arching and limbs gyrating as she turned on her side, stretching the way a cat might upon waking from a delicious spot in the sun. But she was so comfortable in that moment that the only further thought to cross her mind was how easy it would be to slide back into the warm embrace of nothingness.
Those thoughts were disrupted as the mattress shifted suddenly beside her, jarring her mind from her haze. Blue eyes jolted open, blinking rapidly as the sudden intrusion of bright light overwhelmed her senses momentarily. She was lying in a familiar bed in a familiar room, her startled gaze recognising the cream comforter before her as the late afternoon light danced around the room.
"Isobel," her name was a softly spoken whisper. It brushed gently over her skin as an exhale, awash with relief.
She snapped her head towards the sound, her eyes widening as they landed upon the pale face of Legolas. In contrast to their peaceful surrounding, the elven prince looked harried. His expression was tight, a tension firmly set along the planes of his jaw. Isobel's frown deepened in confusion as she noted the sadness shining in his blue eyes as he looked down upon her. Feeling still groggy, she lifted a hand to cup his cheek, her thumb gently tracing the evidence of his sleeplessness where they hung heavily beneath his eyelids.
"What's wrong?" she rasped softly, realising only now just how thirsty she was as her heavy tongue struggled to enunciate the words. "Why do you look so sad?"
A pained sob fell from the fair being's lips at her words. Before her very eyes the tension on Legolas' brown deepened into something akin to agony, his eyelids flitting closed while he reached up to cradle her own hand to his face. He seemed to cave in upon himself, shoulders drooping as he pressed his cheek firmer into her palm. Panic ripped through her heart as a wetness slid over her skin. In the long years of their companionship never had she seen the proud being cry.
"Legolas?" she questioned with more intent. With her free hand she propped herself up on her elbow while her groggy mind danced erratically over innumerable permutations of increasing horror.
What could possibly have happened?!
Legolas' eyes snapped open, meeting the confused expression of the young woman beneath him. The elf's expression crumbled further beneath the unshed tears still glistening in his eyes as Isobel's own roved over his face, searching for an explanation. "I thought you were dead," he whispered, his fair voice breaking on the last syllable.
What?
Isobel's head tilted, the confusion on her face deepening to a frown, as she contemplated the softly spoken words. Legolas watched as her eyes slid out of focus, the fogginess in her consciousness finally beginning to clear. She jolted, bolting sharply upright with a gasp. Painful memories slapped her in the face, before chilling down her body like a bucket of ice and suddenly she could recall with absolute clarity the terror she'd felt of her final moments of consciousness; the squeeze that had threatened to choke the very life from her lungs.
Surprised, Legolas had reacted automatically when she'd jarred, moving to steady her waist with gentle hands. His eyes scanned her face as Isobel's own continued darting unseeingly, lost in the depths of her most recent memories. Erratic thoughts danced their tune firmly in her head. She bit her lip, her teeth indenting the soft flesh as her memory bid her make the connection her mind was still to foggy to muster.
That light; blinding red and so familiar. But why?
Once more horror crept up her spine, just as it had in the manor, a tremble rippling up her body, her skin bursting into gooseflesh in it's wake. Finally the puzzle pieces slid into place.
It couldn't be.
After all this time.
Shit.
After a tense moment, Isobel's awareness finally came back to the present and she realised, with no small amount of disdain, just how these last few minutes of silent rumination might look to an observer.
But as her gaze came back into focus her mind was still in turmoil, firmly netted in that horrible place somewhere between what could have been and what may yet still come to pass. Her eyes, now moist with regret, flicked to Legolas' face, noting the concern that had twisted his brow anew. Briefly she contemplated telling him her revelation. But the elf's ethereal face, normally handsome and ageless, suddenly seemed so very worn. For lack of a better word he seemed threadbare. Like one who had endured an age of someone tugging at the strings of his very being, unravelling him piece by piece before her very eyes. Guilt solidified in her throat once more and before she could stop herself desperate words tumbled from her lips.
"Kiss me," she whispered, boring into his eyes with her own.
Legolas' mouth dropped in surprise, his fingers momentarily pressing harder into the flesh of her waist as his tired gaze searched her face. "Iz, I don't know - "
"Kiss me," she demanded softly, interrupting the elf's words of protest. Legolas' lips parted in consternation. But after a brief moment of pause he leaned towards her. Isobel's eyes fluttered closed of their own accord, her pulse pounding heavily beneath her skin in anticipation. Legolas' lips captured her own in a feather light caress, stroking over her own in the briefest moment of tenderness before he made to move away. Decidedly unsatisfied, her hands darted around his neck, tangling in the long, silken locks as she pulled him back towards her. Her lips crashed to his own, desperate and needy. Despite his earlier reticence, Legolas eagerly matched the frantic movements of her mouth on his. But as exquisite as it was, for Isobel it was not enough. The anguish tore itself from within her subconscious with bruising desperation, pouring itself out of her body as unbridled lust. But really it was so much more than that. Her heart ached fiercely, fit to burst within her chest with penitence, at what the last few days had stripped from the elf's usually strong countenance. Merely touching him was not enough. She needed to be consumed by him, to appease his own soul and that of her own.
Isobel slipped from beneath the covers to slide on to Legolas' lap, her hands tightening unconsciously around his head, drawing him impossibly closer to her frame. She gasped when she felt the tip of his tongue stroke her lower lip, inadvertently opening herself to him further. Legolas wasted no time, thrusting his tongue inside to join with hers as his hands roamed the expanse of her back. Driving herself closer still, she moaned into his mouth as her hips began to rock a steady rhythm against his of their own accord.
The creak of the door opening jarred the young lovers from their desperate embrace. Shocked by the sudden intrusion, the broke apart, panting into one another's necks as they fought to regain some semblance of their composure. Embarrassment coloured Isobel's cheeks in a delicate tinge of pink, the heat from which searing into the skin of the elf beneath her. Legolas chuckled unapologetically at his lover's bashful reaction. His heart, though still weary, was feeling a good deal lighter from their entanglement moments ago.
Aragorn stood frozen in the doorway, having inadvertently intruded upon a vastly different scene to the one he'd imagined. "Well," he said, a decided grin evident in the playful tone of his voice. "I gather you're feeling better."
A groan of mortification left Isobel's lips, reverberating against Legolas' skin where she remained stubbornly pressed against him. The fair elf laughed again, brighter and more musical than before, lifting the young woman's spirits at it's warmth. Her gaze snapped up to his, fixing him with what was meant to be a grimace of annoyance. But one look at the crimson staining her cheeks and her kiss-swollen lips, had the fair being dissolving in to fits of giggles beneath her. He collapsed back onto the mattress to cover his amusement behind his hands.
A chuckle that could only be described as scandalous, sounded from the former ranger, now forgotten by the doorway. "Do you want me to leave?" he gasped through his mirth.
Lightning flashed in Isobel's eyes momentarily and she turned to face the ranger as she spoke, her voice rendered harsher than intended through her utter mortification. "Yes," she bit out, only to cause her friend to snort, his brunette locks dancing around his shoulders as he shook his head in amusement.
"No," Legolas affirmed beneath her, sitting up once more and fixing her with an irrefutable stare that rendered the question of any further passionsmoot. With insistent hands he lifted the young woman from his lap, seating her beside him on the covers once more. Noting her annoyance, the elf prince let a small smile play on his lips. "Later," he promised with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Shouldering away from the doorway, Aragorn finally made his way further into the room, walking over to the pair with lightened steps. He held a cup before him as he approached that neither the young woman nor the elf had noted before.
"How are you feeling," the ranger's brown eyes sparkled, the mirth still evident on the planes of his face as he handed the cup to Isobel. With a grimace of suspicion, she sniffed the contents warily. Aragorn rolled his eyes at her hesitation. "It's just water," he huffed in mild frustration.
Greedily she gulped down the whole cupful before replying, "Ok, tired, sore, I guess." The ranger's mouth thinned into an understanding she couldn't quite pinpoint. Wordlessly he reached over, removing the cup from her hand and placing it on a nearby table, before leaning over once more to lift the hem of her shirt.
"Wha -" Isobel began in surprise. But she cut herself off as the ranger's fingers gently probed the skin of her lower ribs. A fiery pain lanced through the young woman's body, a hiss slipping from her lips as she instinctively recoiled from the touch. Legolas' strong grip caught her movement before her torso could crash into his own, steadying the young woman while her eyes jerked downward to the afflicted region. To her shock where once was smooth ivory skin, there now lay an ugly red welt, it's margins so flawlessly circular, impossibly so. Heat rose up her neck, colouring her skin well beyond where her mouth hung open in surprise. The aberration, hideous with it's distinctiveness; a silent accusation now permanently etched to the side of her flesh. The young witch knew there was only one thing capable of making such a mark. Still staring she swallowed hard, hoping that the trepidation that had formed in the back of her throat would slide away with the simple motion. But it was not to be so.
Unbeknownst to the young woman two pairs of eyes were carefully scrutinising her reaction.
"You know what this is," Legolas finally said softly, the curve of his mouth twitching upwards with saddened acceptance. The silence stretched between them. Isobel seemed reluctant to explain. At his word suddenly the warm room no longer seemed so warm to her anymore. Her teeth found the flesh of her lower lip as she quietly debated revealing the answer the pair were clearly so desperate for.
Finally after a long moment, Isobel reached over to tug the hem of her tunic from Aragorn's grip, covering herself once more, before leaning forward to cover her face with her hands, the sharp points of her elbows digging into her knees. "Yes," she whispered. "It's a mark left when one is hit by a curse."
As to what curse exactly and the after effects there of, only time would tell. But Isobel couldn't say this aloud. Not in this moment. And it was fortunate that her two companions had so little experience in the matter that they did not think to ask these things. For that, Isobel was grateful.
A further tense moment passed, seemingly in deathly silence once more as the ranger and the elf waited for Isobel to continue. But as time seemed to erode the minutes of silence between them, so to did it erode Legolas' patience. The young woman could feel the stiffness invade his posture from where he sat beside her, could feel the hawkishness of his gaze as it bore down upon her head. But this did nothing to appease the terror in her heart for she knew that the answers to his unspoken questions would only distress the elf prince further.
"And who could cast such a thing?" Legolas' ground out through the glower that had settled itself on his features. Isobel froze beneath his scrutiny before a sigh of resignation fell from her lips. Lifting her face from her hands she met his own gaze, her expression faltering momentarily beneath the harshness set in his eyes. "My brother," she finally replied.
oOOOo
They had not spoken much after that. At her revelation Legolas had launched himself from the bed before scurrying out of the room with wide, determined steps all the while muttering something about 'needing a moment.'
Isobel could only watch through remorseful eyes as the seemingly still stooped shoulders of her lover retreated from her. Rationality told her that the events of the past few days had not been her fault. While she had been somewhat unprepared for the trials she'd faced in that manor, she'd had no inclination to believe that it was her family, her own flesh and blood, laying in wait. And for that reason her heart, so soft and so tender at it's very essence, had laid an accusing finger pointed squarely at her own shoulders for her unprepared ignorance.
She'd not seen her brother in a decade now. Not since that singularly pivotal moment when he'd sold her, traded her like nothing more than a bag of grain, to be the plaything for a tyrant. Calandane had been a cold man then, callous and calculating. Clearly he was still one now.
As children they'd got on well enough. But once her brother had reached an age to bear some of the family's responsibilities, Calandane, being nearly a decade older than she, had quickly shucked the attentions of his annoying younger sister; morphing seemingly overnight from a companionable co-conspirator to an indifferent beast of unshakeable maturity and pompousness. At the time Isobel had been too young to understand the shift in her brother's demeanour. Nor had she been of an age where it had mattered that much; a fleeting moment of hurt before she'd moved on to more interesting things.
So for much of their relationship, he'd been the serious older brother, bound to carry the weight of duchy upon his shoulders, and she the youthful spirit whose greatest concern on any given day was whether or not she looked pretty enough to impress the local boys.
After their parent's had died Calandane's countenance towards her had only seemed to darken further. He went from treating her like an insufferable annoyance to an aberration; the black sheep whose very existence only seemed to bring shame down upon their family name. He was prone to fits of incalculable rage over the smallest of things. Fits so viciously extreme that often left Isobel visibly shaking. In those day's she'd taken to sneaking out of the manor whenever she could, if only to avoid the terror of his wrath. She became a master of slinking down corridors with silent footsteps, of scaling out tall windows and down to the ground. Of hiding in plain sight.
Every day was spent in the pursuit of making herself invisible to the angry viper that had become her brother.
But that of course, had only lead to scandalous rumours.
The particularly shrewd eyes of the local matrons had noticed the teenager's absence from many of the official affairs of the duchy. And when she had been present, they'd also noted how she'd been fidgety and visibly distracted, seemingly chaffing to leave. Between knowing glances between otherwise well meaning women, they'd all come to the same conclusion.
Isobel must have had a secret lover.
These rumours, while ill-intentioned, had never meant to hurt in the way they eventually had. Unfortunately for the young duchess they had inevitably drawn the wrath of her brother. Calandane's rage had been explosive that night. He'd screamed hateful words at her like an angry warg, spittle flying uncontrollably while he hurled household objects in her direction, barely missing striking the young woman as she twisted and dove out of the way. That night she's stayed curled in a heap, trembling against the cold stone wall amongst the shattered remains of their belongings and the tattered remnants of their relationship.
The next day Calandane had sold her.
In all the time that had passed in between Isobel had not heard from her former family. And after all that had happened nor was she interested in seeking them out. What became of them, her brother and her sister, was a mystery she was quite happy to leave as such.
Until now.
For she could not fathom how she'd managed to garner Calandane's retribution from a life time away.
oOOOo
She found him leaning upon the balcony of one of the more secluded courtyards in the upper reaches of the citadel. He stood tall, as proud and as strong as his lineage afforded him. His long platinum hair danced gently in the wind, the last glimmers of the failing light shimmering like a golden crown upon his head, while his gaze stared intently at the horizon.
Her ethereal sentinel.
With a deep breath Isobel stepped quietly onto the balcony behind him, steeling herself for the inevitable conversation she didn't want to have. She knew Legolas had heard her approach but he made no move to acknowledge her as she moved beside him to take his hand in her own. Warily, the elf's eyes flicked down to where they were joined, his mouth parting slightly, before his gaze diverted to her face. Uncertainty played heavily on his handsome features, stretching uncharacteristically across the prominent planes of his fair skin, and shining like moonlight in the depths of his eyes.
"Why now?" he asked quietly, breaking the serenity of the idyllic scene, his fair voice sounding unnatural with strain.
"I'm not sure," was all Isobel could muster in response. And while this was true, there was still so much more the young woman needed to say. So many words, words she knew the elf prince would not want to hear, that failed on her tongue as they stood side by side. Isobel was certain Legolas could feel the sweat sliding between their fingers; that he could hear the thundering of her heartbeat as it pounded in her ears. And as much as she's tried to suppress it, anxiety had overridden all of her sensibilities. Sliding her fingers from his own she turned to lean her forearms upon the cool of the railing in a bid to calm her mind.
"I need to go back," she continued softly, resolutely no longer meeting his stare. She took a deep breath. She knew what she had to say. But the words were painful, burning with betrayal like acid upon her tongue. "I think I should go alone."
A hiss of surprise fell from Legolas' lips. "What?" he demanded sharply.
Isobel swallowed hard, her knuckles turning white where she gripped the railing with bruising force. Please don't make this any harder than it has to be, she begged silently. The noise between her ears intensified deafeningly. She could feel Legolas' hard stare on the side of face, searing her skin with it's ferocity and hurting in a way that it never had before.
"My brother is a dangerous man. You have no idea what he is capable of. I really think it's best if I confront him by myself."
"Don't be ridiculous," he growled, launching himself away from the railing with heated steps. The doors to the adjacent chamber burst open with a loud clang, reverberating harshly with the force with which he'd hurled them open. Shocked by the intensity of his reaction, Isobel swiftly followed the elf prince's retreating steps, desperately needing to finish their conversation.
"Legolas, please -" she called after his hastily retreating form. But the stubborn elf resolutely refused to stop, charging through yet another door to the main council chamber where Aragorn sat quietly alone in blissful ignorance to the cyclone that had just whirled it's way before his presence.
"This is not a war you are capable of fighting in!" she begged shrilly, finally catching up to the elf prince who had paused to huff in frustration as he leaned upon the back of one of the timber chairs set around the council table. He whirled upon her, pure unadulterated rage burning in the gaze he fixed upon his young lover.
"Don't tell me what I am or am not capable of!" the proud elf bit through clenched teeth, thrusting a finger in her direction.
Isobel's breaths began to break through her lips in petrified bursts. This was going even worse than she had thought it would and she could feel herself spiralling. Sweat beaded on her brow as her mind quickly turned over all the permutations that might de-escalate the situation.
"Please," she pleaded, raising her hands in surrender. "I – I'm scared. I need you to stay away."
Stubborn determination scrunched itself upon his features. "Never," he hissed before turning to walk away once more.
Panicked, a flutter of white in the corner of her vision caught the young woman's eye. And before her mind could register, before she could even contemplate the consequences of her actions, her hand had plunged itself into her tunic to rip her wand out.
"Avada Kedavra!" she cried, flicking her wrist in a downwards twist. A blinding flash of green light burst from the wooden tip, streaking over the table to strike the pigeon square in the chest. A final piercing chirp, shrill and agonised, tumbled from it's beak before the feathered body hit the floor with a accusing thwack.
The room was suddenly deathly silent, all eyes turned upon the immobile form on the floor. The alarm in the elf's eyes quickly hardened on his face, his features twisting into sharp lines of disgust. He rounded the table to crouch before the bird just as Aragorn shifted his chair back, the timber shrieking in protest at the sudden movement. Dryly Isobel couldn't help but think that in many ways the grating noise, so piercing and painful seemed fitting for the awful moment. She could not quite fathom what she had just done. Legolas' long slender fingers probed the feathered chest, grimacing at the unnatural cold that seeped beneath his skin.
But of course, Isobel had not cast the killing curse. Not really. That spell, so dark and so evil, required a malicious intent that the gentle spirited young woman did not possess. Nor was she familiar with the wand movement required for that particular spellcast, a fact she was very grateful for in this moment. So while for all intents and purposes the pigeon appeared dead, it was in fact, merely paralysed. When her body had moved moments ago, dredging her wand from within her tunic of it's own accord, her subconscious had wordlessly performed another spell. Petrificus totalus, the full body bind curse.
Tears prickled in Isobel's eyes, streaking down her cheeks in long stripes of guilt. But she could not bring herself to regret her brash actions. Not yet and not in this moment. She needed Legolas to understand. "Finite incantatem," she muttered solemnly from her position still on the other side of the table, flicking her wand once more.
Warmth fluttered back into the surprised bird who let out a small chirp before darting to its feet and flitting away to a higher position. "This is not a war of grey zones," Isobel began, rounding the table towards the pair with slow measured steps. "If that spell hits so much as a hair on your head, that's it; game over. There are no injuries in this war, only absolutes. Life or death. Nothing in between."
She paused to crouch beside the elven prince, fixing him with a wide terrified stare. "I cannot protect you," she said, her words all but a soft breath between them, made heavy by emotion. She clenched her eyelids closed, feeling the sting of treachery as further tears slid over her skin. Legolas said nothing for a moment. His stern gaze roved over the face of the woman he loved, noting the way her features crumbled before him. But he was still irate from their argument and the shocking way she'd chosen to end it. His mouth thinned to a hard line as he reached forth aggressively to snare the glittering emerald ring on her hand between his fingers. "You promised," he hissed, twisting the ring so that dug into her skin for emphasis, before rising swiftly and stalking away.
Isobel felt herself fall apart. Her knees gave out, her body slumping to the floor as she shielded the shame on her face with her hands.
Yes, she had.