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Part 1: Flee of the Fallen
Chapter 8: The Silent Observer
Legolas was trembling with anger when he was finally dismissed from the throne room.
His mind replayed the harrowing scene as he stormed into his room—the way the guards had mercilessly shoved her inside, the way his father was adamant in his mistrust, calling her a "monster," the way the hilt of the sword had struck her temple repeatedly until she was knocked unconscious and dragged across the stone floor. His fist tightened at the very thought of that.
Ra'evani.
Her name echoed in his mind. He remembered the crisp accent of Westron when she had spoken her name, and the way it had rolled on his tongue now made him furious.
Legolas paced back and forth in his chamber, fury boiling within him. The elven prince could not fathom why his father was so resolute in his mistrust. Yet, even as he felt a pang of sympathy for her, doubt gnawed at him. She was unlike any creature he had ever encountered. What if his father was right? What if she was a threat to their realm?
Sinking into a chair, Legolas took up a knife and a piece of wood from the fireplace. Woodcarving had always been his favorite pastime, second only to communing with the trees. He found it amusing to recall the time he had tried to carve a statue under a young tree, only to be smacked on the head when the tree recognized the piece of wood he was holding. Legolas had spent countless hours carving his own set of bows and arrows, as well as statues of animals and trees, often scouring the forest floor for the perfect piece of wood.
But tonight, his hands shook with unresolved anger, each cut he made was too deep or too shallow.
"If only I had blue paint", he mumbled in the empty chamber.
But he immediately chastised himself for the absurdity of the thought. Why in Middle-earth would he need blue paint? Looking down, Legolas saw that he had carved something that suspiciously resembled a hand.
A hand that belonged to a certain person.
Rubbing his temples, he tossed the unfinished work into the fire and stuck his head out of his chamber door, knowing his second-in-command was at the end of the royal hall post. "Dismiss the guards in the dungeons tonight. They are allowed a break this day."
His second-in-command nodded and rounded a corner to carry out the order.
As the night deepened and the palace quieted, Legolas waited, his anger simmering beneath the surface.
Midnight approached, and he slipped out of his room, moving silently through the darkened halls. He did not dare light a torch, for he knew this palace like the back of his hand and a lone light would certainly raise suspicion. The moonlight streamed through the high windows, casting eerie shadows on the stone walls. He made his way to the dungeons, careful to avoid the patrolling guards, a benefit of his position as captain of the guards. When he reached the entrance to the dungeons, he paused, listening for any sounds that might betray his presence. Pressing his elven ear to the jar of the door, Legolas heard nothing, save for the ever-present whisper of "my precious" murmuring from Gollum in his sleep. As he descended the spiral staircase, the air grew colder, the chill seeping into his very bones despite his elven resilience.
Finally, he reached his destination.
The only illumination came from a single torch flickering faintly in the hallway, casting long, wavering shadows across the floor. Standing at the bars, his breath caught at the sight of her. Ra'evani lay on the rough, cold stone floor, her body curled into a defensive position. Her tail wrapped protectively around her legs, twitching slightly even in sleep. Her chest rose and fell with each breath, the sound barely audible but reassuring in its steadiness. Her hair, dark as midnight, fanned out around her head like a halo, stark against the pale stone. Just as the day he met her, she was still under-dressed. Her clothing seemed to be crafted from nature itself. Any being in Middle-earth would have felt ashamed at the minimal covering, but it only highlighted the beauty of her muscled body.
Legolas moved closer, his nose almost touching the bars of her cell as he continued to watch her in her sleep.
As he watched her, something caught his eye—tiny, glowing specks scattered across her skin. At first, he thought it was a trick of the torchlight, but as he looked closer, he realized the specks were bioluminescent, glowing faintly in the darkness. They adorned her face, neck, and arms, like a constellation of stars on a clear night. The markings shimmered softly, casting a gentle, otherworldly light around her. Legolas was mesmerized by the sight. Each glowing spot seemed to pulse with a life of its own, a soft, rhythmic glow that mirrored her breathing. The light specks danced in the darkness of the dungeon, as if the stars of the night itself were twinkling in the cloudless sky. The Valar had graced her with a gift of such beauty of the stars.
No, they had graced him with such a sight.
Legolas did not know how long he had stood in the shadows, watching her sleep. He observed her expression change from peace to pain, then horror. He listened to her murmurs in a foreign language, watched as she stirred, as if struggling to wake herself from her nightmares.
Many times, Legolas wanted to wake her, but the bars stopped him.
Many times, he wanted to unlock the cell and set her free, but his own suspicion held him back.
"Sleep well, Ra'evani. May the Valar grace you with their warmth in your dreams," Legolas whispered one last time as he gently closed the dungeon door behind him.
He would need to sneak back to his chambers before dawn broke.