I do not own any of the characters or The Hobbit (Just the AU storyline and my OC). Those are the work of the esteemed and brilliant John Ronald Reuel Tolkien, and without his genius, this and many other fanfics would not be in existence.

As always, please review, favorite, and follow -it is really encouraging :D

To those who keep offering to illustrate my story- NO THANK YOU, STOP ASKING. -Tweetzone86

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Cirashala had not known what to expect when she finally met King Thranduil, aside from his animosity with dwarves. She knew him to be a golden-haired elf like his son from the books, and also knew what he looked like from An Unexpected Journey's prologue. She was also keenly aware of how Thorin had described his character; whether it was accurate or biased, she did not yet know. But the diminutive young woman had no idea that he'd be so tall.

Holy cow! she thought to herself as she tried to hide her astonishment. He's several inches taller than Legolas! She was used to always having to look up to people, at least until she started traveling with people who were mostly shorter than herself. Seeing Legolas and the wood elves after spending three months surrounded by dwarves and a hobbit had been just as startling as it was when she first met Thorin and realized she could almost look the dwarf king in the eye without tilting her head up.

Have I really forgotten what it's like to look up at people taller than me?

Feeling very much like a dwarf herself around the taller elves told her that she had indeed forgotten. Cirashala looked at the silent elven king's back as he stared out an arched window overlooking the cavernous halls. Glancing sideways at Legolas beside her, she guessed that he was about the same height her husband was in relation to herself. He had been about six feet tall, and she had been able to hear his heartbeat in her ear when she hugged him, putting her height at just below his shoulders. She reached the elf prince at about the same place, more or less.

On Thranduil, she would not even reach there. He seemed even taller than he actually was, for he wore tall gray leather boots with a slight, broad heel, similar to her own travel-worn boots from Rivendell. His, however, were pristine, as was his intricately-embroidered, long silver tunic. She noticed he was not wearing his crown, and wondered why. She was also confused as to why he wished to interrogate her here, instead of in front of his throne. There were some armchairs, a chaise lounge, a fireplace with a great wooden mantle, a few side tables, and of all things, an ornately-carven wooden clock! Cirashala was stunned to see what she viewed as a surprisingly modern timepiece in Middle-earth atop the mantlepiece.

There was comfortable seating for at least ten people, but none of the plush furniture could be considered a throne, save that there was one chair a little more ornately carven than the others. Beautiful tapestries hung from the walls, there were two bookcases filled with leather-bound tomes, the shelving units flanking a desk along the wall opposite the fireplace, and the window the king stared out of was draped with dark red, heavy curtains tied back with shiny, gold-colored ropes. There was even an intricately-designed, soft-looking rug adorning the limestone floor in the center of the seating. The warm and welcoming room far more resembled a parlor, or meeting-room, than a great hall.

In fact, it was so informal, and welcoming, that she half-expected a hobbit to appear out of the woodwork and offer her tea! Not be interrogated by a tall elven lord!

Her mind began to quickly analyze the possibilities for this interrogation choice. He could be attempting to present himself as less intimidating, and more friendly. But she had no doubt that Legolas had told him she was the dwarves' friend, so he would know she traveled with them willingly, not involuntarily. She also figured that he probably wanted information from her. Why else would the king send for her, if not to gather information? It's not like she could offer him anything else!

He's probably going to ask me why on earth I'd join dwarves of all people, she thought sarcastically. Will this stupid prejudice never end?!

Legolas said something in Sindarin, and the tall elven king slowly turned around. Cirashala quickly turned her expression neutral again. Sharp blue eyes quietly and intently studied her, and she knew immediately that this was no fool. This was a highly intelligent elf man, she could see it in his eyes, and she had the unmistakable feeling that there was a lot more going in in his head than he chose to reveal. She was very reserved herself, at least, until she warmed up to someone, and she could sense the reservation on his part as well.

It was as though there were an invisible wall around him, so obvious to her it was practically palpable. Coming from a king, who attended feasts in the book, she was rather surprised to find that he was less…talkative than she thought he would be. In fact, he didn't speak at all. He stayed quiet for an uncomfortably long time as he stared at her, and she had to fight the urge to squirm under his analytical gaze.

He's reserved and smart, just like me, she suddenly realized, both surprised and a little fearful. He hides what is in his head from everyone around him, just like I hide my secret from everyone around me. Except Gandalf figured it out-but he's a wizard, and I stupidly gave him a riddle, thinking he wouldn't solve it. Hopefully this elvenking won't figure it out. The young woman immediately put up her own wall, feeling very much on the defensive just by his piercing stare. She had a vital secret to protect, and she could not risk revealing the knowledge she held, even unintentionally, to this quiet, analytical, and intelligent king.

She was very angry that her friends were cruelly held prisoner simply for getting lost, and, regardless of Thorin's prejudice and bias, this elf may well end up her enemy as well before their conversation was over. She always reserved her judgement until someone had the chance to prove whether or not they were reasonable and good-hearted, or callous and cruel. She firmly believed everyone had the right to benefit of the doubt, even a king who took them all prisoner. But, angry though she was, she quickly realized she had to try her best and stay calm, cool, and collected with this elf. He was no kind, welcoming Elrond, of that she was certain. She didn't feel a bit of warmth from Thranduil at all. Being interrogated as a prisoner just because they got lost was irritating.
Being interrogated by an observant, analytical, intelligent being was dangerous, especially to her.

Fortunately for her, she was also an observant, analytical, and intelligent person, when she wanted to be, and could also focus intently, when she was motivated to learn something. And, right now, she was highly motivated and very focused on her mission.

Cirashala had a unique skill that often surprised most people. It even surprised her husband on occasion. She had always been able to sense the emotions of those around her. Growing up with an abusive father, she had learned a long time ago how to read others and gauge what they were feeling simply by being quiet and highly observant. Twenty-six years of watching her father, listening to his tone of voice, obsessively analyzing each and every one of his chosen words, and gauging his volatile moods by 'feeling the emotional temperature of the room' when she walked into it to make sure she wasn't entering a veritable hornet's nest had given her a keen understanding of everything the body does that is associated with emotion.

A twitch of the eye, a tremble of the hand, the slight twist of the mouth. The way a person stood in relation to her, the tone in their voice, the look in their eyes. How their eyebrows moved, which words they emphasized and which ones they didn't when they spoke, the subtle changes in pitch of their voice- she could read it all. She could feel it all- the emotions, raw, intense, and real- so heavily guarded by some, and yet so obvious to her. It was a survival mechanism, a way to avoid pain and suffering that she had learned as soon as she was able to understand spoken word.

It was both a blessing and a curse. If she was around others who were joyful, she would feel peace and joy. But if she were around others who were hurting, who were grieving, who were angry, or sad, or frustrated, or in pain- she would feel it as keenly as if it were her own. Even if she herself was not feeling that way, she would sense it in others. This ability to feel what others were feeling had cultivated an enormous amount of empathy and compassion for others within her. She hated seeing others in pain, and sought to alleviate their suffering as best as she was able.

Cirashala listened to, depended on, and trusted her gut, and her gut was rarely ever wrong. Lately, her ability to do this had been challenged by her deep and overwhelming grief, which is why she had struggled to read some of the dwarves early on. But she was slowly regaining that ability back, as far as she knew. It was a little harder to peg someone down, if she were really close to them emotionally, as her emotions could easily misinterpret expressions, color her perceptions, or cloud her judgment.
But she had no such relationship with the elvenking, beyond that of captor to captive. And, right now, she had to draw on it. She had to know where her friends were, in case Bilbo needed the information to speed things along. And she had to know how they were faring, and if they were all right.

It took a lot to make her truly, intensely angry. The fastest way to infuriate her was to threaten those she loved, friend, lover, and family alike. The Goblin King had threatened her friends and her king, and the inner dragon lurking behind her compassion and empathy had awakened, its fury unleashed upon the one who dared to threaten the friends she loved. She had the scars to prove it across her back. And if she were to endure that situation again, she would have done the same thing a hundred times over anyway. No one messed with those she loved and got away with it.

But these people, these elves, weren't orcs, and thus far, she had kept the dragon leashed, despite her irritation with their hosts. Somehow, somewhere deep down in the recesses of her mind, she knew elves were more or less generally good people, despite their disdain for dwarves, and despite a few more colorful elves from the First Age. Tolkien himself wrote that about this very kingdom's inhabitants. It had to be truth. Even if Thorin didn't believe it at all himself!

She could see this one's mind turning as he stared at her, searching for any weakness he could spot, any fault he could exploit to get what he wanted from her. The tall elf reminded her of a focused chess player, only he was the king and she the other player's kept her expression neutral as her own blue eyes studied him back. Her gut told her this was not a man who would cow down to emotion and impassioned pleas. He even looked completely emotionless on the exterior; stoic, cold and detached- like a glacier hiding the secrets locked in the stone beneath.

He must be hell to play poker with, she thought to herself with some slight amusement. I doubt many people would be able to read him well enough to realize if he was bluffing or not. Luckily, she wasn't easily fooled…but she would have to be very, very careful if she were to succeed in her plan, without aiding his own.

However, despite the cold, emotionless exterior, she could sense that he was indeed capable of emotion, and that he, like her, was deliberately concealing his feelings, too. Cirashala quickly realized that trying to appeal to his emotional, compassionate side would get her nowhere, just as it had when Thorin's people had come to them in need. She had gleaned enough off the dwarves to know the general gist of why they hated the elvenking, and she herself was none too happy about the thought of children dying because of his lack of empathy. It made her extremely angry, but she suppressed it. This was a man who needed to be challenged, not with raw, unbridled anger, but with the intelligent strength of her mind.

And though she was a mediocre warrior at best, and quite impulsive and stubborn, intelligence was one thing she had in spades. That, and her ability to read people like a book. A battle of wits, and a whole lot of discernment, was her only hope, if she were to glean the information she sought.

King Thranduil finally broke the silence, which had seemed very long in her mind, but in reality had likely only been a couple of minutes. She saw his chin lift slightly first, and was relieved that she didn't jump when he did. Being awkwardly and obviously startled would not have been a good start to her plan.

"So, this is the adaneth I've heard so much about," he said, smiling warmly. His tone was pleasant and friendly, as though she were an important visitor he was welcoming into his home, and not a prisoner about to be interrogated.

She immediately knew it was completely fake. His eyes were not smiling, but gauging her reaction, as if he were trying to read her thoughts as well. His voice was too pleasant, too syrupy, just like her father's had been when he presented himself to the outside world. His skilled duplicity had made everyone around him believe he was a kind and helpful man, and not the abusive monster he truly was. She had learned the signs of duplicity at a very young age, and could see it now in the elven king's presentation. It was very subtle, but she knew in her gut that it was there. It was also deeply insulting to her intelligence, to think that she could be so easily played!

"I trust that you are feeling better after your unfortunate altercation with the spiders?" More meaningless pleasantries. However, she did see the faintest inkling of sympathy flit through his eyes, and remembered that the spiders were a very real threat to elves, too. One they battled daily, and, if Tolkien was correct, had been doing so for a while now. All right, there was at least a tiny bit of sincerity in that question.

"Yes," she answered honestly, but carefully. Her gaze met his own. She would not be intimidated by this elvenking, no matter how much taller he was than her, or how nervous she actually was. She really hoped he didn't notice her apprehension. Plus, she hated small talk. The longer the pleasantries, the more nervous she would become. And she really hated when people merely pretended to be nice to her. It was aggravating, patronizing, and deeply insulting. She decided to act first.

"But you did not summon me here to discuss my health." It was not a question, and they both knew it. Though it was hardly obvious, she could tell that he was somewhat startled at her boldness. His smile faded. Apparently, he had not expected her to be so blunt, or immune to his syrupy charms. He was rather handsome, and no doubt he intended to use his looks and charm to his advantage with her- but that made little difference to Cirashala. Not only did she know that he was married (and that was a line she would not cross), but she did not care about shallowness, superficiality or looks- she cared far more about the heart within, and this one seemed to be tucked away behind a cold, steel gate. He paused for a moment and stared at her, clearly thinking of a new approach. Her gaze did not flinch.

"You are right," he answered matter-of-factly. "I did not." The syrupy voice and fake platitudes were gone, replaced by the discerning, calculating, and intelligent king she had already seen lurking behind his fake mask. He began to slowly pace back and forth, still staring at her intently, and she got the distinct impression of a cat toying with a mouse.

"My captain tells me that you are one of Thorin Oakenshield's companions." His gaze briefly went to Legolas, who still had her by the arm. She used that moment of distraction to quickly glance around the room, and noted two heavily-armored guards standing off to the side watching her as well.

They must be his personal guard.

"Yes," she answered truthfully. "They are my companions." She had already told Legolas that anyway, and she had a feeling that the elven king could spot a lie a mile away. She couldn't explain how she knew- she just did. She could see it in his eyes. She would have to be even more careful not to betray her friends-or her secret. He paused, and she knew she was about to be interrogated about the quest. There was no other logical reason why the king would have summoned her otherwise.

If he's asking me about the quest, then that means the dwarves didn't tell him what he wants to know. She smirked. She knew they were stubborn, bull-headed, and, most notably, silent. They would not betray Thorin, and neither would she. Loyalty was everything to her, and she would not betray that trust. He opened his mouth to speak, but she interrupted him before he could.

"The dwarves didn't tell you anything, huh?" she asked in an amused, smug tone, not caring if it was rude. She was done being nice, too. He stopped pacing, and she could feel irritation emanating from him at her rudeness. She knew it was also likely annoyance at his failure in the previous interrogations. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was clear that she had touched a nerve. Drawn out an emotion. She may not be much of a warrior, but she was good with feelings. She needed to exploit that advantage.

"That's why you're interrogating me," she continued, intensely staring at him as she gauged his reaction. Her tone turned icy. "Because you think I am some stupid adaneth who will look upon a handsome elf king and immediately swoon to your charms and tell you everything." His jaw tightened and eyes turned darker. He was definitely angry now, she could feel it-though the change in his expression was very, very subtle. He also looked slightly surprised for a brief second, seemingly stunned that she'd figured out his plan.

"But you're wrong," she continued, not letting him speak. Her voice was dead serious as her gaze remained locked with his. "I am not stupid in the slightest. I know exactly what you're doing. And if you think that you will convince me to turn on my friends and betray my king, then you're the fool, not me." She could feel Legolas tense next to her, clearly bothered by what she just said. The young woman doubted anyone-dwarves excepted- had the audacity to call the elven king a fool to his face before, and certainly not in his own parlor!

The room grew silent. Even the guards' eyes looked rather shocked. Thranduil's expression remained the same, but she could sense a quiet seething just below the surface. She knew she insulted him, and she did not care. He had insulted her the minute he tried to charm her, as though she were a shallow woman with no morals who wanted to bed any good-looking man they just met. The worst part about that was that it was an insult to both her morality, and her intelligence. Though irritating, she would have understood being interrogated, given the circumstances. But the syrupy voice, the fake smile…it just made her angrier. It reminded her way too much of her father's duplicity, and she couldn't stand fake, manipulative people.

His eyes stared at her hard for a long, tense moment, and she could almost see the gears in his mind turning as he recalibrated his strategy toward her again. He clearly had not expected this level of defiance or awareness from an adaneth, especially one who was so much smaller, and younger than himself.

"For someone so intelligent," he finally said, his tone very sarcastic, "it would seem that you are the fool, not I." She noticed his careful choice of words, and the thoughtful pauses after she spoke. This was not a man who spoke without thinking first. She wasn't quite so good at that part, and had to physically bite her tongue before she lashed out at him and his insufferable arrogance completely. He was clearly patronizing her in his tone again, and he'd probably figured out that it irritated her, and did it on purpose to annoy her.

He's playing the same game I am, she realized. He's trying to shake me up, too. Well, two can play at that game! Few people have ever been able to out-read her, especially with the emotions. But she had a sneaky suspicion that this elf would be a harder opponent than most, and she braced herself harder.

"You call these pathetic, self-serving dwarves your friends," he continued condescendingly. She did not miss the sharp hint of disdain when he said the word friends. "And perhaps, in your ingenuous little mind, you actually believe that, little adaneth." Screw you, Thranduil. You're a fucking asshole. He continued pacing again, and she worked hard to maintain her calmness in the face of his arrogance. She would not lose this fight!

Her eyes followed him, never breaking contact. She could see his gaze doing the same, and had a feeling that he knew full well that she was analyzing him just as much as he was analyzing her. His expression was passive, his emotions guarded, though she knew there was a volcano in there somewhere. This time, she knew it was not a cat toying with a mouse. This was a tiger assessing his prey. And she would not be his prey, if she could avoid it.

He acts emotionless, she thought to herself, analyzing as well. But his emotions are there. He's obviously angry at me, so he does have feelings- they're just buried very deep behind that shield. Her late husband had the tendency to bottle up negative feelings too, though not quite to this extent. This elf was far older than she would ever be, and far more experienced than she would ever become. Quite possibly better educated too, being a king. He probably had the best tutors in Middle-earth growing up. Being a monarch who was thousands of years old, he had learned far more than she ever would as well. She knew he had figured out that patronizing her was making her angry, or else he wouldn't keep doing it.

But there was one advantage she had that she was pretty sure he didn't- He didn't know she could still feel his emotions. He was cold, arrogant, condescending, and she didn't sense any compassion from him at all. She highly doubted he could feel her emotions. He was quite irritated with her at the very least for being so rude, and condescending of her intelligence, and patronizing of her wit, which meant he thought he had the high ground. She had to use his overconfidence to her advantage. She needed to rattle him somehow so he would give her the information she sought. If she asked after her friends, she had a feeling he would use her concerns against her. The young woman had no doubt whatsoever that she wouldn't get anything from him he didn't want her to know unless she managed to manipulate his emotions enough that the shield attempting to hide them ruptured. It was starting to crack; she could feel that as his anger grew.

"You call these dwarves your friends," he repeated. There was the odd inflection on the word friends again. She mentally catalogued it. "But I have known Thorin Oakenshield since long before you were born, little adaneth." She was really starting to get annoyed at the obvious insult in the way he addressed her, but held her temper in check. He was clever and very cunning. He knew she would take it as the insult it was meant to be, and he chose his words carefully. She knew exactly what he was doing.

He is trying to manipulate and rattle me. How cute, you overconfident bastard.

This was hardly the first time someone had tried to manipulate her. She had grown up with a master manipulator, and could spot the signs as clearly as day. If she didn't want to be played like a fiddle, she had to remain focused and cool-headed, or she would lose this battle. She tamped down her anger as much as possible.

"I know Thorin, and I know dwarves," the elven king continued. His confidence was growing, and so was her determination to resist his machinations. She could match the dwarves in stubbornness if she wanted to, and utilized that now. "You think they are your friends, but I can assure you they're not." There's that inflection again- the third time.

"Oh, they might say they are. They may even try to show it, just to convince you. But it is all a lie."

Cirashala did not flinch, but she felt a sudden surge of anger as he subtly emphasized the last word. She was completely secure in her knowledge that her friendship with the dwarves was genuine. She had been back-stabbed enough as a child to learn her lesson, and knew authenticity when she saw it. No haughty elf king could convince her otherwise. She listened very carefully for any change in tone that was emotive. The king's changes in expression and inflection were very subtle, but not invisible to her observant eyes and ears. He continued to be very bothered by the word friend, and she honed in on that like it was a homing beacon.

"They care for no one but themselves," Thranduil's eyes flashed ever so slightly, and his tone was a hair sharper. "All they care about is riches. Gold, silver, precious gems. They are nothing but greedy, self-serving fools. They do not care about friendship. They do not care about you. All they care about is their treasure, and they do not care how they get it, or who they hurt. All they care about is the gold in that mountain. Once they have it, you will be nothing to them."

The room went quiet, and Cirashala's eyes widened ever so slightly. Thranduil's anger was palpable now, but underneath it was something else entirely. The way his eyes flashed, the sharpness of his tone, his repeated use of the word 'friend' in a derogatory manner, none of it was lost on the observant young woman. One word in particular swirled around her head, and she suddenly discerned the true reason for his animosity with the dwarves of Erebor. His anger was too pronounced, his animosity toward Thorin too intense, and his wording too specific to be the result of mere racial disdain. There was so much hatred, so much vitriol…and so much pain.

Friends. All they care about is their treasure, and who…they…hurt…

This isn't just prejudice, Cirashala realized as she looked into his eyes. His anger had been obvious to her for almost the entire conversation, even if his face did not show it. But now, she also felt intense pain. This is personal.

"Who hurt you?" she asked quietly, compassion within her warring with her desire to win the mental duel against the condescending, stuck-up king. Thranduil stopped short as Legolas tensed beside her, and she saw the king's eyes widen slightly in astonishment…and fear.

She'd found the crack.

"The dwarves stole something from you, didn't they?" she asked quickly, so he wouldn't get the chance to speak. Her mind rapidly connected the pieces of the puzzle even as she spoke. All they care about is their treasure, and they do not care how they get it. She felt his pain intensify, and could see him struggling to hide it behind a neutral expression.

"Something that meant a lot to you." A familiar look swiftly passed through his eyes just then, and she recognized it. It was the same look she saw in the mirror after her husband and children died.

Grief. Deep, profound, raw grief.

The king casually clasped his hands behind his back- but not before she saw how badly they were trembling. He clearly lost someone, someone he loved deeply. And whatever the dwarves had taken from him, it must have belonged to or been for the lost loved one. Her conscience reared its head, but she quashed it down. She really hated having to do this to him, in light of this new information, but she was desperate to rattle him so she could find out if her friends were all right. He was vulnerable right now, his emotions laid bare to her, and he was clearly shaken by her revelations. She would not get another chance, even if she hated herself for it.

"I can feel your pain," she said, a part of her wishing she did not have to do this. She had never used her emotional abilities to hurt another person before. But her friends were in trouble, and she needed to know. The only reason they were in trouble was because of this elvenking. This haughty, arrogant, patronizing son of a bitch…her resolve grew.

"And your grief," she added, staring him down as her mind moved at a rapid pace. "They stole something from you. A treasure. Something of great sentimental value to you. Something that belonged to someone you loved, and lost." Thranduil visibly paled, and the frozen elf prince next to her was squeezing her arm very, very tightly now. She would most definitely have a handprint-shaped bruise.

Cirashala knew that the dwarves lost Erebor to Smaug. She also knew that they were lucky to get out with the clothes on their back- and even luckier if they were unsinged. Any gold, gems or silver they had would have been on their person already. She also knew, from the dwarves' stories, that they had no dealings with Thranduil at all since. Whatever they had taken must have been taken before Erebor fell. Thror was king then, and Thrain the crown prince. Thorin was only third in line, and the king was mad with dragon sickness and unable to be reasoned with.

Which means…Thorin had nothing to do with it. And yet, he's the one being blamed for it. Nothing incensed the young woman more than innocents being punished for crimes they did not commit. It was unjust, immoral, and just plain wrong. Anger began to take over, and all empathy for the grief the elvenking bore went out the window.

"It had to have been King Thror who took it, not Thorin," she thought to herself out loud. "He hasn't been back here since the dragon came." Looking back up at him, her eyes narrowed and tone hardened. Her judgment had been cast, and the elvenking had been found lacking in the one area she valued most…empathy. She loathed heartless, cruel, and petty people with a vengeance.

"Which makes your imprisonment of Thorin and those who travel with him nothing more than sheer pettiness!" The last word carried potent venom, and Cirashala felt so angry, and yet, her conscience screamed at her for being so vile to the grieving king. He was grieving someone he had loved very much…she had seen it. Normally, the last thing she would ever do was hurt someone who had lost someone they loved deeply…just as she had. The look on his face…it was though she had slapped him with no warning.

But her inner dragon had been too powerful to overcome. She was so angry, had no respect for him, and the way he treated her and her friends, and the survivors of Erebor, that she'd ignored his pain in favor of inflicting pain instead. She had rattled him good, had definitely won the battle of wits- but had sacrificed her honor and abused her ability for the first time in her life. It made her feel sick to her stomach, knowing that she was hurting someone who already hurt, and yet overwhelmed with the desire to fight to protect her friends. Two values…that she held deeply to her core.

But her friends, the people she loved, were imprisoned by this king, who hated them for something they did not do. Who punished them for a crime they did not commit. Bilbo may or may not have made it past the elven gate. He was the only one who could help them escape. What Thranduil was doing was wrong. It was unjust. It was reprehensible! Her innocent friends were imprisoned…and the desire to fight for justice over empathy proved the stronger of the two.

Thranduil's shock dissipated at her last sentence, and his expression changed from stunned terror…to sheer, unbridled fury. He slowly and deliberately closed the distance between them, and she could barely continue to look him in the eye as daggers leapt out of the incensed blue orbs. There was still a little fear behind the anger, but she knew a fearful tiger was far more dangerous than an angry one. And she had just cornered the fearful and furious tiger…in his own den. The look in his eyes matched the look in hers in the mirror whenever she thought of the drunk that had stolen her husband and children from her. It was rage, unfathomable, insurmountable, unbridled rage.

And it was all directed at her.

Oh shit, she thought to herself as she realized just exactly what she had done. I think I just royally screwed up.

She suddenly felt the blunt side of one of Legolas's knives at her throat, and stood stock still as the furious elven king bent at the waist until his face was a mere three inches from her own. His anger, his fear, was so strong that she could feel it in her very bones, and she was genuinely afraid that these would be her last few minutes alive. Her heart stood still as his cold, dark voice sent ice straight through her veins.

"Get out."

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A response to reviewer V5epsilon- Thank you! I am determined to see the series through, despite the craziness of life! I'm glad you still love it, even though it has been almost 14 years since I started it. I will do my best to update as life allows, but I run a farm business now, am on the board of directors for a farmer's market, and life is just busy. But it is often on my mind, and my brain is always trying to work out more scenes and figure the story out : ) Thanks for reviewing!

Thanks to all who review, favorite, and follow! You are the best! : D : D : D