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.

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Legolas never had to fight so hard to restrain himself in his life as he dragged the arrogant young adaneth back to her chambers. The much shorter girl had to practically run to keep up with his long, fast stride. Last time, he kept pace with her so she wouldn't lag behind. This time, he could care less. As soon as they neared the door to her chamber, he shouted to the guards in Sindarin.

"Open the door!" he ordered. He tightened his grip on her arm, and did not even blink as she let out a slight whimper. Legolas dragged the girl through the door and shut it behind him with his foot. Seething with anger, the young elf turned and all but threw her against the wall by her arm. The back of the young woman's head made contact against the stone with an audible thud, and he didn't care. He didn't mean to throw her…she was much lighter than the dwarves he'd been hauling all day, and he'd forgotten to compensate in his anger…but he didn't care. She immediately cried out in pain and slumped to the floor. Tears pricked her eyes as she grabbed at the back of her head, and he grabbed both her wrists. The furious elf yanked her upright and shoved her against the wall.

Legolas bent down far enough that his own face was a mere hand's breadth away from hers, noting that the previously defiant blue eyes were now anything but.

"How dare you!" he spat, growing angrier by the second. "How dare you, you stupid, vile, thrice-damned little dog!" The terrified young woman's eyes filled with tears.

"I'm s-sorry!" Legolas felt his whole body shaking with anger, even as hers shook from fear.

"They told you, didn't they?" he asked, too angry to think straight. "Those damn naugrim told you that the white gems they stole were for my mother's memorial!" Her already-ashen face lost what little color it had left, and she shook her head.

"I swear I didn't know!" It was only the seven hundred and thirty-four years of being taught to respect women that kept Legolas from striking her in the face.

"You lie!" he spat through gritted teeth. "How else would you have known that those gems and that necklace were for someone my father loved and grieves? That they belonged to my mother? You could not have possibly known that unless Thorin told you!" He did not expect her answer.

"I felt his pain!" she cried, her voice trembling as strongly as her small form. "I can read people, and I can feel what they feel! I swear, I didn't know until he said that dwarves would hurt others to get rich! Thorin never told me anything!" Legolas glared at her, and she sniffled in his arms.

"Please," she begged, tears streaming down her extremely pale face. She was shaking like an oak leaf desperately clinging to a branch during a spiral cloud. "Please don't hurt me. I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" The door to the chamber suddenly opened, and he saw a familiar brown-haired elf rush in out of the corner of his eye. The guards outside the door quickly shut it behind him.

"Legolas!" He turned toward his friend and marchwarden, Erestor. The latter looked pointedly at him as he panted, then at the young woman.

"Let her go," he said in Sindarin. His voice was less sharp than before, but his gaze was dead serious as he looked the elf prince in the eye. "You are too angry, mellon-nin, and you forget yourself." He reached out and gently but firmly grasped Legolas's own wrist. The chastised elf prince immediately released her and stepped back, and Erestor moved between them as she collapsed to the floor still holding her head.

"You have frightened her enough," Erestor stated firmly. The marchwarden's countenance was calm, but he knew his friend well enough to hear the anger and disappointment in his tone. Legolas looked into the stern brown eyes, and immediately knew why Erestor stood where he did.

He's protecting her…from me.

The blonde elf could hear her choked sobs as she curled up on the floor behind the marchwarden, and shame filled his heart as he realized he had rashly and unjustly attacked an unarmed and helpless woman in anger. He had been so shocked and furious at the pain her malicious words had inflicted upon his father that he had lost all self-control. His father had been so shaken that he tripped, and the tall, graceful elf never stumbled over his own two feet. Legolas knew he was far stronger than she, and he was armed. She was not. He could have seriously injured her, if Erestor hadn't stepped in.

Legolas knew that someone had run to fetch the marchwarden the moment he started shouting at her. The elf was not only his patrol's second-in-command, but he was also his closest friend, and everyone knew it. Despite not being nobility, the humble and wise ellon had spent many long years with him beneath the trees together as they patrolled his father's borders, and their stark difference in status and age hadn't been enough to keep them from bonding as brothers in arms.

Whoever had fetched him must have known that only his friend would be able to calm him down enough in his furious state to see reason. They also knew that the marchwarden would defend the young woman if he needed to. When it came to protecting others, the brown-haired elf would not hesitate to come to someone's defense if they were being unjustly attacked, and it would not matter to the older elf if he was the king's son or not. Erestor would never actually harm Legolas, but he would disarm and subdue him. He was a gentle and compassionate elf, but a fierce warrior at need.

Legolas also knew that Erestor had been in the training rooms teaching young noble elves the basics of weaponry when he had taken her to the king for questioning. The training rooms were a good distance away from her chambers, and he soberly realized just how fast both his friend and the messenger must have run in order to get him here quickly. By Elbereth, half the kingdom must have heard his shouts!

"Go, mellon-nin," Erestor commanded him, even though technically he had no authority to do so. "Take a walk beneath the stars and calm yourself. You will not return to this chamber tonight." His tone left no room for argument.

Legolas could not even meet his friend's gaze as he headed toward the door, feeling more ashamed of himself in that moment than he ever had in his entire life.

Erestor watched his friend leave, before turning toward the terrified young woman. He was not told why Legolas had frightened a young adaneth, but he knew she must have done something absolutely vile for the normally gentle elven prince to completely lose all self-control and attack her. His friend had never raised his hand to a woman before, and it was very strange, and unsettling.

What on earth did she do?!

All he knew was that the harried guard was beside himself and said that Legolas was attacking the woman prisoner they captured with the dwarves, and he feared he might hurt her. No sooner were the words out of the breathless guard's mouth that he had taken off as fast as his legs could carry him. Erestor knew his friend better than anyone who was not his kin- had known him from the moment the young prince had been old enough to attend his training class as a boy, and this was absolutely unlike him.

The Legolas he knew was kind, compassionate, gentle, and sought to treat others as he himself would be treated. He looked down upon dwarves, but Erestor didn't know any elf who didn't. The elven prince never cheated anyone else, was always fair in his dealings with others, never flaunted his noble status as the son of the king, and had never shown any animosity toward Men unless they were criminals or other vile folk, and only when justified. He was also known for taking in injured animals as a child, much to his father's consternation as his room would quickly become full of them, and gently nursing them back to health as best he could. The Legolas he knew would never attack anyone without just cause, let alone an unarmed woman much smaller than himself.

Is this darkness that threatens our forest, kills our oaks and beeches, poisons our game, and fouls our water now seeping into the hearts of our very people? What sort of evil draws forth from Dol Guldur?

He didn't have time to ponder the answer to that question, but his own heart began to become even more fearful of the southern wood than it already was. If such evil was so strong that it had begun to poison the very hearts of his kin…his own friend…
The young adaneth's low moan broke him from his very troubling thoughts. The bewildered marchwarden knelt in front of the shaking young woman, noting the red marks on her wrists in the shape of Legolas's hands. There might be some mild bruising later, he reasoned, but he was relieved to note that the elven prince had still maintained enough self-control to not truly harm her. It appeared to him that she was more frightened than anything else. He sighed in relief, and she immediately shrank away from him with a cry and pressed her curled form against the wall as much as she possibly could, her red face covered in tears as she held the back of her head.

He noted her astonishingly small hands and feet and her short stature, and the stunned elf shook his head. She barely looked to be of age in the measure of Men, and he wasn't entirely certain on that point, as Men matured much, much faster than elves did. She certainly did not look to be full-grown quite yet compared to most adaneths he had seen, and yet her feminine form spoke of womanhood. She was no dwarf, that he knew, as her hands and feet were far too small, and the slight dusting of barely visible white hair upon her cheeks and upper lip was too thin, scattered, and sparse for a naugrim woman. It was the same fine hairs he had observed on daughters of Men, at least, those who did not attempt to remove it out of vanity.

Either way, this tiny, shaking, pitiable young maiden before him posed no greater threat in his mind than a child. He honestly wasn't sure if she was still one or not! Erestor could not at all figure out why Legolas had become so furious with her, or why he had pressed her up against the wall like that. Whatever she had done had to have been incredibly vile, for his friend to lose his normally controlled temper so vociferously.

"By Elbereth," the confused ellon asked in Westron as he shook his head again. "What did you do?" She did not respond, and he gently reached out toward her arm once more. As soon as his fingers brushed the slowly-bruising skin, she about jumped out of it.

"No!" she shrieked, shooting off to the side with a speed that astonished even the quick-footed elf. She half-ran, half-crawled toward the corner of the room between the windows and the bed, and he noticed her bump into the corner of the bed in the process, even though she had clearly been looking right at it. The young woman over-corrected her course and bumped against the far wall as well, and Erestor felt a strange sense of dread settling in the pit of his stomach as he saw a little blood in her honey-colored hair. She finally managed to make it to the corner of the room, and curled up against the stone whimpering in pain as she cradled her head.

A quick glance at the wall Legolas had thrown her into intensified that dread. There was no mistaking the obvious, though small, smear of fresh blood on the light stone. No mistaking the fact that she had struggled to avoid objects in her way-objects she should have easily missed. She needed a healer-badly. He himself was not one, though he knew enough to dress wounds in the wild, but someone in the guard had to take her to the healing houses if she was hurt. She was still a prisoner, dangerous or no, and the king would have his hide if he let her wander the halls unsupervised.

She's really unsteady, he thought to himself. She must have hit that wall hard. It's a wonder she can keep her feet at all.

"Don't hurt me," she whispered, sniffling. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." His heart filled with pity.

"I am not going to hurt you," he promised, speaking as gently as possible. "I give you my word." She did not respond, and he could see her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Erestor had a feeling he knew why- and it wasn't just because Legolas badly frightened her.

"I am not going to hurt you," he repeated. "You are hurt, and I need to take you to the healers." He knelt down before her once more and brushed her arm. She shrunk back from him, still whimpering.

"No," she whimpered. "I'm sorry. I'll never do it again!" Do what? He was now incredibly puzzled…and worried. She seemed very…confused, as well as panicked.

"I am not the elf that was in here before," he reassured her. The marchwarden pointed to his hair. "He is fair-haired, and I am not, as you see. You do not need to apologize to me, young maiden." She did not respond, and her shaking grew worse as her face grew even whiter. Erestor was now very, very worried, especially after seeing her run into things. She must be dizzier than he thought.

"Please," he begged. "Your head is bleeding. He will not come back tonight. You are safe." The young woman murmured so quietly that even his keen ears barely made out what she said.

"M-my eyes," she whispered in panic. "What's wrong with my eyes?" Panic began to course through the elf as well as his brown orbs widened, and Erestor reached out a shaking hand and waved it in front of her face. She did not react at all, and the marchwarden gasped as the color drained from his face. Her unsteadiness and confusion were not due to mere dizziness. It was far worse.

"By Elbereth and all the Valar," he breathed, feeling like he had been punched in the stomach by a troll. "You…you're…" Mellon-nin, what have you done?!

"I just want to die," she whimpered as tears and snot streamed down her very red face. "I can't do this anymore. Please just let me die." Erestor shook his head, though it was pointless to do so.

"I cannot do that," he replied honestly, trying to keep his voice steady for her sake. An injury such as hers was an elf's greatest fear. "I do not know what it is like where you are from, or where you have been. But I'm an elf, and I will not harm or kill anyone who does not threaten my life or that of my lords or kin. It is not in my blood, and goes against my heart, and my honor." He reached his hand out again and gently but slowly touched her shoulder. She flinched, and his heart filled with sympathy.

Poor child.

"Please, let me take you to the healers," he begged. "I will not hurt you, and you need a healer desperately." She shook her head, and he sighed in defeat, realizing she was too frightened and in pain to see reason.

"Then I shall have them fetch Miriel and bring her here to you," he conceded. "She is the best healer among our people, and you need not be afraid of her. She does not carry arms, and she wouldn't hurt a nestling." He rose to his feet and made for the door. The marchwarden paused as he grabbed the antler door handle, and looked over his shoulder.

"I ask forgiveness for my friend," he said quietly. "Whatever you did, it was not worth the hurt he dealt you. He knows that now, he is ashamed, and he will never lay his hands on you again. I promise you that." He stepped through the door and shut it softly behind him so it wouldn't startle her.

"Fetch Miriel and send her here quickly!" he commanded one of the door sentries. "I must stay with the prisoner. She cannot be left alone." The guard saluted him in elf fashion and did as bidden. The marchwarden turned toward the other sentry, who was the elf that had originally fetched him.

"What in Elbereth's name happened?!" he asked in Sindarin, mindful of his volume. "She is utterly terrified! Why in all of Arda would Legolas attack her?!" Erestor decided it was wiser to leave out the seriousness of her injury. The young guard was clearly feeling uneasy, and shook his head.

"I do not know, Captain," he replied, looking rather shaken up himself. This was his first night on sentry duty. "All I know is that he nearly yanked her arm off dragging her back from the royal chambers and looked angrier than I've ever seen him in my life. He took her into her chamber, and tried to shut the door with his foot. But it did not shut all the way, and I saw him throw her into the wall by her arm. It looked like she hit her head. Then he grabbed her and started shouting at her- and that is when I ran to fetch you." Erestor put his hand on the pale guard's shoulder.

"You were right to do so," he reassured him, his expression grim. "Thank you for fetching me so quickly, Neldor." The guard nodded, and Erestor re-entered the chamber. Grabbing a dry cloth from the wooden washstand in the bath, he cautiously approached the injured young woman so he wouldn't startle her.

"Here," he said gently, pressing the soft cloth into her hand. "Your head is bleeding. Press this against your wound." He was relieved when she complied, and he sat down next to her on the floor and waited for Miriel to arrive. He knew the bed would be more comfortable, but he was not sure if he should move her at all. The last thing he wanted to do was make her injury worse by doing so.

He knew that if she had foolishly tried to kill the king, she would be dead-either killed by Legolas himself, or one of the king's personal guards. Any attempt on their lord's life was met with swift and deadly retaliation, no matter what race or gender the attacker was. Since the young woman was still very much alive, if not badly injured and frightened half out of her wits, she clearly hadn't tried to murder him. Outside of that, there was quite literally nothing else he could think of that could possibly justify Legolas throwing her into the wall.

Perhaps, in his anger, he threw her harder than he meant to? He could feel how angry his friend had been, could see it in his eyes. Legolas had been taking dwarf after stubborn dwarf for interrogation earlier that day, and they were considerably heavier than the small young woman. Elves were lithe, but they were far stronger than other races realized. And they were not used to dealing with such small, light prisoners as her.

Still, that did not explain why Legolas had even thrown her in the first place. Erestor could think of no good reason for it, other than his friend had simply been blinded by his anger over whatever wrong she had committed and was not thinking clearly. He knew the young prince felt emotions very deeply, and there were a few instances in the early years of his training where the rash, hot-headed youth had reached that point. But centuries of experience had led to greater self-control, and the marchwarden had not seen him lose his temper like that in over five hundred winters.

He thought about asking the young woman what on earth she did to make Legolas so angry again, but one look at her ashen, tear-streaked face changed his mind. She was in too much pain, and far too panicked to give him a coherent answer. She suddenly turned very, very green, and before he could grab a bucket, she turned and began to be sick. He reached over and grabbed her hair, gently pulling it out of the way. He could help with that at least.

"Easy," he said gently as he lightly rubbed her shoulders, having seen mortals do the same in their healing houses. He was not sure why, but it seemed to have a soothing effect on the ill person. Once she was done, he gently reached under her shoulders and eased her back up to a sitting position, taking care to make sure she still pressed the cloth to her wound.

"Careful," he warned, noting how much she relied on his arms to remain upright. Tears poured down her cheeks.

"I-I'm s-sorry," she stammered, sniffling. "I…I'm so…so dizzy, I…I th-think I'm going t-to pass out." Given how badly she was listing in his arms, he was not surprised. He was honestly stunned that she had remained conscious this long.

"I'm going to lay your head down on my leg until Miriel arrives," he said gently. "I would grab a pillow, but I'm worried that if I let you go to get it, you will hit your head on the stone again." To his relief, she nodded, and he moved over and gently rested her head upon his thigh.

"Rest now," he instructed. "She will be here soon." He pressed the cloth against her wound to try and stop the bleeding, and waited.

Once his replacement returned with Miriel, and he knew the injured girl was taken care of, the marchwarden resolved to head down to the young prince's chambers and speak with him, even if it meant waiting all night for his return. He would find out what happened to make his normally-gentle friend go half-mad with rage, even if it took him a hundred years to pry the tale from Legolas's lips.

And until he did, the elf prince was not going to come anywhere near her chambers- not if he had anything to say about it.

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