Chapter Seventeen: Evasions—Forven

The elleth stood frozen, her gaze connecting with mine. Bright, fiery eyes faded as her stance shifted, lips parted in surprise and foot taking a step backward. No words were exchanged, but the silence spoke volumes. As the pound of my heart drummed in my ears, a mirthless smile found its way onto my lips. Perhaps Legolas had been right. The snake had slithered inside our walls and I had only encouraged it.

I didn't hesitate—I couldn't afford to. As I spoke, my hand slipped begind me to the dagger that hung on my belt, a subtle movement but her eyes still followed it. "What have you done, Iaewneth?"

It was then that Earandur noticed my presence, and he visibly stiffened, brow furrowing as he took a step back. "Ah—um—captain, er, lieutenant."

I didn't look at him, focused on Iaewneth, watching, waiting. There was a blink of uncertainty, a momentary break in her façade, and then she spoke, eyes widened in what felt to be a pretense of concern. "Are you alright, lieutenant? There are rumors traveling about. I'd heard that—"

"Don't," I said. "I heard you—don't you so much as dare to lie to me."

She didn't move aside from the subtle clench of her fist. Her eyes flashed once, darting between Earandur and me, and then she was in motion, my own action just behind hers. In a flash of movement, Iaewneth pushed past Earandur—the ellon blustering and confused—and ran down the hall in a swiftness I did not know she possessed.

I moved after her—a blinding pain biting up my side. My breath came in harsh gasps, footsteps pounding across the chilled stone floor. Her dark hair whipped behind her, intertwined with the white flashes that slipped across my vision.

It seemed to be one turn after the next, swiveling to the right and then the left. An endless chase of prey and predator, both desperate and yet only one whose desire could be satisfied. From somewhere in my distant memory, I knew something of the path she led me down—this hall, it was familiar, known to me in a strange way. I could not discern the familiarity of it, nor the significance or worthy note of it—but still I followed. My teeth bit down upon each other, clenched and determined and all too unwilling to fail/

Long moments that were surely less than the eternity they felt to be passed before I neared her. Earandur's shouts for me to stop echoed in my ears as I moved, undaunted. She was just in arm's reach. A single action and the true fight would begin.

I couldn't afford to hesitate; such would only entice my doom to come upon me. Without slowing, I took one dagger from my belt, another already in hand. Fury burning, I brought one blade toward her shoulder in the same moment that she dove to the floor. My weapon met empty air as my eyes followed her descending form, watching as she spun on her boot to face me. I should have expected it, known what would result in response to my own action, but I was too late, my response slow and delayed. My leg caught on her outstretched arm, and I tripped forward, my shoulder colliding with the stone floor with jolting force. Not so much as a breath passed before I rolled onto my feet, weapon again in front of me.

Instantly, it was in use, Iaewneth's own knife appearing in her hand, cutting through the air, tempered only by the collision upon my own blade.

I struggled to maintain a sure stance, to hold to a solid fight, but my breath came harshly, and my entire being protested to the movement I forced it to engage in. Her blade came towards my chin, and it was by sheer instinct that I evaded it. Our weapons locked—determination and desperation waging a silent battle—before we were a flurry of mirrored action again.

Parry

Block

Strike

Evade

One desperate defense after the next, but ai, Valar it hurt.

My gaze lingered a second too long on one of her knives. The error would not come without cost. I faltered once—and she captured her opportunity. Her shoulder impacted against my chest, and I lost my precarious hold on balance. Breath escaping me, I stumbled, one step back and then another. The back of my head hit upon a wall. An arm pressed upon my chest. Coldness crept upon my skin.

Everything was still.

Ragged breaths sounded from her lips. Struggling to look down, I saw the harsh trembling of her shoulders, how her eyes were trained unmoving in front of her—but her gaze refused to meet mine. Eyes shining and jaw clenched, she stared at what I could only assume was the knife she had pressed to my throat. There was something in her stance, however, that gave me a hopeful doubt, or perhaps it was a desperate grasp at assurance. Nonetheless, I saw it: a prick of reluctance in her eye, almost as if she were... afraid?

Blade's edge was dangerously close to piercing my skin. Cautious of my words, I spoke, shoulder's tensed. "Iaewneth, daro. Whatever you think you're doing, it will not help you."

Her resolve only seemed to harden, dashing whatever hope I might have awoken. "Do not tell me what I want. You know nothing. I do this for my brother—for the good of Mirkwood."

I might have answered her statement, but a movement just behind her caught my attention. Slow, shuffling movements brought an ellon I knew into view, and I did not know whether to feel relief or frustration. "Earandur," I said, "you never told me she was your sister."

His feet shuffled, scraping one after the other. "I—I didn't know it was her--or that she had come—and, I—what are you doing? What is this—what happened—"

Iawneth shifted as her brother spoke. "Leave, muindor. Go now and no one will know."

"Know—know what? What are you—"

"She is going to kill me," I said, tone even, "if you don't do something." It wouldn't be long. Mere seconds were left before it would come—before they would arrive.

"Don't listen to him," she spat. "Just go."

Earandur might have fumbled another reply, but his words were smothered by the whispers of movement that flooded the hall. I breathed deeply—and for the first time Iaewneth eyes shot to mine. Denial appeared, only to be lost in the flurry of action that roared into the air. Dark shapes came upon us, murmurs rising to shouts as Iaewneth was pulled away from me. Earandur's voice rose amid the others, but even he was silenced in the chaos.

The King's Guard moved readily, subduing a struggling elleth and her brother. Their eyes were dark, focused and pointed. I sighed deeply, relief coming upon me in a cascade of prodigious feeling. Even as I did so, I felt my tunic cling to my skin, wetness seeping into its fabric. I glanced down to see a crimson stain just beginning to form, evidence of torn stitches and an oncoming visit to a none too satisfied healer.

I felt a hand under my arm, and only then did I become aware of the sinking feeling in my knees. A deep voice pierced my consciousness. "Maethor? Are you injured?" Imrathon moved closer to me, his grip tightening. He was a tall ellon, and most elflings—as I had—found him threatening to say the least.

Blinking, I shook my head, swallowing with some effort. "Hm? Fine, fine, of course. Now that—" I waved a hand absently toward where I had last known Iaewneth to be, "that's done."

Imrathon nodded, but there was reluctance in his movement. "The King will need to hear your word on what has occurred."

Another voice broke the air. "The King will wait." Thranduil stepped out from behind Imrathon, icy gaze passing over us a northern wind. "You have aggravated you injury, Forven. Do not protest otherwise or you will be as untrustworthy as Legolas."

"Aran-nin." Imrathon's brow furrowed. "You should not be here—it is not yet safe."

Thranduil tilted his head, gaze unblinking. "I respect your concern, captain, but my safety matters little if my people are to be harmed to ensure it." The King's hand gripped Imrathon's wrist, his arm resting across my back. "Take those two to the dungeons—but keep them from the assassin. I will join you there shortly."

Again, Imrathon hesitated, but he knew his duty as much as the rest of the warriors did. "As you say, Oropherion." And they departed, a cloud of phantom smoke and thunder.

Few of the guard remained, vigilance in their standing. Thranduil moved forwards, bringing me alongside him. "You were still an elfling when you came to my halls. Do not think I have not learned the signs of your hurting in these many centuries. Is it only your side penneth? Or has some other hurt befallen you?"

I shook my head, working to stand straighter. "Tis only stitching that has torn—and perhaps some healing alongside it. Nothing of consequence. I will soon be well."

He muttered something, his voice angered but words indiscernible, before speaking clearly. I knew him to be infuriated, but not only in relation to the toil that spiraled in the hour's events, for my own thoughts mirrored his. We had yet to speak of Iaewneth—the Noldo whose tale and motives appeared to be a step beyond corrupt—but our emotions built to a dangerous peak.

If we had been fooled within our own walls, what could Legolas be facing in the forest's depths?

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Though I might have wished to stand, circumstance demanded that I remain seated. The air was eerie with silence, but such hush was nearly welcome in the depths of the dungeons. Thranduil stood by the adjoining wall, arms crossed and chin high. Though I knew there to be guards just outside the door, and others standing around us, my hand still itched to clasp my sword's hilt.

Iaewneth stood across from us, hands in front of her, bound by the chains made of the deceit she had slipped into our midst. Her eyes were cold, lifeless, but I knew one certainty: Thranduil would loose her tongue before the sun's rays left the sky.

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To be continued...

maethor : warrior

muindor : brother

Also, I published the trailer for what will be the sequel to this book! I would love it if you would check it out. :)