Roswehn of Mirkwood

Blood

Legolas stood in front of the prison door.

"Roswehn?" he called.

There was no answer.

He knocked on the wood twice. "Roswehn!" It seemed that the cell was empty.

He turned to the guard. "Open this door!" he ordered him. The soldier tried timidly to reply. "Varian says that ..."

"Open this damn door, and quickly!" Legolas said. The guard then pulled out the set of keys and inserted one into the heavy lock. Immediately Legolas opened the door and saw the girl crouched on the ground, unconscious. He noticed  some blood on her right wrist.
"Help me, let's get her out!" he told the soldier. "I'll take her to my father's chambers, go call a healer, tell him to reach us instantly!"  the prince ordered, taking the woman in his arms.

He walked all the distance from the dungeons to the large paternal room, praying the Valar that the woman would recover. He felt terror mixed with hatred for Thranduil's decisions. What was happening to his father? He was severe, Legolas knew that. But how could he be so harsh to the girl who had only recently entered his life and seemed to have brought back the light. How could he hurt her like that?

He carried Roswehn in the king's quarters. Thranduil was sitting on a small wooden throne, he was reading a parchment. He immediately looked up at his son, who for the umpteenth time had enter his private room without announcing himself. Seeing Roswehn in his arms made him stand up suddenly.

"Look what you've done!" said the prince. Thranduil approached quickly and stopped him to grab Roswehn's wounded wrist and examine it. "Hm." He murmured.

"Let her lay down, at least." Legolas told him, taking the woman to the bed, in the most hidden room of those large quarters. With infinite care, he laid her on the coulters.

"She's unconscious, she has lost a lot of blood." the Prince murmured, agitated. Meanwhile, Thranduil had arrived, holding a glass full of water in his hand.

"Are you no longer able to recognize a wound from a scratch, Legolas?" he asked his son. He seemed absolutely calm. "You disappoint me."

"Don't you see what's going on, father?" Legolas asked. "Even now, you're unable to feel compassion?"

"I feel compassion for her father, I can only imagine what a troublemaker she was during childhood." the king replied. "And as for being unconscious ..." he threw water on her face. Roswehn sat up on the bed, and immediately began to cough. "You recovered quickly, I see." He told her. The classic sarcastic smile was back on his face.

"I hate you." Roswehn said, rubbing her wet cheeks.

"Leave us alone." Thranduil intimated to his son, who in the meantime seemed totally confused. "You do not know the tricks of women, Legolas, you needed a lesson."

The prince silently left the king's room. "And tell Feren and others not to disturb us." the king added.

Then, the Elf sat on the bed next to the girl. "What a miserable coward, you are." he said. "You could not stay an hour in that cell, I would have expected more resistance from you."

"You are vile and petty ..." Roswehn answered. "... you had me locked up in that hole, and in my conditions..."

"Take this, for that scratched wrist." Thranduil said, handing her a piece of cloth. "... I want to see the face of our healer when he runs here, convinced to find you more dead than alive."

Roswehn took the cloth from his hand and began to dab the wound. "I'll leave this place, I told you. I'll go back to my family, in Dale, you will not stop me." She growled.