Moonbeam

Chapter Three

The cool air circulating the cells made the elleth shiver, goose-bumps rising on her bare arms. One of the guards had bandaged the slash on her arm, but the blood had soaked through the white cloth overnight, darkening to a brownish stain.

She sat on the cold, hard floor, her back against the equally cold and hard wall. Her knees were pulled up, her still-tied wrists resting on top of them. She leaned her head back, gazing up at the stone roof above her.

She hated that damned elf King. Hated him with everything she had. Yet when she had looked into his eyes as she'd trained her arrow on him, she had felt the deepest heartache she could imagine.

And that had left her mystified and confused.

Her gaze shifted as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

Ice blue eyes burned into hers through the cell gate.

She huffed slightly, looking away again. How he had approached so silently, she had no idea.

"You have not eaten," his deep, velvet voice said.

"And why do you care? I care not about your well-being," she said, still staring up at the roof.

"I did not say I cared; I merely voiced an observation," he replied.

"So there is nothing wrong with your eyesight," she shot back.

He fell silent.

Pointedly ignoring him, she didn't move.

"I shall return when your hostility has cooled somewhat," he said eventually as he turned away.

"You shall be waiting for a long time," she said.

He smirked over his shoulder as he walked away. "I have patience. I can wait."

Good for you, she thought.

*****

Almost a week passed.

Thranduil had gone down to the cell twice more, and both times the elleth had ignored him. All food and drink that was sent down remained untouched, only to be cleared away come the next meal time. The guards kept an eye on her, reporting that she moved only every couple of hours to walk up and down the cramped space a few times, then return to her position on the floor.

Curiosity was getting the better of him. He wanted to know who she was, and what it was about him that had angered her to the point she had attempted to end his life. Rather than being furious at her foolish ideas, he found himself itching to know more. There had to be a good motive behind her actions, and despite her insistence that he knew what he had done, he was utterly clueless as to exactly what that motive was.

"Bring me the prisoner," he commanded his guard, settling himself on his throne.

He waited, the silence in the vast area almost deafening, until his sharp ears sensed approaching footsteps. Turning his head, he watched the guard practically drag her along the walkway towards him, stopping once they were up on the raised platform.

She stood a short walk away from the steps leading up to his throne, her gaze fixed stubbornly on the stone floor beneath her feet.

"Untie her," he ordered.

The guard slid his sword through the rope that bound her wrists and hurriedly stepped aside as she slid him a sideways look, not trusting her not to lash out at him.

Thranduil smirked ever so slightly at his apprehension. "You may leave," he told him.

The guard hurried away.