Moonbeam

Chapter Four

Tara slowly regained consciousness, but couldn't open her eyes. She became aware of moving, and gradually realised she was being carried. Her limbs felt useless, and she was unable to move against the strong arms which held her.

A deep softness pressed against her back as she was lowered down, and she felt an instant chill as whoever had carried her moved away.

Forcing her eyes open, she saw Thranduil gazing at her as he lowered his weight to sit on the edge of the bed he had placed her on.

He lifted a hand and touched his palm to her forehead. "How do you feel?" he asked, his voice soft.

"Dizzy," she replied thickly.

He reached over and picked up a glass and a pitcher, pouring water into it. "Try to sit up," he advised, sliding an arm under her shoulders and pulling her upright. "Drink this. It will help." He handed her the glass.

She drank, the cool water refreshing her.

He pulled his arm away and took the glass from her as she settled back against the soft pillows. "You were out for only a matter of seconds," he told her, crossing one leg over the other. "You should be alright if you rest for some time before attempting to stand again."

She didn't look at him, her gaze focused on the faraway wall instead. Her face was deathly pale, her pupils dilated slightly.

He remained silent.

"I do not know what to think, or say," she said eventually, her voice no more than a whisper. Large, tear-filled eyes moved to meet his.

Surprisingly, his held no trace of malice or anger. "It is a difficult truth to absorb," he replied, after choosing his words carefully. "And one which I imagine, is not particularly welcome."

She shook her head, a subtle movement, as her gaze wandered back to the wall again. "I cannot understand," she whispered. "Nothing makes sense anymore."

He took a deep breath. "I think that you should eat something," he told her. "You have not touched food or drink in almost seven days, and your body is weak."

"Why do you care?" she whispered.

"Because I do," he replied, and rose from the bed.

She heard him open the door, and speak in his own tongue to whichever guard he summoned along the corridor, before closing it again. He strode across the room and pulled the drapes over the window, closing out the bright sunlight.

Turning to face her, he folded his arms, leaning against a waist high bookcase.

"When am I going back to the dungeons?" she asked, still gazing vacantly at the wall.

"You are not," he replied.

Her eyes moved to his. "Thrown out of Mirkwood?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Whipped?"

"No."

"Executed?"

He sighed. "No. Stop this."

A few moments passed. "So what do you intend to do to me?"

"Feed and nourish you, and get you back to full health," he replied. "Then the choice of what you do afterwards is yours."

She lifted her hand from where it rested on the blanket, holding it up and inspecting it. "I have trained for years, training these hands to take your life," she whispered.

He noticed the tremble that ran through her limb.

"I expect to be punished for what I have done."