Moonbeam

Chapter Thirteen

Tara recovered from her injuries fairly quickly, and was soon back on her feet, much to Thranduil's relief and despair. The two states of mind fluctuated rapidly, leaving him dizzy at the speed of the changes.

"I shall call a formal meeting regarding the severity of this issue once the upcoming feast is out of the way," he said, strolling into the room where years' worth of documentation was carefully archived. "I see no sense in calling it before then."

"I agree, my Lord," the scribe replied, nodding as he walked slightly behind his King. "Our people are eagerly anticipating the feast; there would be no reason to dampen their spirits."

"My sentiments exactly," he replied. "Let them enjoy themselves before we must face this darkness." He turned slightly, frowning as he sensed something. Unsure what it was, he turned back to the scribe. "Have something drawn up in the meantime, some missive of sorts which I can go over when I have the time and send out after the celebrations."

"Very good, my Lord," the much smaller elf said with a deep bow. He straightened up, and glanced to the side as a slight noise caught his attention.

He suddenly leapt into the air with an ear-shattering scream, pure terror on his face, as the suit of armour in the corner leapt into the middle of the room with an angry roar, arms raised in battle-mode.

Thranduil pursed his mouth and folded his arms, not batting an eyelid.

The petrified ellon shot out of the room, the sound of his feet echoing along the stone corridor as he ran for his life.

Snorts of laughter sounded from inside the armour as the figure leaned forwards.

"Tara, you really must stop this," he sighed, crossing the floor and tugging the helmet free. "I know that we are immortal, but you are going to scare that poor man to death with this nonsense."

She couldn't answer, as she convulsed in fits of laughter. "Oh Thranduil, that was far too good an opportunity to miss," she gasped eventually, tears of laughter pouring down her face.

"I am going to lose a perfectly good scribe, and it will be all your fault," he said, pointing the helmet at her. "Get out of that ridiculous armour before you do yourself an injury or something."

She wriggled around, and her eyes met his. "I seem to be stuck," she said. "Again."

He tapped a foot. "Really?"

"Um..yes."

"Good," he retorted. "Perhaps that will teach you not to pull stunts like this on my scribe. You found a way in, now find a way out." He turned and walked out of the room.

"Thranduil!" she yelled after him. "You cannot leave me like this!"

"Indeed I can, my little moonbeam," he said, his voice carrying back to her.

She roared in frustration, waddling over to the doorway. A window of opportunity presented itself as Legolas headed in the other direction. "Leggy!" she yelled. "Leggy, help me out of this thing!"

"Do it at your own risk, my son," Thranduil's voice called from out of sight. "And I shall have you sent down to the dungeons to scrub the toilets with a handkerchief."

The Prince looked pityingly at her, shrugging. "I cannot go against my father," he said apologetically.

"Oh my God I will make your life a misery!" she spat, fighting to free herself from the steel. "Get me out of this thing!"

"Toilets, Legolas, toilets," his father's voice floated back, sounding further away.

"My apologies, Tara," he said. "I cannot."