The King's Heart (Thranduil Fanfiction)

Chapter 37

(Rhovanel)

The bag over my eyes smells of month-old fish and secretes what feels like fish intestines all over my head and shoulders. The floor beneath me rocks slightly, like a docked boat. I hear gruff voices often, but they speak in a language I have never heard. I hear my name once or twice, but that is the only distinguishable word of all their conversations.

I have been twisting my wrists to no end, but the rope that restrains me is thin and wrapped tightly. I am not capable of pulling it apart or loosening the knots that hold it in place. The best I can determine, I am leaning against a wooden beam less than a quarter of a meter wide with a flat surface to my back and a rounded surface against my arms so I do not cut my bindings on a corner.

I have no idea how long I have been here, but I assume it to have been less than three days, based on the smell of my captors when the bag is taken off to give me water. They still smell of forest musk and fire, a scent that fades in three days or less.

I sit alone with my thoughts mostly. The men do not linger in my presence, nor do they prod or make fun of me. They learned quickly that I am no one's plaything. I think I heard a crunch when one of the men shoved his midsection at me. No one came near me after that but which a small cup of water, and even then they moved slowly and never looked me in the eye.

The time passes agonizingly slow. I think mostly of Thranduil and Legolas. What they are doing, if they think I am truly in Lothlórien, if they are searching for me, if they have forgotten me and moved on. I quickly dismiss the last theory. Legolas had tears in his eyes as he ran for Thranduil. He would not have forgotten me so easily.

Then, several men came storming into the room and ripped the bag from my head. I blink at the sudden blinding light. There are four men and two elves standing before me, most with crossed arms. They all have dark hair and above average height for their species. The taller elf steps forward.

"Do you know why you are here?" I stare at him. This is the group that managed to take me from a guarded kingdom and keep me here against my will? This is a group of thugs and half-wits. The leader is obviously not among these brusque six.

"How should I know why I am here? It is not as if I came here by my own choice," I snap, glaring at the man on the end with Lothlórien armor instead of a travel-worn cloak like the others. There is discussion amongst the group in the language I don't know again. It consists mostly of clicks and hisses, similar to that of the goblin. They stop talking as fast as they started and face me again.

I give them my most winning smile, just to observed their reactions. The elves do not even flinch, but the men are who I wanted to watch anyway. The smaller two smile weakly back, confusion evident in their body language. The largest smirks and relaxes, clearly not moved by my action. The last man snarls and takes a step at me with a whip raised. The large man puts his arm out, but I can tell the smaller is the most hostile of this group, and clearly not the brightest.

The elf that spoke before hold his hand for silence, and speaks to me again in common: "How well do you know the king of the Woodland Realm?"

"He hired me to educate his son on the subject of blade fighting. Other than that, I am afraid you will need to speak with my twin for any other personal matters involving the king," I smirk. The man with the whip slings it at me, slicing a gash in my arm.

"You don't have a twin, Rhovanel of Lothlórien! We know everything about you, so do not lie, or I will get to use my new toy," he snarls, fingering his whip. I look down at my arm in mock horror. This was hardly a scratch to me.

"Oh, sir! I have a terrible itch on my calf that has been bothering me for hours. Would you be so kind-" I start laughing. The man bellows in rage and raises the whip again only to be restrained by the taller man again.

"Rhynnyn, ego!" The tall elf shouts at him. The man with the whip, Rhynnyn, gives me the most gruesome smile I have ever seen, and walks out of the room. The rest of the men and elves shake their heads at him as he sulks out. Then they start talking in what I am naming Goblish.

I take a look around the room. There are scratches in the walls; they look animal in origin. There is only one post in here: the one I am tied to. Other than that, the room is completely bare wood. Everything looks wet, but my clothes are not soaked, so we can not be on a boat. Maybe we are in Laketown?

"I asked you a question," the tall elf snarls.

"Could you repeat it? I am a bit hard of hearing,"

"I said, why do you think you are here?"

"If I were to make a guess, I would say that you want to use me as a hostage to get a rise out of the king of the Woodland Realm, but I am afraid that if that is why I am here, you are fools. The king will not actively search me out. I am simply a teacher. Lothlórien might pay for me, but that is not what you want. They will be angry that you impersonated a guard, and will more than likely shoot you on sight. So please, explain to me why you think I am here because I cannot come up with a smart answer myself."

"Let's take a walk," the tall elf says, nodding to the others. They undo the knots that hold me to the beam, but not the ropes that bind my hands. They drag me through the door and into blinding sunlight. The green leaves strike me as odd, considering the oncoming winter.

"Where are we?" I ask more to myself, but the tall elf actually answers me.

"The last place you will ever see. Rivornor thought it should be beautiful."

I know that name...