The Shadow Walker

24. Double Trouble

As Elladan stared at me, my mind flitted through the dozens of useless metaphors people used to try and explain what ensued behind closed doors. As seasoned as I considered myself in flirting, my experience here was sorely lacking. Nonexistent, in fact.

Elladan crossed the space between us in two long steps, his strong arms wrapping around my shoulders and his chest pushing me down to the bed. His lips brushed my jaw, then collided with mine once more. His hands roamed over my ribcage, then came up to the row of buttons, starting at my throat. I shivered as he slipped the first button from its loop.

"Cold?" he asked, his eyes glinting. His body rested atop mine, his heat suffocating me. Still, I couldn't stop trembling.

He released another button, and kissed my chin as he continued. His lips traveled down my throat...farther...and farther...

Pain flared over my shoulder and chest, and I flinched. Elladan tensed, and pushed himself off me. "What?" he demanded. "Are you hurt?"

I shook my head, rubbing the throbbing area connecting my neck to my shoulder. "I'm fine."

Elladan snatched my hand away from the sore area and pulled the loosened collar away from my throat. A growl rose in his throat. "Is that a love bite?"

"What?" I squeaked. "No!" I looked down at the purple bruise on my neck. That was where the ugly naked thing had bitten me. Truth be told, I'd forgotten all about that little incident.

An open-handed slap knocked my head to the side. My cheek stung immediately, and tears sprung to my eyes. "What was that for?" I cried.

"For lying." Elladan's tone was dark, cruel. "I know what happened between you and Elrohir. But I never thought you a whore."

I flinched. "Elladan—"

He thrust himself away from me and strode out of my room, leaving the door open.

"Elladan," I called, sitting up and floundering off the bed. I ran out the door, toward his quickly-retreating form. "Elladan!" I cried. As I moved to run after him, a hand reached from the shadows and snagged my arm. I stumbled to a halt, coming around to face Lord Elrond. Then I flinched, expecting him to hit me, too.

The strike never came. I looked up at Lord Elrond, and his expression held pity, and disappointment, but no anger.

He had expected this.

I collapsed at Elrond's feet and wept. Self-disgust and Elladan's words echoing in my head mingled, coming out in great heart-wrenching sobs that echoed down the corridors. Elrond said nothing to soothe my wounded pride, but knelt down beside me and stroked my hair.

It may've been minutes, hours, days, or years. I couldn't tell. But when my tears finally subsided and I sat up on the hard ground, I felt a hundred years older. Elrond still remained silent, gently brushing my tears away. Then he grasped my arms and pulled me to my feet. He stood as well, then he turned me back toward my room. As I retreated to the four walls I was cursed to inhabit, Lord Elrond's footsteps echoed down the corridor.

I allowed myself the childish satisfaction of slamming my door as hard as I could. Then I threw myself onto the bed, buried my face into a pillow, and screamed.

It wasn't that he refused to be intimate with me. The logical side of my brain was relieved. Grateful, even.

It was his words. Haunting phrases that bounced around in my head, numbing me to all pain except what they inflicted. And inflict they did. Until I could barely breathe.

Time passed, and at some point, my cries faded. Soundless tears leaked from my eyes, soaking into the pillow. At least, with Elrohir, I had been the one to run. I had been the one sensible enough to leave. I had controlled our relationship, our pace, our level of immaturity...

Numb with agony, I slipped off into the realm of chaos created by my own imagination.

* * *

When I awoke the next morning, I blinked against the gritty residue built up in my tear ducts. Rubbing my eyes, I pushed myself up. Why was I wearing a dress?

Oh. Oh.

I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. Then I removed myself from the horrid garment as quickly as I could. A button ripped off, and I smiled. A piece of me had broken last night—but another had fallen into place.

Shadow was the only companion I trusted now.

I dressed in my black garments, except for my mask, which went in my pocket. Then I armed myself. The feel of my razor-sharp blades at the ready comforted me, put a sort of desperate courage in my heart. And, ready to attack the day, I turned and faced the mirror.

The black-clad creature staring back at me was a monster. Her hair was a frazzled mess that refused to be confined by the hood, her lips were swollen and cracked, and a bruise extended across her left cheek.

I touched the mirror where her skin was discolored. "We make quite a pair, don't we?" I mumbled. Snagging my brush, I quickly worked through the worst of the knots in my hair, then braided it. I tied the braid off with a thin cord, then pulled my hood up. Much better.

I walked out the door, then startled. Standing outside my room, looking over Rivendell's waterfalls, was a Hobbit. And not Bilbo.

He glanced over his shoulder, and jumped backward. Luckily, the railings were tall enough—and Hobbits short enough—that there was no chance of him falling.

"Oh," he said, blushing a deep red, "I didn't see you there."

"It's okay," I replied, closing my door behind me. "I just came out."

I joined the Hobbit in gazing over Rivendell, resting my elbows on the guardrail beside him. "When did you get here?" I asked.

"'Bout an hour ago, I reckon," he said, not meeting my gaze.

His response left little invitation for me to press the subject. Frowning, I glanced over his state. His unruly blond hair was badly disheveled and tangled with twigs and leaves. As he stared out at the city, his thick fingers drummed the guardrail nervously.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

Big blue Hobbit eyes turned to meet my gaze, swimming with a multitude of unshed emotions. He didn't answer immediately, but finally, he answered in a squeaky voice, "It's Mr. Frodo. He got 'urt real bad on the way 'ere. 'E might not make it." The Hobbit bit his lip and looked away, failing to hide the tears pooling in his eyes.

Frodo was here? Injured? Dying?

"Where is he now?" I demanded.

The Hobbit sniffed. "With Lord Elrond, I'd imagine."

Elrond's personal healing room. I nodded my thanks and trotted down the corridor.

"'E won't let you see 'im," the Hobbit shouted after me. "I've already tried."

"Thank you," I called over my shoulder. And I kept going.