Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

XXXI: Understand

Fíria's POV

I emerge from my room an hour or so later just as I had hoped: with a plan.  Am I going to tell the others?  Well, I'm telling them a plan, not my plan.  Because this is my game, my fight, my fault—and so my responsibility.  Not theirs.

Legolas, Lyrenna, Fírion and Tauriel—they are my people.  I value them more than I value myself.  And underneath all my confidence and skill, I feel small, and fragile, and frightened.  Like if I make a mistake, if I lose one of them, all the scars crisscrossing my skin will become open wounds all over again.

I find them sat around a table with a few glasses of Dorwinion, all in a sombre silence besides the echoing clink whenever someone places their glass down.  Fírion and Lyrenna's already pale faces have blanched to the colour of death; Tauriel has one hand anxiously lingering at the hilt of her blade.  As I walk in, Legolas immediately sets down his glass and rises to embrace me.

Neither of us say anything.  All I hear is my own breath, muffled as I bury my face into his neck, yet deafening like a siren inside my own head.  Legolas moves to pull out, but I hold on for one second longer, as though... as though I can't face reality.  I just want to lose myself in him and forget about the sword hanging above our necks—or should I say, the whip.  The flaming whip. 

'Are you alright?' Legolas asks softly, cupping my face with one hand. 

I don't answer for a moment, for I fear I will say something I should not.  Eventually I bring myself to say, 'Is this place fortified?'

Tauriel stands, and drains the last of her Dorwinion.  'It's sealed, and everyone's being armed as we speak.  We've given the orders on positioning, and we're having the throne room and surrounding halls cleared and barricaded so those who cannot fight have a safe refuge.'

'As safe as we can make it against a King with night magic,' adds Fírion.

'When he gets here, I'm going to reason with him.  And you're going to help me, Fírion.'   I nod to my brother, who promptly takes a large gulp of wine.

'Are you sure this is wise?' he says tentatively.

'Yes, I'm sure.  Why do you doubt me so much? I refuse to let this to end in bloodshed.'

My brother places down his Dorwinion and shakes his head.  'You, turning from a fight? I thought I'd seen it all...'

'Would you take up arms against your own father?' I counter.

'Fíria, our father is a madman.'

'You know as well as us that he won't listen to anyone,' says Legolas.

'If he's going to listen to anyone at all, it will be his children,' I say firmly, 'I will not let him hurt anyone in this kingdom. And I will not let anyone in this kingdom hurt him.'

Legolas frowns as he considers. 'My father spat on your attempt at peace. He's going to tear Fínegel limb from limb if it's the last thing he does.' 

'It may well be the last thing he does,' I respond, 'my father will be of at least equal skill to yours. They cannot settle their feud with a mere duel. They will rip each other apart. And that's only if my father doesn't use his magic...' 

'We have to stop them,' says Fírion, bracing his arms on the table. My trained eye notices a thin dagger slipped into a scabbard on each sleeve. 'At least in this endeavour, we'll have Elena's whole-hearted support.'

'After she's calmed down, perhaps. She looked terribly flustered when she left,' Lyrenna points out.

Legolas exhales sharply. 'I doubt she'll be calming down in the way you expect,' he says. 'My father went after her.'