One of the things Violet never had to deal with when she commanded an army the first time was the actual moving of said army from one place to another. Everyone just so happened to be in the right spot at that time. Commanding elves were different. Violet looked to Authanar then Thranduil. She began to speak to Authanar, but a slight jerk of his head told her she needed to talk to Thranduil.
With a slight huff, she turned to face him and said, "My lord, are your elves ready to march?"
"Not until you have your armour on, my lady," he replied, the sarcasm in his voice blending far too well with the well-practiced professionalism.
She tilted her head and raised a brow. "I don't have any armour."
"Go check in your chambers. Now," he ordered. Without another word, she apparated away, landing at the foot of her bed. Barely any words for weeks and he thinks he can just order her around? Well, he couldn't, and he was lucky she didn't tell him to take his gift and shove it.
She grit her teeth as she practically tore the lid off of the box that held a brand new set of armour. When he found the time to have it made, she didn't know, and she guessed that little trick of his where he knows sizes by looking at someone came in handy. She admired the metal, running her fingers over it. Okay, maybe she was thinking too harshly of him before.
Her bedroom door opened swiftly, and she heard the sound of it clicking shut. She turned around, and there was the man of the hour himself. Except, he didn't look happy.
"What was that?" he asked, clenching his jaw as he pointed in the general direction of where they were before. Never mind. She wasn't being harsh enough, evidently.
"What was what?"
"Do not feign ignorance, Violet."
She stayed silent for a moment, contemplating her next words. Slowly and deathly calm, she said, "You haven't spoken to me for two weeks -- which, yes, I understand why -- but you don't and then you think you can just order me around and give me gifts?"
"It was meant to be a romantic gesture. You love when I surprise you with gifts."
"Not when we haven't been speaking!"
"What is so different this time?"
"It makes me feel cheap, Thranduil! It's one thing to spoil your girlfriend; it's another thing to send gifts when we aren't speaking."
"Did you truly think I of all people would allow you to walk onto a battlefield without proper armour? That I would clothe myself in the finest armour to ensure no harm comes to myself, but that I would not for the woman I l--" He stopped himself, taking a deep breath. Her own breath hitched, and despite the argument they were having, she hoped he would say it.
Say it, she begged internally. Say you love me.
He cleared his throat. "I'll meet you in the hallway."
He left then, closing the door softly behind him. She sighed, rubbing her hand across her face.
Not sure this is what Authanar had in mind, she thought mockingly, 'You and my brother need to learn to speak again'. Yeah, that's pretty clear.
She scoffed. Pulling out the chest plate, she took a moment to admire the small details in it. It was clearly designed by Thranduil, with the ornate filigree that surrounded it. She placed it on and tried to buckle it together and tighten it, but it wouldn't work. Granted, she didn't exactly know what she was doing. She had never worn armour before in her life, and she hadn't intended to wear it this time, no matter how stupid that was.
She didn't think he was right to order her about, but he was right on one point. She should've known he would provide her with protective clothing. Merlin, that was such a silly, petty argument between them. Why did they even have it? What was the point?
She heard a faint knocking sound at the door, and she called for whoever it was to come in. Nobody opened the door, even if she could still hear someone knocking. She called for them again.
No answer.
Rolling her lips between her teeth, she walked towards her door and looked into the hallway. Thranduil was standing there, as promised, arms crossed and looking right at her.
"Did you not hear me say come in?" she asked, raising a brow.
He mirrored her expression. "What do you mean?"
"You knocked on my door," she explained, "Even when I was telling you to come in."
"I never knocked on your door, Violet," Thranduil explained slowly, as if she was off her rocker.
She sighed, wiping her hand down her face. "I'm sorry. I don't know what I was hearing." She paused for a moment, before looking at him and asking softly, "Can you help me?"
He smiled lightly and nodded, walking towards her and into the room when she opened the door wider. She closed it behind them, looking off to the side as he buckled the pieces together. "Do I need the rest?"
"No, darling," he said, "So long as your heart is protected, I am happy."
She smiled and nodded slightly, unsure of what to do next. It was he who made the next move, hugging her as tightly as their armour would allow. He pressed a hard kiss to her forehead, pulling back and sighing heavily as he looked in the direction of the door.
"We need to leave," she said, following his own train of thoughts.
"Yes," he agreed.
"I can apparate us back."
He nodded, and she contemplated her next moves. Valar, she had no reason to be as nervous as she was. Throwing caution to the wind, she grabbed his bottom lip, pulling it down to reveal two freshly chewed sores there. She tapped her wand on them, healing them instantly. As she looked into Thranduil's eyes, she could see him glancing between her own and her lips.
But in the end, they stepped apart, and she went to grab the box of armour. He took it from her when she was near enough, grabbing onto her hand.
"Wait," he said, keeping her hand in his and turning towards her, "I know we are in a difficult spot in our relationship, and I know with zero doubts that we will make it through it together, but until we do... we must not let it interfere with our duties from here on out."
She nodded. "Agreed. Too many lives are at stake, ours included. What happened at the meeting, while Thorin's fault too, can't happen again." She paused. "Did Authanar talk to you too?"
He rolled his eyes. "'Twas less of a talk and more of a lecture."
"Well, I would've preferred that to what I got," she grumbled. He went to ask, but she stopped him. "We don't have time for that right now."
He gave a somber smile, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand. "Ready to march to war?"
She took a deep breath. "Together?"
"Together."
And with that, away they apparated.
They landed beside Belegmorroch and stepped away from each other, though their glances lingered on one another for a moment. He handed her the box, stepping away to his own steed and tending to him. Her bag was attached to Belegmorroch, and she opened it, instinctually ducking when something came flying out of it.
When she realized that something was Flufflepuff, she panicked and turned around to catch him. Like every other time Flufflepuff decided that he wanted to test his Parkour skills, Thranduil was there, catching him before he could hit the ground.
She huffed. "He only started doing dangerous stunts like this when we came here."
Turning back around, she let the Pygmy Puff stay with the ellon, casting Reducio on the box of armour. She reached her hand in her bag, feeling around for a relatively free spot. An extension charm gave her more room than she would ever need, but she wasn't just going to toss a gift in there. She smiled when she found a spot with her tea kettle, placing the armour there.
A small part of her felt pathetic for having to bring a bloody kettle to battle, all because she never knew when the next nightmare would creep in, but it was better than the alternative. Perhaps one day, she wouldn't need to worry about this again. Her mind would cooperate with her like it once did, allowing her to live peacefully with painful memories.
She mounted her horse, turning to look at her brother and three friends who were sitting on the back row of a horse-drawn show buggy. Attached to the back of that was a trailer, holding a portion of the food they would take as rations. She waved at them, flashing a thumbs up at them. When all of them, even Draco, flashed a thumbs up back, she turned back to Thranduil. He had mounted his elk as well, pulling it over to her.
"You might yell that 'tis time to move out. Preferably in Sindarin," he whispered, "Say this, 'Go-vaethathanc ne ndagor'. 'Tis just a simple way to ask if they will go with you into battle."
She nodded. "Sure. Do I need a great big speech planned?"
"Not unless you've become fluent in Sindarin overnight," he said.
"Got it, no big speech. Anything I should add, at least?"
"When you say what I told you to, everyone will move into place and tighten the ranks. If they don't..."
"If they don't?!" she asked, turning to him and trying not to let the majority see her panic.
"They will," he said, "If they don't, but they will, I will guide you from there. But when they do, you might also consider calling out, 'Gurth anin yrch' or 'Death to the orcs'. Do you have a way to project your voice?"
"As a matter of fact, I do," she said, feeling like her mind was running a marathon, "Fake the confidence until you have it, right?"
"Exactly."
She brought her wand up, ready to put it to the side of her throat, but she hesitated. "Can you repeat that first phrase again?" When he did as she asked, she took a deep breath, placing her wand against her throat and muttering Sonorus. "Go-vaethathanc ne ndagor?"
Her breath hitched as the elves closed ranks almost instantly, and a surge of confidence that wasn't fake ran through her. She looked over them, raking her eyes quickly over every company. All ten thousand in place, not one missing or different from their fellow soldiers.
"Gurth anin yrch!" she called out.
Like an echo, they all called back, "Gurth anin yrch!"
She looked at Legolas, who had clearly finished saying it with the rest of them. She gave him a slight smile and inclined her head towards him, feeling her confidence skyrocket when he did it back. She looked to Authanar next. He was beside Legolas, giving her a bright beaming smile. She smiled back, before moving onto her family. Her brother was grinning at her from his seat, along with Hermione and Ron. Draco gave her a slight smile, raising his hands up to where she could see them and giving a small clap that she was sure nobody could actually hear.
At last, her eyes found his, shining brightly with pride that he couldn't hide. He looked... ethereal sitting there, upon the back of Bathor with a circlet around his head and in full armour. Even better, she could see Flufflepuff sitting proudly on his shoulder. Two of her favorite men in the entire world, staring at her like she put the stars in the sky. She turned Belegmorroch around, beginning to march out and in less than thirty seconds, there he was, leading everyone by her side, like they had been doing it all their lives.
Just before they got out of view, Violet turned around to look at Mirkwood one last time. She smiled with a sigh, turning to look back at the road ahead of them. Soon, the Lonely Mountain would enter her sight, and whether she did what she was meant to would be determined. For a moment, tears came to her eyes as she wondered if she would ever see it again.
Blimey, the thought of dying seemed closer than ever before. She was going into battle, and not a battle of wands. She would be one of the only wizards on the field, but at least she had multiple weapons that she knew how to wield.
Still, she would also be one of the least experienced people out there. She could feel her hands get sweaty and begin to shake; her lips shuddered with every breath. Her parents' death date, if she calculated correctly, had passed in the last week or so.
She didn't want to die so close to her parents. She didn't want to die at all.
But what if she did?
She tightened her grip on the reigns of her horse, staring forward. Violet had escaped death many times in her life, and one day he would catch up.
What if that day was sooner than she expected?
It didn't matter now. It couldn't matter now, but the thought of a violent death was just as terrifying each time she faced the prospect.
A familiar hand grabbed hers. She looked up, seeing Thranduil holding onto Bathor with one hand and continuing to stare forward.
-
She could see Erebor for the first time two days later when they were approaching Lake-town. The mountain stood majestically in the distance, large and looming, with an eeriness around it that said it had not been inhabited by anything good in a very long time. It sat there like a warning for any who may approach, and Violet thought of those silly and stern dwarves, Bilbo, and Gandalf, hoping to the Valar and Rowena that they were okay.
Little progress had been made between her and Thranduil, but any progress was a step forward at this point. Everything was professional because they had to be, but it was like neither knew how to approach the other in a casual manner. She didn't know why it was so difficult, when all she wanted to do was hold him and have him hold her. She wanted to tell him that she loved him, before she may not have the chance to.
Even now, she could so easily approach him. They could talk. She could have her best friend back. She believed him when he said they would make it through this together.
She just... didn't know when or how.
They had arrived at Lake-town somewhere between mid-afternoon and dusk, staying around the edges of the lake instead of going into the city due to the sheer numbers they had. Violet dismounted Belegmorroch, stroking his nose in appreciation of a job well done today. Everyone got to work quickly, setting up various tents around them. Violet was lucky enough to have one for herself, just like Authanar, Thranduil, and Legolas did. Hermione was smart, bringing along a tent of her own, setting it up like those at the Quidditch World Cup. Violet acted similarly, using her own magic to put hers up correctly. If she didn't, the tent probably would collapse on her in the middle of the night and suffocate her.
When she was finished, she followed the example of Harry, Ron, and Draco, moving through the ranks and helping to assemble the tents magically. The soldiers had marched on foot for the entire day and aside from those on first shift, she was sure they were ready to just simply relax for a few hours. She knew she was. The quicker everything was done, the better it would be.
"Your beauty shines for all to see, sister," Authanar said, walking up to her with a cheesy grin.
She looked at him and continued working, raising a brow in suspicion. "Meaning?"
"Meaning the Master of Lake-town is staring at you from his home window," he said with a laugh. She turned around instantly, squinting and trying to see.
"Where?"
"Well, you don't have the eyes of an elf so you cannot see. As if Thranduil needed another reason to dislike the man."
"Yes, because the list of people Thranduil dislikes is so small. Did you know that it's a piece of paper with just that man's name on it?"
"No, no!" Authanar exclaimed, "It has the master's right-hand-man on it as well: Alfrid Lickspittle."
"And here I thought the wizarding world had strange last names. That one is just plain unfortunate. So, why does he dislike him?"
"Embezzlement."
She finished setting up the next tent, moving onto another. "Rather seems to be a fair reason to dislike someone."
"Thranduil is almost certain that most of the gold he provides the town goes into the master's pockets. He just... doesn't have proof, so he has no reason to dispose of him."
"Can he do that? Dispose of another town's leader?"
"When he's the one who provides them the majority of their economy, yes."
-
In the bitter cold of the north, Thranduil was thankful that all elves were resistant to extreme temperatures. He did worry about Violet -- and by extension, her family -- but he always provided her with the clothes she would need, and that included winter clothing. He did not have the time or the resources for the other wizards, but they were wizards. Surely, they could do something against the bitter cold.
He walked by the tent that Hermione continuously walked in and out of with various items, wondering how on all of Middle-Earth they would all fit in there. Shaking his head, he continued on, going to find his captains and get first shift in place. He walked by Tauriel, so he grabbed her by the arm, redirecting her to walk with him.
"Your company has first watch," he informed her, finally spotting Feren and moving them both towards him, "I want one captain stationed at each place around this camp. Nothing moves towards us unless I know of it."
"Yes, my lord," she said, nodding once.
"Oh, and Tauriel?"
"Yes, my lord?" she asked.
"Legolas is to rest after his long journey, not help with first shift."
It was the least he could do and offer his son after all this pain and then marching straight into battle. The mere thought still caused his chest to hurt and his eyes to water.
"Yes, my lord."
"Thank you," he said, giving her a small smile, "That will be all."
She bowed low before him, before going off to find her own subordinates. And now that was done, it was time to give Feren his own instructions.
"Feren!" he called, walking closer and meeting the guard halfway. The guard stopped before him, bowing low like Tauriel.
"Yes, my king?" he asked.
"I need you to--"
"My king Thranduil!" a nasally voice called from behind them. Thranduil turned around, raising an elegant brow. The one calling him was one from the race of Men of Lake-town, clearly unkempt. He donned a unibrow and a look that said he smelled something bad seemed to be permanently etched across his face. This man was one that Thranduil unfortunately knew. He stuck to the Master of Lake-town like glue, practically his lap dog anytime Thranduil had the misfortune of visiting.
"Alfrid Lickspittle," he greeted tensely, "What a... lovely surprise this is."
"What a lovely surprise for you? What a lovely surprise for me, my lord!" the man said, licking his lips. He stepped forward with his hand out, while Thranduil took a step back. Alfrid laughed awkwardly, or at least as awkwardly as he knew how to, at the blatant rejection of the Elven-king. "My master would like to invite you and your family to dine with him this eve, sire."
With a smile that Thranduil was sure looked more like a grimace, he said, "How kind of him. Of course. Unfortunately, my brother needs to stay here in my absence and my son is also indisposed so your master will have to make do with just me."
Alfrid grinned, rotting teeth on display. "Just as well, my lord. When you're ready, I will escort you there myself."
He gestured behind him to where a boat sat docked ashore, a man waiting there with black shoulder-length hair. He was another of the race of Man that Thranduil had kept close eyes on: Bard, who they called the Bowman. He was the one who picked up the empty wine barrels that Thranduil would send as part of their trade agreement. He was also the only living descendant of Girion, the last lord of Dale.
He was the one who should be leading Lake-town. If the prophecies were correct and Thranduil had his way, Bard would one day lead Dale into prosperity once more.
"Wonderful," Thranduil said, looking back to Alfrid, "I will need to dress first, but after, I will be ready." Thranduil turned his body to face Feren, but Alfrid didn't move. The Elven-king sighed. "You may go."
Alfrid mouthed the word 'oh', scampering away. Thranduil laughed lightly, turning back to Feren.
"Shall I accompany you tonight, my lord?" the guard asked, thinly disguising his disgust at the man.
"Nay," Thranduil said, shaking his head, "I have a more important task for you."
"Oh?" Feren asked, "And what could be more important than protecting the king?"
"Protecting his future queen." The guard's eyes widened, beginning to shake his head 'no' for the first time ever at one of Thranduil's requests. "You will be fine, Feren. She is a woman, not a magician with a perfected disappearing act."
"Not to contradict you, my lord, but she is in fact something very close to a magician. And she does in fact have a perfected disappearing act. 'Tis how she has made multiple trips within a singular day, in case you have forgotten."
Thranduil laughed. "As I said before, you will be fine. Now go. And not one hair on her head better be out of place by the time I return."
He turned around, seeing Legolas laughing with Authanar across the field. He gave a sad smile and wondered when that had happened. Did Authanar talk to Legolas too? Or was Legolas just beginning to work through his own pain? Had he worked through his pain at all? Thranduil sighed, wishing he knew what was going on inside his boy's head. He wanted his son back, and he had nobody to blame but himself.
He walked away quickly, ducking into his tent to be alone for the first time all day. He took a deep breath in, trying to shake away the pain that always managed to creep back up, especially when he was feeling happy. And in a self-punishing way, he knew he deserved to feel that pain much more than he deserved to feel happy, but he was trying. He was trying for himself, for his people, for Violet, and for his son, because he knew what a bad idea it was to walk into battle with a heavy mind and a heavy heart.
He quickly washed, placing his black leggings on. His top was a high neck tunic, clasped together with a broach that resembled tree branches. It was patterned, with silver thread outlining the filigree that ran through it. Over the top of the tunic was a matching robe, the underside of which was a deep red purple, which, in Thranduil's mind, complimented the silver and even highlighted it, downplaying the overall dreary look of the outfit otherwise. Black boots were on his feet and inside one was half of the dagger set he shared with Violet. His sword was attached to his hip, and a silver circlet sat on his brow, just as a small reminder to the master of the town.
Throwing open the flaps to his tent, he walked off in search of a few guards to take with him. When he acquired them, he walked towards the boat where the two men were waiting on him. He climbed aboard, sighing quietly at what was sure to be a stressful night. Bard began steering the boat back to the middle of the lake, expertly avoiding any of the ice caps that sat in the cold water.
Valar help me... if this man feeds me animal genitals at the meal tonight, he will not see tomorrow.
The master had in fact tried that once before. Thranduil wasn't sure what the man's fascination was for the taste of animal testicles, but it was a borderline problem. He was lucky that last time Thranduil was in a good enough mood to not send him running for the hills, but today? The Elven-king had far too much stress in his life this time around to not send him away crying... and possibly screaming.
"Welcome to our humble town, my good king," Alfrid said when Bard docked the boat.
"I am here every year, Alfrid," Thranduil said, sounding as exhausted by the man as he felt.
Alfrid said nothing but blushed as he led the Elven-king to the master's larger home in the middle of the town. He let the man continue to prattle on all the while, sharing an amused glance with one of his guards. Just as Alfrid was 'educating' Thranduil on the history of the town, as if it wasn't like yesterday for him, the master threw the doors to his home open, stepping out of the doors with arms wide open.
"King Thranduil!" he said joyfully, "What a pleasant surprise it is to see you here tonight!"
"Erland," he replied drily, "Cannot be too much of a surprise, given your dwarven visitors and my mention that I would be passing through after them."
"Yes, well..." He coughed, laughing afterwards. "Allow me to escort you into my dining room. Alfrid, if you would be so kind as to bring our meal to us..."
"Right away, sire!"
Thranduil watched amused as Alfrid skittered away, sitting down across from Erland as some other Lake-town citizen filled his goblet with wine.
Thank the Valar.
He gave the young girl a smile, chuckling quietly as she blushed and ran from the room when the master dismissed her.
"I hope the dwarves were not too much of an imposition, Erland," Thranduil said, sipping from his glass. It wouldn't be a good look to down the whole thing right now, even though he wanted to.
"Oh, of course not. I barely even realized they were here. They stayed for a night and then were on their way the next day."
Thranduil hummed, moving back slightly as Alfrid placed plates in front of each of the men. He silently said pleas of thanks to everything out there that what got placed in front of him looked like venison steak and not venison testicles.
Things were silent for perhaps two minutes before Erland spoke again.
"Do you like the new curtains? I had them made with our very own seamstress in town!" he proclaimed, putting another piece of meat in his mouth.
"Absolutely," Thranduil lied, "And I see you've had a new portrait made. 'Tis a... likeness... in ways."
The master's chest puffed a little more, not catching on. "Well, it brings me great joy to know I have your approval! I paid nothing but the best for them."
"Money well spent." Thranduil inclined his head slightly, hardly managing to disguise the smirk that was creeping onto his face. "Did King Thorin happen to speak to you about why I would be passing through?"
"No, my lord."
"In eleven days, we are expecting to be attacked by Sauron's forces. He wants to stop the dwarves from reclaiming Erebor permanently, so that he may hold a second stronghold in the North, aside from Mount Gundabad."
The master continued eating, as if he didn't truly register the words Thranduil was saying. "A wise decision on his part."
Did he just... praise Sauron?
"...Right," Thranduil said, raising a brow, "It is my advice that nobody leaves their homes during that day. The orcs that are marching may not see Esgaroth as a threat, but they will never say no to pillaging if they see the residents. Under no circumstances should anybody leave their homes that day, and under no circumstances should anybody come near Erebor."
"Understood." The master nodded.
Thranduil pursed his lips. "Did you hear a singular word I said?"
"Of course I did!" Erland said, affronted, "Don't leave our homes in eleven days."
Thranduil nodded once.
"Who was the pretty red head that travelled with you?" the master asked around a mouthful of food. Thranduil tensed up, already hating the direction this conversation was going. Disgust rolled through him like a tsunami. "Does she want to live here? She's no elf."
He could hear the sounds of shuffling armour behind him, his guards clearly uncomfortable with the notions being given as well. Or maybe they were just nervous for the infamous temper of Thranduil to show through.
"That lady is under my protection," Thranduil said, watching the man with calculated eyes. The master bowed his head.
"Yes, yes. Of course," he proclaimed, "I am, however, in need of a wife."
Thranduil gave an eerie smirk. "I can assure you that you would not be able to make each other happy."
"Well, you cannot possibly know that--" Erland said.
"She is to be my wife," Thranduil declared, taking great satisfaction in the way the color drained from the master's face. He twirled his knife between his fingers, not removing his eyes from Erland.
"B-but... you have a wife," the master spluttered.
"I had a wife," Thranduil corrected. He brought his dinner knife up slowly, pointing it at the master. "And in light of the comments made here tonight about my lady, it is my greatest suggestion that you abandon this town before dawn. If you do not, well... ellons do not take kindly to the insinuations you have made here tonight." Erland stared at him blankly and Thranduil stared back incredulously. "Go. Remove yourself before I do it for you." The master's eyes widened, and he nearly knocked the table over in his bid to run away from Thranduil. The Elven-king turned around to his guards with a smirk. "One of you, go and find the one they call Bard. Tell him I need to go back across the lake."
The one furthest to the right bowed and left the room. Thranduil turned back for a moment, tipping the glass of wine down his throat. When he finished, he stood up, leading his guards to wait for the remaining guard and Bard to show by the edge of the town.
When they did turn up, they were halfway across the lake before Thranduil came to stand beside Bard as he spoke, "Your people will need you after tonight, descendant of Girion. I do hope you are ready."
Bard looked at him out of the corner of his eye, raising a brow and clearly tensed. His knuckles were white from how tightly he was gripping the boat. "What do you mean?"
"War will be on the steps of Erebor in eleven days. Make sure the people of Esgaroth remain in their homes and safe. The orcs are not likely to stop here if they feel they have no reason to."
"Did you not tell this to the master of the town?"
The boat docked at the edge of the lake. "Of course I did. And now I am telling you. Good luck, Bard the Bowman. Mirkwood shall provide you with aid in your time of need."
"And what of the dragon?" Bard asked.
"Answers will come in time," Thranduil replied, "Until then, leave the army and the dragon to me to deal with."
He didn't give Bard the chance to respond, getting off the boat with ease and grace. His guards followed suit, and he stopped for a moment.
"Spread the word that I am not to be bothered tonight unless an urgent matter arises." They nodded. "After, take some rest for yourselves before last shift."
He walked away then with only one destination in his mind. He had avoided Violet long enough. He loved her, and she deserved to feel that love, not be pushed to the side. Feren was standing outside of her tent, just as instructed.
"She is still awake, my lord," he said. With a listening ear, he could hear her small giggles and the sounds of Flufflepuff splashing around in the water.
He paused. "Just... make sure she drinks her tea and goes to sleep in peace."
And he left, because he was a coward who still didn't know what to say. The great Elven-king, scared not by orcs, but of saying the wrong words to the one person in all of Middle-Earth that could bring him to his knees.
Just before he was out of earshot, he heard her speak, "Come in!"
He and Feren looked at each other. Feren inclined his head.
"'Tis only me out here, Lady Violet," he replied to her.
"Oh..." Violet trailed off. Thranduil turned his head towards her tent, listening intently. "I thought I heard knocking."
Feren stilled. "In a... tent, my lady?"
"Yes," she said, equally confused, "I... I must have been hearing things. My apologies, Feren."
With a puzzled look on his face, Thranduil turned around and left to his own tent. He continued looking back until her tent was out of sight, with one thought in mind.
What is she hearing?
-
sorry for the long wait! i had this chapter written, but i knew something wasn't right. it wasn't until i got to chapter 28 that i realized. then, i had to rewrite this chapter (26), chapter 27, and chapter 28. so, here is the long awaited chapter! i'll make sure to get chapter 27 up within a week!