✧⁺❀ P r o l o g u e . . .
Amidst the ancient trees of Mirkwood, Myríel, the radiant elven princess, moved with a grace that seemed to defy the very laws of nature. Her flowing gown shimmered like moonlit water, draping elegantly over her slender form. Long, golden locks cascaded down her back like spun silk, catching the faint glimmer of starlight that filtered through the dense canopy above.
Her ethereal beauty was a testament to her lineage, for she was the daughter of Thranduil, the revered king of the elves. Yet it was not merely her royal blood that set her apart, but the strength and wisdom that shone in her clear, azure eyes—the eyes of a warrior born.
As she patrolled the shadowed depths of the forest, her steps were as silent as the whisper of the wind through the leaves, her movements a dance of fluid grace and precision. Though she bore the weight of her station with regal dignity, there was a fire within her—a fierce determination that burned bright beneath her serene exterior. For while she was a princess, she was also a noble, fearsome captain in her father's guard - on the hunt for orcs in their territory.
The ancient woods of Mirkwood whispered secrets as Myríel, elegant and resolute, patrolled its hidden depths. Her movements were fluid, a dance choreographed by the moonlight. At her side walked her betrothed, Eridor, his solemn presence a stark contrast to her own ethereal grace. They were hailed as two of the finest elven warriors in all of Middle-earth, yet the bond between them faltered beneath the weight of duty and unspoken discontent.
As they traversed the winding paths, Myríel's thoughts drifted to the impending union her father had arranged between them —a marriage born of politics and tradition rather than love. She was certain that Eridor had no love for her - he merely coveted her family's gold and status of nobility - and she certainly bore no love for him. She cast a sidelong glance at her betrothed, his stern features softened by the moon's gentle glow, yet devoid of the warmth she yearned for. Their whispered arguments echoed amidst the ancient trees, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken truths.
Suddenly, a distant clamour shattered the fragile peace of the forest, cutting through the night like a blade through silk. Myríel's keen ears caught the urgency in the voices, and without hesitation, she broke into a swift stride, leaving Eridor trailing behind. The underbrush seemed to part before her, a path unfurling beneath her swift footsteps as she raced towards the source of the commotion.
Through the tangled foliage, she emerged into a clearing bathed in moonlight, where chaos reigned amidst the serene beauty of the forest. Giant black spiders, their eyes gleaming with malevolence, were descending upon a group of dwarves and a hobbit, their monstrous forms casting long shadows in the moonlight. One dwarf, a figure of rugged determination, was stood at the forefront of the battle, his sword a gleaming beacon of defiance amidst the encroaching darkness. He was tall and broad-shouldered, with a mane of dark hair that framed a face weathered by years of hardship and strife. His eyes blazed with a fierce intensity as he fought against the relentless tide of spiders, his sword flashing like lightning in the moonlight.
The dwarves fought valiantly against the spiders, their axes flashing as they struck with deadly precision. Yet for every spider felled, another seemed to take its place, their numbers overwhelming the small band of warriors. Myríel watched as the hobbit companion of the dwarves - an odd companion and very bizarre sight - found himself caught in the midst of the fray, his small stature no match for the towering arachnids that assailed him from all sides.
Myríel's heart quickened as she surveyed the scene, her elven instincts sharpened by the urgency of the moment. Without hesitation, she joined the fray, her blades flashing with lethal precision as she engaged the spiders with unmatched skill. Beside her, Eridor, who had caught up with her, alongside many other elves of the royal guard fought with equal ferocity, his sword cleaving through the monstrous creatures with relentless efficiency.
Without warning, Myríel's keen senses caught sight of a scene unfolding before her— a large spider, its grotesque form descending upon a lone figure below. With a surge of adrenaline, her heart quickened and she sprang into action, her lithe form darting towards the struggling figure beneath the monstrous creature. Her thoughts raced as she closed the distance, a mixture of disdain and determination coursing through her veins. Dwarves, she mused internally, always finding trouble where none exists.
With a graceful leap, Myríel landed upon the back of the spider, her blades flashing like liquid silver as she struck with deathly precision. Beneath her, the dwarf warrior fought with equal ferocity, his axe a blur as he struck at the creature's underbelly. For a fleeting moment, their movements were synchronised, a dance of death amidst the chaos of battle.
As the spider let out a final, agonised screech, it rolled to the side, its ghastly form collapsing beneath the weight of its own demise. Myríel found herself falling, her senses reeling as she tumbled through the air. With a grace born of instinct, she landed upon the figure below, her body straddling his in an unexpected embrace.
For a heartbeat, they were locked in a silent tableau, their eyes meeting amidst the tangled undergrowth. It was the dwarf that she had deduced to be the leader of the group. Myríel felt a surge of something unfamiliar stirring within her—a primal attraction that defied reason or logic. She had believed all dwarves to be short and ugly, but this one...
Yet before she could contemplate the sensation further, the dwarf beneath her stirred, his voice breaking the silence with a gruff complaint.
"You meddling elf," he growled, his tone tinged with irritation. "I had everything under control."
Myríel scoffed, her own pride wounded by his accusation. "Typical dwarf," she retorted, her voice laced with disdain. "Too proud to admit when you need help."
Their eyes locked in a silent battle of wills, a tension simmering beneath the surface like a smouldering ember. Yet amidst their respective prides and disapproval for one another, there was an undeniable spark—an attraction that transcended the boundaries of race and tradition. This feeling was temporarily extinguished with the words that broke aloud:
"I am so sorry if I am interrupting something, your Highness... my darling. But I find that right now, it is much more pressing to apprehend the dwarves than to... fraternise with them."
As Eridor's sharp, distasteful words pierced the air, Myríel felt a flush of embarrassment creep up her neck, her cheeks burning with a mixture of frustration and fluster. She scrambled to regain her composure, her heart pounding in her chest as she realised she was still straddling the dwarf beneath her.
With a quick glance around the clearing, she saw that the threat of the spiders had been vanquished, replaced by a new danger for the dwarven troop —the looming presence of her fellow elves, their faces grim as they moved to arrest the dwarves.
Realising the actions of the rest of the royal guard, Myríel reached into the intricate braids of her golden hair, her fingers deftly retrieving a small, elegant object concealed within. It was a delicate chain of silver, adorned with intricate elven runes—a device of many purposes, designed to bind and restrain, crafted with both beauty and functionality in mind.
Without a word, Myríel tightly secured the device around the dwarf's - who had introduced himself as Thorin - wrists, her movements swift and efficient despite the tumult of emotions swirling within her. Thorin's sharp retort cut through the tense silence, his voice dripping with sarcasm and disdain.
"Well, well," he sneered, his eyes flashing with defiance. "It seems the mighty elven princess has decided to grace us with her presence. Tell me, princess, is this how you repay those who come to your aid?"
Myríel's jaw tightened at his mocking tone, her own pride wounded by his words. With a steely glare, she met his gaze, her voice laced with icy resolve.
"I think you'll find that you are the one who should repay me for my rescue of you," she shot back, her tone equally sharp. "After all, it seems you dwarves have a penchant for finding trouble wherever you go. Consider this a lesson in humility."
With a flick of her wrist, she signalled to her fellow elves, her expression betraying none of the turmoil raging within her. As they moved to escort the bound dwarves away, Myríel couldn't shake the feeling of unease that lingered in the air—a sense that their paths were destined to cross again, in ways neither of them could predict.