The Shadow (A Thranduil fic)

CHAPTER THREE

THE SHADOW

CHAPTER THREE

Bright light seared his eyelids as Beriadan woke from a deep slumber. Softly the expensive sheets rustled and moved tighter around his lithe body as he shifted on the low bed that lay hidden at the back of his tent. With a yawn, he rubbed his sore, throbbing temples managing to drag himself to his feet. Usually, he could blame the orcs for his injuries but this time is was wholly self-induced. Wine was often in scarce supply at the border so who was he to refuse a drink? But one drink soon turned into six, then seven and by the time the sun was rising he was left to empty his stomach into one the bushes and be carried back to his tent by whoever it was that had found him.

After managing to stand, he pushed his way through the hanging canvas door that separeted his sleeping quaters from the rest of the area. Clumsily, he stumbled around the tent, banging into things as he went until he found the small table and chairs he was looking for. As he sank into the chair, running a large hand through his tangled chestnut hair, he managed to focus on the overflowing pile of scrolls and various bowls of fruit that law strewn across the surface. After stretching out his tired limbs, he plucked a grape from one of the golden bowls and popped it into his mouth, his stomach rumbling with appreciation.

"Captain, sir, permission to enter?" a loud voice rang in his thumping cranium and from outside the tent he could make out the large silhouette of the elf he recognised as Neurion.

Beriadan rolled his eyes, preparing himself for a long winded speech. It wasn't that Neurion was a bad soldier, far from it, but he was the type to do everything by the book. Althought this worked to his favour most of the time, it could prove to be a real hinderence when Beriadan wanted a job done quickly.

"Enter, Neurion" his throat was dry and scratchy and he shielded his eyes as Neurion entered the tent, the bright sunlight escaping through the opening and infiltrating the shadows.

"What news?" he asked, hungrily popping another grape into his mouth.

"We apprehended two trespassers and took them to the king, sir" Neurion swallowed the lump in his throat, anticipating some kind of reaction to the second part of his message "I also bring news of a strategic manoeuvre the king wishes to employ."

Motioning for Neurion to pass him the wax-sealed scroll he held in his hands, Beriadan leaned back in his chair and groaned.

"And what of these trespassers?" Beriadan ripped of the seal and unrolled the stiff parchment, narrowing his eyes suspiciously as he scanned the page.

"One killed on sight, the other taken prisoner I believe. Perhaps you know her, she is-"

"What is this?" Ignoring him, Beriadan rose from the chair to his full hight and sent an accusing stare at Neurion.

"What would that be, sir?" Neruion tried to focus on the elf's eyes, although Beriadan didn't seem to care that only a painfully thin pair of leggings covered his body and nothing else.

"The king wishes to double the companies? He questions my methods? Too often he involves himself in the business of the guards" Beriadan didn't care to watch his tongue for he could feel the frustration filling his body like hot lead.

"The king is well versed in military strategy" Neurion pointed out, but it was evident that Beriadan had no intention to listen.

"I bet I know who is behind this. It's that little scrap Irion, isn't it?" from the day that he had become the king's advisor Irion had always found a way to get under his skin, like a slimy leech draining the blood from all those who he encountered. Even though the king made the final decisions it was more often than not he who, Beriadan felt, involved himself needlessly in their comings and goings.