Darkest Nights | Love of Royals: Book II

V: Stolen Heart

The first piece of lembas lasts me four days.  I counted this morning, and there are three more pieces left.  That gives me twelve more days until Tauriel needs to bring another lot, and that's only if Legolas continues to snaffle a bite every time he visits.  I can't say much for the supply of drink—I'm in need of a fresh skin of water every day, to Tauriel's annoyance.  Oh, I'm sorry, Captain.  Would you rather I died of dehydration in your stuffy dungeons?

Legolas is quite the talker.  That is evident in the fact that he has not yet run out of things to say or ask me about, and he's spending an awful lot of time sat outside my cell.  At least he distracts me from my worrying.  I can even use our conversations to my advantage, because Legolas is more than happy to prattle on about the events and people of his kingdom for hours on end.  At first, I thought this information might hint at an escape route, but it soon began to seem that there is nothing for me to do.

The only way to leave is to be released from the outside.

And even then, the kingdom is crawling with guards who will have been taught to recognise my face.  Tauriel will have been very thorough in her methods.

I mused the other evening that I'll simply have to charm my way out.  That's certainly working with Legolas, who (Valar damn him) has been greatly interfering with my thoughts.  Tauriel warned me not to interfere, but if only she knew how much I've been unable to escape her friend the Prince, even when he's not here.  But if I get Legolas convinced that I'm harmless, perhaps as the Prince, he could have enough influence in the court to have me freed.  However, that's not much of a hope if Thranduil despises me as much as he seems to.

It's not Thranduil who gracefully descends the pathway to my cell not long before sunset.  Nor is it Legolas, whom I was expecting.  Seeming significantly calmer than the last time I saw her, and her wary gaze assessing every detail of my movement, Queen Elena stands right before my bars and surveys the pitiful prisoner sat before her.  She looks both sympathetic and curious as she watches me rise to face her, those large ocean eyes still looking slightly down at me since she dwarfs me by a couple of inches.  Tall for a female, but almost minuscule in comparison to her towering King.

'Princess Fíria Fínegeliel.'  Elena gives an eyebrow raise to rival Thranduil's. 

I don't need to ask how she knows my name.  Instead, I give a slight bow of the head.

'You did not bow to my husband,' she says, clearly intrigued, 'why do you bow to me?'

'You look less like you wish to see my corpse impaled on a spike,' I reply nonchalantly.

The Queen laughs quietly.  'That's a rather horrible image.  You're right, I wouldn't like that at all.'  She sits down carefully on the opposite side to where Legolas tends to sit—not that I would mind at all if she sat in his spot.  I follow suit, settling myself opposite the folds of her royal blue dress pooled around her like an oasis of silk.

'Do you know all about me as well? Your husband seems to know my past better than I know it myself,' I say almost casually.

'I know everything my husband knows,' Elena confirms my suspicions.  'We have had several conversations about why you have come and what we should do with you. All the information has stayed between the two of us.'

'And what have you decided to do with me?'

'Get the truth from you. I have come down here to talk to you, and I would be most pleased if you were to drop the facade and tell me your real feelings and your real intentions. There will be none of the smooth disrespect with which you have been treating our Captain of the Guard—and my husband,' she glares. I wonder if Thranduil taught his wife that skill, or if she fell from the sky already equipped with it.