Adult-FanFiction.org : Lord of the Rings

Sleeping Beauty	By : SilentNiobe Category: -Multi-Age > Het - Male/Female Views: 6613 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Author’s Note: I am very sorry for the long wait, but life has been a rollercoaster ride for me lately. Here’s an XXL (as in “extra extra long” lol) chapter, since you have all been so patient and nice to me. I think it’s the longest chapter I’ve ever written… Thank you once more for your wonderful reviews. However, I would like you to read this note carefully before reading the chapter below.
As you know, the fairytale Sleeping Beauty was written by Charles Perrault. In this chapter I am trying to link the fairytale to the myth I have created for the purposes of this fanfic: there is no real connection between the myth in this story and Perrault’s fairytale. So while most of the facts about Perrault’s life are true, I have added some fictional ones in order to support the plot of my story. I just wanted to make this clear to avoid confusion and e-mails telling me some of the elements in Perrault’s biography are not real; I am aware of the fact and this is why this story belongs to the Alternative Universe category. And I believe I don’t really need to point out there is no Professor Bianci in Sapienza Rome University…? :-P
Moreover, I am using some Italian dialogue in this chapter. At first I had thought of putting all the translations at the end of the chapter to give you a sense of Johan’s frustration for not understanding what was being said, but then I realized that some of you might actually want to know what was being said; it would have been inconvenient having to scroll down at the end of such a long chapter. A HUGE thank you to my sweet Mary for all her precious help with Italian! However, if you do find any mistakes with the sentences, let me know!
All these said, I hope you enjoy the chapter!
Disclaimer: See Prologue.
Italics: thoughts
/translations/
--italics--: flashback

Chapter 16 – The Professor
The two Americans found themselves in a taxi driving through Rome in slightly elevated spirits. Although their excitement had allowed them only a few hours of sleep, Alice could recall fragmented images of the young girl and Legolas in the woods, talking, taking strolls, stealing fleeting kisses, but they were blurry and unorganized – nothing like the clear visions she had experienced before. That was not what bothered her, however; it was once again the absence of any visit from the elf in her dreams, which did not allow her to be as optimistic as her cousin and kept the veil of gloom around her.
A bittersweet smile formed on the red-head’s lips, as her eyes took in the Roman statues they passed by. She had never understood why the old continent soothed her soul so easily. Maybe it was that aura of antiquity that enveloped her like the scent of mothballs drifting from her grandma’s house; or the grandeur of the works before her, which made her feel simple and humble, with no worries of great achievements and overstepping human boundaries. There, she was a young child in the arms of a very old grandmother; there, she was young Alice in the arms of her immortal elven prince.
“Siamo gia arrivati,” the taxi driver announced in the lively, loud voice of the Italians, making both of them snap out of their thoughts. / We have arrived./
“Grazie signore,” Alice replied, as Johan paid him and got out of the car to stand before the imposing building of the Sapienza Rome University. /Thank you sir./
Johan moved beside her mechanically, transfixed by the picture in front of him. Both paused to look around at their surroundings in awe. The statue of Minerva stood towering above them, symbolizing wisdom and knowledge – the translation of the university’s name in English. Turning their back to the statue, their eyes followed the high marble entrance of its famous Library, where they were supposed to meet the secretary of the sociology department. The first word that came to Alice’s mind was ‘huge’; the next one was ‘ancient’; the third and last one was ‘frightening’. Inside Rome’s University stood the precious information that would perhaps bring her a step closer to her soul-mate; or the dreadful information that would shatter their hopes once and for all. The rollercoaster ride of her emotions in the past week had almost broken her; dared she take that step?
“Are you ready?” Johan finally asked breaking the silence.
Am I? Taking a step forward, she walked up the stairs with determination.
Yes. They had reached the point where there was no going back anyway; there was no place to fall below the bottom of every bottom.
The secretary led them through the Sociology’s department with a lively chat. Bringing them to a door at the end of the hallway, she excused herself and left them alone before professor Bianci’s office. Alice raised her hand to knock on the door, but halted. Her courage seemed to fail her every time she stood before another piece of the puzzle.
A comforting hand squeezed her shoulder, as its twin rose and knocked firmly on the door. She turned to find an encouraging smile on Johan’s face. Dear, dear cousin… What would I do without your support? Johan always seemed to know her thoughts and feelings in a peculiar way, being there to offer his comfort and support when most needed. A voice from inside told them to come in and Johan opened the door, gently pushing her in the room before he stepped in behind her.
“Si lei e in citta per sottomettere la sua tesi per il corso, devo informar la che la scadenza e gia superata 3 giorni fa.”/If you are here to hand in your paper for my class, I must inform you that the deadline was three days ago./
A tall man around his sixties stood behind a desk messy with strewn papers and books. In fact, the whole office was in a similar mess, the old fan and the ridiculously colorful tie lying on the professor’s short-sleeved striped shirt making the situation a little cartoonish. The grey-haired man adjusted his small glasses and looked at them expectantly. Alice snapped out of her frozen state and managed to make her vocal cords work.
“Oh… Ma no… Ab biamo un appunamento,” she let out an embarrassed chuckle and shrugged. “Sono Alice Green.”/ Oh… No, actually… We have an appointment. – I am Alice Green./
The man’s eyes widened in recognition of the name and he got up from his seat laughing, a strange liveliness seizing him.
“Benvenut Signorina Green! Lei ha ragione, ti aspettavo! Lei ha avuto un buon viaggio?”/Welcome, Miss Green! You are right I was expecting you! Did you have a nice journey?/
They both stood frozen once more, as the professor shook their hands vigorously, patting Johan friendly on the back. Johan turned to look at his cousin confused, but she just shrugged.
“Grazie professore Bianci, il nostro viaggio e stato meraviglioso. Lio e il mio cugino Johan Sanders-”/Thank you professor Bianci, our trip was fine. This is my cousin Johan Sanders-/
“Signore Sanders! Piacere!”/Mr. Sanders! Nice to meet you!/
Johan smiled uncomfortably at the man who shook his hand again, looking for help to his cousin: he had not understood a single word.
“Uh… lui non parla l'italiano,” Alice said with a chuckle and bit her lip as the professors mouth formed a small ‘o’ at the information. / Uh… he doesn’t speak Italian/
“No Italian, eh? English then!” he laughed once more as he motioned to two chairs in front of his office. “Take a seat, take a seat!” he told them in a heavy Italian accent, as he moved to gather all the books, papers and several other objects laying on the chairs, before sitting himself on his seat behind the desk as well.
“We…-”
“Coffee? You want coffee? Cappuccino, eh? No, you must be tired; an espresso then to wake you up!”
Alice laughed silently as the professor made a call for their drinks to be brought and glanced over at Johan who was looking at the man amazed. Those Mediterranean people! Their blood boiled with life and their arms were always open with friendship and hospitality. How could their spirits remain fallen in the presence of a man like professor Bianci?
Once he was satisfied that his guests were comfortable enough and had their drinks, he finally leaned back on his seat and clasped his hands on his stomach.
“So… Miss Green,” he started in his heavy Italian accent, “how is that project of yours going?”
“I have found very few things,” she said regretfully and took a sip of her coffee. Jesus, that’s strong! she thought, taking a peek at Johan’s face- his grimace betrayed he was probably thinking the same thing.
“True, true, not many things are known about this myth, although the fairytale is very popular!” the professor agreed and pulled out a drawer fiddling for a while with the contents inside. “Where is it…? Ah, here it is!”
Alice watched with curiosity, as professor Bianci moved to an old-looking bookcase at the far end of the room and unlocked the glass doors. Picking up a wooden box, he brought it to his desk. Both Americans straightened up in their seats, their necks straining to look into the square object, as the man unlocked and opened its glass lid.
The manuscripts!
Alice gasped as the professor took them out with great care and laid them before them.
“These are very, very old, so be careful,” he told them in a stern voice and sat back on his chair. “I borrowed them from the Library, so that you could take a close look at them.”
Alice’s eyebrows furrowed, as she strained to make sense from the ink designs on the brown parchment. It WAS old. She could hardly make out a few letters, let alone words! The smell of oldness made her skin tingle; she wanted to touch the manuscripts, feel the aged vellum beneath her fingertips… but the warning of the professor and the fragile state of the works before her lowered her eager hands to rest on her lap.
“I suppose you are not familiar with Old English, are you?” the professor laughed, as Alice gave him a sheepish grin. “Don’t worry, I have a translation for you to study, but I can tell you a few things as well.”
Two pairs of eyes looked at him eagerly as the professor took off his glasses and started talking.
“Most of the facts agree that the myth must have originated somewhere in Northern Europe. The writer himself says –to quote his words- that ‘an old man with clouds as beard and pride in his thread’ told him a tragic story of eternal love.”
“Do we know the writer?” Alice asked.
“No,” the professor sighed and put on back his glasses. “We don’t know who wrote this. The only thing we know is that he must have lived in some isolated farm, because he mentions he met the old man while he was hunting at the woods beyond the boundaries of his estate”, he explained. “You are familiar with the myth?”
“Yes, the mother-in-law of my friend is French and she told me the story.”
“Good, good! She keeps the tradition!” Professor Bianci seemed genuinely glad at the news. “Such myths and fairytales are slowly fading, nowadays. Children have access to videogames, television and an internet full of information from a very young age… who would care for the old grandma’s story and their people’s traditions!” He sighed with resignation, as he shook his head regretfully. “Pity, ah…? Cultures become poorer and poorer…”
Alice could not agree more with Professor Bianci’s words. She was an ‘outcast’ herself, doing research for traditions, myths, and cultural elements which were slowly fading. Everybody thought her a little out of touch with reality, especially Logan, who could not understand for the life of him what use her researches could be. The new generation seemed as if made of wood; such cultural treasures did not touch them and they always opted for the ‘modern perspective’ of the world; a world where tradition was a ‘lame thing’ of the past and they were ‘too cool’ to engage in such old-fashioned practices.
She was brought out of her thoughts when the professor started talking once more, after taking a few sips of his espresso.
“Now, I will tell you what we know of Perrault and his fairytale,” he began with a steady and clear voice, as if giving a lecture to one of his classes. “He was the son of a rich bourgeois family in Paris, very well educated and able due to his position in the French government to enter the aristocratic circles. What is of interest to us, is that he took part in what was called “The Quarrel of the Ancients and the Moderns”, which mocked the literature of antiquity and supported the modern literature of that century. These people would take an old folk tale and make a moralized version of it for their entertainment. So when he was 55 years old, he started writing his fairytales: a new genre which was a blend of traditional tales and the fashion of stylish literary salons. We believe that he had heard the myth from a maid serving in the kitchen of his parent’s house at an early age, because of scattered references in some of his letters which were saved. A colleague of mine in Paris has studied Perrault more thoroughly than I, so I’m afraid I can neither confirm nor deny such information -I don’t have such extended knowledge on Perrault’s life.”
“But the fairytale and the myth are so different…” Johan cut in, after turning the facts over and over in his mind. How could two so different tales be related?
“It is only natural if you think of the social structures of the time, Mr. Sanders! Perrault had a tale in his hands, with a sleeping Prince and a woman –a commoner, no less!- who would be the one to save him. Imagine the reception a tale like this would have by the aristocratic French audience! The woman’s stereotype was that of a fragile flower –a damsel in distress, I like to say- not that of a woman strong enough to rescue the Prince!” Professor Bianci laughed at the absurdity of his own suggestion and leaned his elbows on his desk.
“I told you already, Perrault had to make a moralised version of the tale. So the Prince became a naïve Princess, to agree with the stereotypes of his time. And the common woman became a Prince; now this was because of the aristocracy’s pressure to discriminate social classes, if you ask me. Peasants with peasants and royals with royals! Let me tell you something that you probably don’t know, because the fairy tale has several versions: in the original version, there is not even the kiss!”
“Really?” Johan’s voice betrayed his surprise.
“Yeah, it’s true, I myself found out only when I started my search,” Alice confirmed the professor’s words, still finding it odd. “The Prince fell to his knees…”
“So, you see, the basic idea is the same: the love story, the magic, the castle, the sleeping person and the savior who would wake them up; it’s the gender and the moral aspects that change. Perrault added some details here and there, extended the original plot and here’s your fairytale!”
A few moments of silence fell between them, Alice’s thoughts running with the new information. So the fairy-tale was just another version of the myth, cropped, stretched and modified to fit the social rules and laws of Perrault’s time. But all this information did not really help them… what she needed, was to find out about the myth, not the fairytale.
“Professor Bianci, is there something remarkable about the myth? I mean, was that Prince an actual historical figure or something?”
The professor sighed and leaned back on his seat.
“This myth is very, very old Miss Green. It’s so old, that we cannot trace it back to its origin. Tradition has it that we know the castle Perrault supposedly described in his fairytale, but Perrault’s own surviving letters seem to contradict it…”
Alice exchanged a knowing look with Johan, as the professor’s voice trailed off.
“What do you mean?” Her fast-beating heart made her question come out in a whisper.
“Traditionally Perrault is supposed to have had Château d'Ussé in his mind when he wrote ‘Sleeping Beauty’, but in his letters he talks about this castle, which the kitchen maid I previously mentioned had seen, during the years she spent as a child in Germany. It was a popular myth in her village and Perrault was very fascinated by the insistence of the maid that she had truly seen the castle of the myth appear before her eyes… Unfortunately, he does not give a description of that castle, so we can never be sure which castle he had in mind when writing the fairytale.” Professor Bianci paused for a dramatic sigh before he continued. “You see, Miss Green, myths always have these grey areas which make the investigation of their truth very difficult.”
Don’t I know it, Alice thought with sarcasm.
“I myself have chased the myth all the way to Germany to find this castle!”
The dismissive snort of the professor was lost to the two cousins as their minds seemed to zoom at the mention of the country they had visited two days ago.
“A- And?” Alice was aware that her vocal cords could barely work out any recognizable sounds as words at the moment, but she had to try anyway.
“And, it was a wild goose chase! The myth seems to originate from a village in Hesse, where this castle is supposed to appear –probably the same village Perrault’s maid had visited or come from. I was expecting to find the ruins of a castle or some old Saxon building that was perhaps the reference of the myth, but the descriptions of the children who claimed to have seen the castle were so vivid, that I was surprised nobody had found the monument so far! We scanned the whole area, on foot and with a helicopter. The children had pointed us to the direction of the Nemeton that is well-known in this forest, and it was the only sign of remains that we found. So I assume, that the myth was somehow inspired by some old pagan ritual at the Nemeton… it’s the only logical explanation I can come up with,” Professor Bianci finished and scratched his chin, turning to look out of the window in deep thought.
Alice couldn’t help but smile sadly at the Professor. Logical explanation. He was searching the wrong way – the way she had at the beginning. But how would anyone believe such a crazy idea if they hadn’t seen the castle with their own eyes? If they hadn’t been visited by an elf in their dreams every night for a whole week, listening to things that no human mind could imagine, but made absolute sense?
“Are there no other official records of the myth?” Johan broke the silence and drew the other two people’s attention.
“The only record we have of it are these manuscripts in front of you… The text basically consists of the myth itself and a few words at the beginning about the person who told the myth to the writer, but it does not give any specific reference to the castle or the Prince and the young woman.”
“And where did you find this manuscript?” Johan asked once more, taking hold of the conversation. He could tell Alice was too shaken to talk at the moment.
“Oh, pfff… Long story!” the professor replied, as he let out a sigh and sat up straighter on his chair. Alice’s eyebrow rose at his words. “I won’t bore you with the details, let’s just say that the manuscript was given to me by a man I met in Paris, while I was there for a research some years ago.”
“Is he a mythologist as well?” Alice asked, her curiosity about this man picked.
“No, no, he’s an independent researcher, collaborating from time to time with some universities.”
“So… how did he come in possession of these papers?”
The professor gave them a shrug.
“Truly, I have no idea! He’s not French, that I know. He comes from England and he only told me that the manuscripts were found by some archeologists in an old catholic monastery… That’s all he would tell me! Very secretive man, this Greyham! A strange character, but he has good knowledge,” Professor Bianci concluded with a vigorous nod of his head.
The two cousins exchanged a look, each one seeing their thoughts mirrored in the eyes of the other.
“Do you know where we can find him?” Alice asked politely.
“I have his address in Paris. I don’t know if you will still find him there, though. I met him about fifteen years ago.”
“Well…” Johan sighed. “We’ve got nothing to lose…”
****************************************************************************************
“What are you reading?” Andrea asked Alice, as she settled herself in the armchair across the bed of their hotel room, where the red-haired was sprawled on her stomach reading a stack of papers and taking notes in her agenda. The German woman had joined them for an afternoon coffee and to be filled in on their visit to the professor.
“It’s the translation of the manuscripts… God, the phrasing is so odd in some lines that I have to read the same sentence at least three times to make any sense out of it!” Alice replied with a frustrated sigh.
“Well, if Profession Bianci’s translation has anything to do with his sense of fashion…” Johan trailed off with a snort and walked to stand behind Andrea’s armchair, one hand on her shoulder, the other moving her hair behind her ear. Alice’s eyebrows rose: had anything happened between the two while she was in the shower…?
“Was it that bad?” Andrea asked innocently.
“I think at some point I got dizzy with all those colorful patterns on his clothes…”
“It’s not the professor’s translation Johan,” Alice cut off his laughter annoyed. “It’s in verse, that’s what I meant.”
“Ohhh, Freckles got angry…” Johan whispered in Andrea’s ear in a sing-song voice, but only earned a smack from the blond German and a roll of his cousin’s eyes. “Oh come on, I’m just saying he’s a little weird! I mean, he’s chasing after myths for a living!”
Two pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly.
“…which I am aware we are doing right now, but our situation is kinda different,” he added and plopped down on the bed next to Alice. “Plus, we don’t make any money out of it. Unfortunately, if I may add.”
“Why is it so bad for people to care about myths and tradition and history…? I mean, not everything in life is about money and computers and advertising and…” Alice trailed off with a frustrated huff. “I’m so sick of the attitude people have nowadays…”
“Why do I get the feeling we are not talking about the professor anymore but Logan…?”
“Johan!”
“She needs to get over it,” he continued ignoring Andrea’s sharp whisper.
“I am over it, can we concentrate on the myth now?” Alice replied annoyed at the topic the conversation had turned to and sat up, waving her papers in front of Johan.
“Are you sure? I mean, you were together for five years, Alice, it’s not like you wake up one morn-…”
“We were not together, Johan!” she cut him off with a slightly raised voice. “We lived together, we ate together, we had sex together, we went out with our friends together, but we were not together, do you understand? It was just… two people walking on separate roads… and meeting only at crossroads…”
She could finally see it. She could see why it had been so easy for both of them to just walk away after all. Why it had been so easy for her to forget all about him in a week, why it had been so easy for him to make the decision to move out… with no more talk, no more explanations, no more tries. That night was just the excuse; it would happen sooner or later. He had never understood her and she had never felt ready for the next step. They had been both hurt in the process, but it was the kind of pain that could go away with the healing of the wound. It wasn’t deep, because their bond had never reached further than their skin; it wasn’t like the bond she shared with Legolas; or the bond Logan would one day undoubtedly feel for the right woman. Legolas was right: she had never truly loved him. And Logan had never loved her, because he had never accepted the whole of her.
“Well, I’m glad it took you five years and a visit from an elf prince to realize it… you’re not very bright, are you Freckles?” Johan said in a mocking voice and ruffled the red-head’s hair knowing it would annoy her. Alice just glared at him and shoved the papers in front of his face once more.
“Haha. Funny. The underlined passage please?”
“The moon shall be full and the summer shall end,
But the flowers shall bloom in a place which was dead.
The two guardians shall lead her to the room of the Prince
And the spell shall be broken with a kiss on his lips.”
Johan gave the papers back to his cousin and looked at both women.
“We already knew that Freckles, but you couldn’t resist making me read a poem, could you?”
“The two guardians…?” Andrea wondered aloud. “Who are the two guardians?”
“Thank you Andrea. You’re not very bright, are you Johan?” Alice repeated her cousin’s words with an ironic smile and grabbed her agenda to look at her notes. “Everything else seems to be as we know it. He talks at the beginning about this man with the beard who appeared in the woods while he was hunting. He told him of the tragic love story we all know, that the woman was killed and the Prince came back to find only the necklace, but this is where it is slightly different. It wasn’t a fairy who put him into sleep, but a wizard. Then some text is missing -a note here says the manuscript is burnt in that place- and it resumes with the lines that Johan just read.”
There was silence for some time in the room, as all three of them were lost in thoughts. It was as she had feared: instead of clearing up the situation, things had gotten even more confused. Alice had started fearing that standing at the right place under the moonlight at the next full moon wouldn’t be enough. It made more sense to focus on the myth as it was presented in the manuscript than the way it had been passed down from generation to generation… her experience as a reporter had taught her how such stories could get distorted in the process. She gathered the papers and moved to get up from the bed.
“We need to find this Greyham and make him tell us everything he knows about the manuscript and the myth and th…- Ow shit!!”
“Careful Freckles!”
Alice grabbed her ankle and moaned, falling back to the bed.
“Great, I think I twisted it…”
“Jeez Alice, you’re such a klutz sometimes…” Johan muttered and leaned over her ankle probing it with his fingers.
Alice was surprised she didn’t feel any pain. She was about to tell Johan but her mouth would not move; her vision had become blurred, too. When all other sounds faded away and she breathed in the -familiar now- smell of the woods, she knew she was lost again in a vision.
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Alysse pushed herself up and started running as fast as she could, despite the blinding pain in her ankle. The orcs were behind her and, in her terrified attempt to escape, she had missed the protruding root and strained her ankle, falling on her hands and knees. She swallowed hard and tried to drown her sobs; they would only slow down her running and she could hear their nasty snarls getting closer. It was hard to keep her tears from falling, though; she was so frightened! She shouldn’t have stayed out in the woods so late, but she was so caught up in gathering the herbs they needed for their shop, that she didn’t realize the sun was setting; and by the time she started crossing the woods to Lake Town, it was already dark.
She stole a quick glance behind her, but all she could see was darkness. She could only hear them running after her, their grunts and clang of metal armor deafening in the quiet of night. She was going to die! She was going to die and her poor father would not be able to bare the loss of both his wife and his daughter and would surely follow them to the grave! How foolish of her! To be wandering around so late in such dark times!
She almost lost her footing again and stopped barely in time to avoid falling on the sword of the orc who had suddenly appeared before her. Turning around, she frantically searched for a way to flee, but realized the orcs had already circled her. She closed her eyes and fell to the ground as one of the orcs raised its axe with an ugly grin. She did not hold back her sobs this time and let the tears fall freely on her cheeks; her end had come… By the Valar, she was really going to die!
The howl of pain coming from the orc made her snap her head up in surprise. She looked at the arrow protruding from its chest as shocked as the orc itself and screamed when it fell lifeless in front of her feet. She pushed herself against the bark of a tree, as she watched more arrows flying and finding their targets before the elves appeared behind the trees. She couldn’t help but wonder at their skill, as they engaged the orcs in a graceful dance of daggers and swords.
“My lady, are you hurt?”
She looked at the golden haired elf that had leaned over her, concern replacing the usual stoic face of his race and was about to tell him she was fine, but the corner of her eye caught a familiar-looking white handle of a dagger slitting the throat of the last orc with an angry growl… and a pair of blue eyes that met her own with fury.
She instinctively pressed herself further into the bark of the tree, ignoring the elf who was trying to help her on her feet. Her stomach constricted in fear; the orc who had nearly killed her did not look as frightening as the elf walking with angry strides towards her. He stopped and crouched in front of her in one knee.
“Are you hurt?”
She could not make her vocal chords work; she just stared at him with wide eyes. He looked so frightening when he killed that monster, so dangerous, so furious, so deadly, so unlike the gentle being she knew... And now Legolas was looking at her with the same fury in his eyes, as if she was one of the orcs he had just killed. He must have realized she was scared, for his face seemed to soften a little.
“Alysse, have they hurt you?”
The Prince looked away when the other elf addressed him and they talked for a while in their native tongue. Alice could only catch a few scattered words, for her knowledge of their language was limited and they were talking too fast for her untrained ears: fire, King, girl, home. The elf seemed to protest when Legolas picked her up and she almost yelped in surprise; but the Prince’s tone was not one to be disrespected and the elf only bowed his head in compliance. She watched over his shoulder as the elves dragged the corpses of the orcs in a pile and one of them started a fire.
Alysse didn’t dare look at his face. She moved her eyes to the dark woods ahead, her body stiff at the intimate contact. He was carrying her as if she weighed no more than a feather, not once needing to adjust her weight in his arms. She was so uncomfortable being this close to him; not because she did not like it –it was quite the opposite. But the memory of their kiss was something she would not forget soon… or ever. No matter how insignificant it was to the elf.
“Faelon told me you only have minor injuries.”
This time she managed to find her voice and reply.
“I- I am fine. Really, you should put me down.”
“I am taking you home.”
Her eyes widened and she started squirming in his arms.
“You cannot take me home, you’re-… you’re the…-! I can go on my own, just… put me down, please!”
His suddenly bruising grip on her stilled her movement and she almost whimpered at the way she was crushed against him.
“Do not try my patience, Alysse. I am not in the mood for your childish antics.”
He did not look at her as he said those words, for which she was glad; she would not dare look again at the fury in those eyes again. Without warning, he placed her on his horse and she noticed for the first time that they were away from the other elves, in a small clearing fashioned as a camp where their horses stood. He leapt up behind her with no effort and whispered to his horse, his hands snaking around Alysse to keep her from falling, as the animal surged forward through the trees. Alysse closed her eyes and tried to ignore the strong body behind her or the feelings it invoked inside her, concentrating on the sound of the hooves galloping on the forest’s floor.
It wasn’t long before she felt the horse slow down to a trot and then stop completely. Opening her eyes, she found herself looking at the far end of the lake, the full moon casting a soft glow over the area and drawing a silver path on the water. Had they really reached her town so fast, or was she so engrossed in the elf’s scent that she had lost track of time? Legolas was looking up at her, his arms holding her around her waist to pull her off the horse, and her heart almost stopped beating. He looked divine in the light of the moon; she imagined only the Valar could be so beautiful. The moonlight made him seem as if he was glowing, his hair glittering like mithril and his eyes shining silver… A sense of peace enveloped her; where was the dangerous creature who had slain the orcs with such hatred?
Legolas settled her in his arms again and slowly walked to the lake. She was too entranced in the sight before her to protest, so she stayed still as he placed her gently on the ground and ripped a piece of his tunic, dipping it in the water.
“Show me your hands.”
His soft command brought her out of her daze and she looked down embarrassed. How long had she been staring at him? She brought her shaking hands up and he turned them over to look at her palms. She stole another glance at his face as he sighed and saw that his eyebrows were drawn over his eyes, his lips set in a frown. Legolas started cleaning the scratches with great care, yet Alysse could not control the hiss that escaped her lips at the stinging. He looked up at her for a moment, but did not stop.
When he was satisfied the wounds of her hands were clean, he dipped the cloth again in the water and reached for her torn skirt. Alysse almost jumped away when she realized what he was doing, but he grabbed her wrist and held her in place.
“I saw you fall. I know you are injured,” he told her with a soothing voice and Alysse sighed defeated. Why couldn’t she ever refuse him?
His hand uncurled from her wrist; she closed her eyes and tried to steady her uneven breathing as his hands brushed her skin with a feather-like touch while moving her skirt over her knees. She felt the coolness of the wet cloth on her wounds, but not the stinging this time. Her mind was too busy fighting off the strange sensations his closeness created; although she knew his touch was innocent, she felt strangely light-headed by his actions. It was as if she was breathing in his presence instead of air; as if she was coming alive under his touch; thirsting for his taste. Was it the magic of his people? Or was she…
…falling in love… ?
…with the elven Prince?
Her eyes popped open at the disturbing thought and found Legolas looking intently at her. He had finished cleaning her injured knees and was resting his hands on her bare calves, his blue eyes burning holes in her green ones.
“What were you doing so late alone at the woods?”
“I was caught up with my work… I… I didn’t realize it had grown dark…” she answered in a trembling voice. His presence had made her forget she was nearly killed less than an hour ago. The image of the grinning orc appeared before her eyes and she shook her head to send it away –the gravity of the situation suddenly started sinking in: she was almost killed by the orcs…Her father had warned her so many times to be careful and she had narrowly escaped returning to him as a corpse -or not even that.
“Promise me you will never stay out alone at night.”
Alysse could not tell whether it was a request or a command, but she decided it didn’t matter; he was right. Nodding, she let out a shaky breath and clutched her hands at her bosom. Her dreams would be plagued with the orc’s deformed grin for years to come… the beautiful woods had lost their innocence. She felt the coolness of the cloth on her face and realized that Legolas was cleaning her face from the dirt… and her tears.
“Do you realize how foolish this was?”
His features were angry again; his words came out abrupt and harsh.
“I know, I am sorry…”
Alysse had started crying by now. No matter how hard she tried to stop her sobs, the emotions her shock had locked inside her erupted like a volcano and she could not control her flow of tears. She had been so close to being killed like her mother and leaving her father all alone…
“You are sorry? Is that all you have to say? I was driven mad by worry!”
His raised voice caused a rough awakening to her defensive side and she moved to stand awkwardly ignoring the pain in her ankle, eyes glaring at the elf and hands clenched into fists. She almost hated him for how gracefully he rose to his feet and towered over her.
“Forgive me for causing you worry, your Highness, I assure you I will not cross your way again!”
Alysse watched with satisfaction as Legolas flinched at the sound of his title and wiped her tears with the back of her hand; she wanted to let him know she had discovered the truth about his identity, no matter his efforts to hide it. Her limping did not go unnoticed by the elf and she watched as his eyes moved briefly to her injured leg, before he let out a sigh of frustration.
“Sit down child, do not make your injuries any worse.”
Her jaw dropped in shock. Did he just call her a child…? The word only fueled her temper and made her anger explode.
“A child? Is this what I am to you?”
The elf seemed to put on his impassive mask again, for Alysse could not read his face anymore.
“You follow me, you kiss me, you deceive me and then you call me a ‘child’? Is royal life so boring, my Lord, that you have decided to seek entertainment in mortal girls?”
Indeed, his face was impassive; but the blue flame in his eyes made her take a step back.
“I never deceived you.”
“You never-…” For once more, Alysse could not believe the audacity of this elf. “You LIED to me, remember? You never told me you were the son of the Elvenking!”
“You never asked, Alysse.”
“I asked you if you knew the Prince and you let me make a fool of myself by thinking you were just acquainted with him!”
“I am sorry you misunderstood my words, but I never lied to you, never deceived you and certainly do not seek to entertain myself on your behalf.”
Alysse could tell by his clenched jaw and heaving chest that the Prince was trying hard to keep his voice even.
“What do you want then?”
Legolas looked down at the sound of her broken voice and when his gaze met hers again, she almost gasped. Was it his longing she saw or her own mirrored in his eyes?
“I only wish your safety, child.”
Child.
The word stood out so mockingly against the emotions written in his eyes, that she almost choked on the bitter taste it left behind.
“Thank you for keeping me safe from the orcs, your Highness. I wonder, though, who will keep me safe from yourself next time you decide to kiss me.”
The left corner of his mouth lifted in one of those smiles Alysse could not decipher and suddenly she did not feel as confident as before.
“Rest assured it will not happen again, my lady. I am the Prince of Mirkwood and you are just a mortal girl. Surely, you did not think it was more than a mistake?”
Surely.
The deepest corner of her silly girlish heart had entertained the thought; the hope.
How stupid of her… how naïve. And how did rejection sting, more than the wounds he had previously cleaned or any wounds she had ever received. Had he saved her only to kill her with his words?
“Just...” The lump in her throat made it hard to speak. “Just stay away from me.”
“Your people will be here in a few minutes. Your family has probably sent a party to look for you. I trust they can get you home safe,” he continued in his impassive voice, ignoring the tears that were streaming down her face once more.
Alysse turned to look behind her, yet all she could see were small bright spots moving in the distance. However, having faith in his elven eyesight, she turned back to tell him he could return to his companions.
But the elven Prince was gone.
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Sleeping Beauty