The Crosses Enigma

She was one of many.



This was usually a source of comfort for the girl, who was dressed as if Royalty.
She lifted her shawl up and covered her face as she passed two running guards, then let it drop again.
It was a force of habit for her. Somehow it had been deemed proper for a young woman of her standing to act the shy and hidden.

She rolled deep blue eyes. They contrasted her dark features and almond skin vividly. Behind her hair bounced against her back, forming thick dark ringlets at the ends. Small fingers slipped her shawl over her shoulders again.

Another two guards passed but this time she didn't bother, what was the use if they were in such a rush.
She paused in the hall, her feet silent on the marble floors, as where the guards heavy rushed steps echoed off the stone walls.

Why where they rushing?

Tempest shrugged it off and continued on her way, though an odd apprehensive feeling began to creep into her stomach. She sighed again, what guards did was none of her concern as long as they let her be.

She could but wait to exit those annoying clothes. They were way to gaudy for her tastes.
She looked down at the gold and orange garb that she donned, beaded and obviously suited for those of high stations. They were lovely yes, but not her pick if she had one.

//The wears of a royal slave// she thought darkly. This was all she was. A toy, a Courtesan to the Baron Galttaro of Brikidan.
And like many other Barons, she was not the only one.
He had many ladies in his keeping, though it was quite clear that Tempest was in his favor.
And she rightly knew why.

How could she not know with all the other courtesans constant whispers, and jealousy.
If it weren't for all the years of practice, she would have reached up and touched the tip of her pointed ear. And Elven ear, though the rest of her body betrayed the Eldar blood that flow through her vanes.

She had learned long ago it only brought Galttaro's attention to her more, if she brought attention to her "abnormality".
That was all it was to her, something to hate. Why had she been cursed with such a gift? Why had Iluvitar chosen to grace her with this lineage?
It did her no good, and would do none, she could see no purpose for it in the future.
And as far as she was concerned, it just made her the object of unwanted affection for the Baron.

The other girls thought her odd. It was enough that she was beyond different, her Elven beauty seeping through no matter what she did to draw attention away from herself.
Yet they saw it strange that she would not wish the advances of the Baron.
How could any woman not wish the favor of such a handsome and wealthy man.

//because he is as charming as an orc// she grinned through perfect white teeth.
Reaching her quarters she was glad that whatever disturbance had given her leave to seek her own room. It was the only time she was truly at peace.
And not even then.

Tempest, a gypsy girl turned royal courtesan turned the corner into her station and was immediately restrained.
One slender arm slung itself around her neck, pressing something near her neck.
She froze...

"What is the matter, afraid?" the cold voice hissed. Tempest had to resist the urge to elbow them right there.
Alkameen was the last person she wished to be alone with right now.

"Let me go sorceress before I rip that silver lined tongue out of your head" Tempest mummer just as icily. And was awarded with a yank to her hair. She took in air through gritted teeth and held down her anger.

"Now now, wouldn't want to anger me. Then I should have to hurt you, and that wouldn't do..."
Something in the witches voice made Tempest know she cared not if she was injured. This time she did not honor the comment with a response.

"So quiet, snake got your tongue? Don't worry, I wouldn't hurt Galttaro's precious toy." Alkameen held the girl tighter, her hand curling around the girls tender neck.
On her finger lie a 'Saeweg', it fit on her index finger like a claw. Intact in a way it was hewn to resemble a claw, and on its tip a clear liquid glistened in the dim light of Tempest room.

And as it was pressed nearer the soft flesh of her neck, Tempest did not believe a word the woman said to her. She laughed dryly. "You lie, you mean to tell me you've come to my quarters to sup and speak of fond memories?" the sarcasm was not lost on Alkameen, and a quick sharp stabbing pain in Tempest neck told her she had gone to far.

She held her hand to the side of her neck, a trickle of blood rolling down to the front of her collar bone. Disappearing under the front of her dress.

The warm, thick crimson liquid tickled her skin and made her swallow.
The strangest part was, she felt nothing odd. She felt normal for the situation. The small sting from the puncture, yet no dizziness...

Alkameen released the girl harshly, pushing her to the floor and looked down upon her with slanted black eyes. They were lined with dark makeup which enhanced there slant.
Her long bone-straight jet black hair was tied at the top of her head, and hung down like a river of raven silk.
If it weren't for the sneer upon her pale face, she would have been beautiful.

"Let me rephrase that. I would not harm you, if I knew I would be found out" She grinned. "Enjoy your last few days of life young one, for that is all you have left"

Tempest slid her hand down her neck, fingertips wiping the blood. She looked from her crimson stained fingers to the evil witch before her. "What have you done to me witch, what have you poisoned me with."

She only received a icy ghost of a smile.
"It seems that a support beam from the north wing has collapsed, crushing many workers. Every guard has been called to assist and all the entrances are left unguarded, what a shame. Those poor peasants." The woman of the lands far beyond Harad looked down at her curved finger weapon and smiled a chilly smile at her hint, then turned and disappeared.

Tempest did not get up for a long while. The words had not sunk in, as she still was wrestling with the fact that she had just been poisoned.
Alkameen never favored her, in fact, she hated her with the utmost loathing possible.
She was the Barons right hand and advisor and Tempest suspected also his lover. One of them anyway, and she was jealous of the attention the Baron paid to the gypsy girl ever since she arrived.

Tempest would have none of the Barons advances and for some reason he had not just "taken her" as he would have with any other woman who refused.
It was almost as if he wanted her to give herself to him.
That would not happen in all the ages of Arda. This was a promised she solemnly made many a time.

The girl gasped at the final realization. It could be a trap, but what would that matter if she was to die anyway.
She had a chance to escape.
With shaking hands she pushed herself off the floor, her blood stained hand unstable as it slipped on the marble floors, making a small red streak.
Flinging the shawl aside and ran to her wardrobe and begun to pull the least attention drawing grabs she could find. And changed.

In her hands she ran the silky material through her tiny fingers. It was one of her many shawls, she wore them on the few times others had come to the estates. It was a gypsy tradition and it irked Galttaro, she grinned at the thought that she might be free form him so suddenly.
Even if it was with her dying breath.

A plan began to form in her mind and she packed the skirts, Choli's, and head shawls in her pack. She would look as nothing but a young gypsy girl.
A smile played on her lips despite the slight wave of Nashua that rose in her stomach.
To be what she was intended to be, even if it was just once more.
She could go in search of her gypsy relations. They would recognize her as such and would help her certainly.
Excitement rose and with a rush of adrenaline as she finished her packing. Her hands grabbing what she would need.

Tempest wanted nothing to do with the fancy opulent bearings that were gifts from her unwanted suitor. No fancy jewelry, only the silver hoops and studs she wore in her ears.
Reaching the bottom of her wardrobe she pulled out a dark green shawl, and with one motion pulled it over her head, securing it tightly.
She turned a gazed at herself in the mirror. No one would know she was a 'princess', they would only see a gypsy.

Her hand shook as she moved faster than seemed normal. She slipped on plain slippers and slung the pack across her body, pushing the bag to the back.
She would have no time to find food, but she had money.

She had never had the wish to use it before, but shoved the coins into her pouch. It was almost tempting to take some of her jewelry with her though. That would serve him right.

The sound of footsteps echoed far from where her room was, but to her sensitive ears it sounded far to close for comfort. She tied sheet after sheet together at the ends and then secured them at the post of her bed. They were enough to reach the ground and she began to climb, dropping into a bush. Her room was on the far side of the estate and she would be unnoticed now that the guards did not make there rounds.

In the far distance her acute ears picked up what sounded like shouts and commands.
It was now or never again.
And with a rush of adrenaline she took off for outside the estates grounds. Her footsteps were silent, ghostly so.
Though she often shunned and cursed the blood that was apparently from an Elven father she had never known, she knew this blood would also save her. It made her bones light and hollow, her muscles defined, strong and fine-tuned. Her hearing, sight, smell and other senses were as acute as an animals.

She would be free, if she could find someone who could cure the poison from her body.
Otherwise, she would perish.






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Arod threw his head high and his nostrils flared as he stretched his gate a bit more. His tail swishing back and forth and his proud neck shook his mane and he nickered lightly.
A light wondrous laugh echoed across the forests.
Legolas, Elf lord of Ithilien was amused by his mounts antics. Acting as if he were simply a colt.

It was not often that they had the opportunity to ride so un-hindered by others or heavy war equipment.
Though he had become used to using reins, Legolas did away with the saddle for this trip. Instead opting for a finely crafted bareback pad and light stirrups.
His person to was lighter, only his quiver filled with arrows, and short knives that hung from his back. His favorite jerkin covered a silvery green tunic, not unlike the one he had worn months before during his trip to Rivendell and throughout his journey with the fellowship.

It would be good to see his companions once more.
He looked about him and smiled almost mischievously. It was even nicer to be alone for once. Being a new lord of his own realm that needed much work, he had not the time to be by himself.
A lord could not afford such, pleastries.

So it was an instant decision to make the journey to Imladris on his own. He could have awaited Lord Aragorn, but felt not like being flanked by legions of Royal soldiers that would certainly flank the King of Gondor.
He shook his head and smiled. How he would have wished to hear the defensive argument Estel would put up when presented with the fact that he would be flanked by soldiers.

His thought of how he would tease the former ranger on the matter was halted.
His mount skittered and turned his back end away from the right side of the forest. The stallions ears perked up curiously and his nostrils flared.
Legolas stopped the Rohan horse.
"man no I presto lagor min?"

The Rohan horse snorted in response. In one swift movement Legolas dismounted to the ground, an arrow instantly in hand and notched to his bow. His steps were absolutely silent to even himself as he made his way through the thick trees. The sounds of water coming to his ears almost instantly. He had known it was there, but had pushed the thought away. The small extensions of the Bruinen were nothing of a concern.
But over the splashing of the brook he could distinctively hear breathing.

Soft and hitched.

Sidling behind a tree he calculated the breathing pattern in his mind. The exhale of breath was the best time to catch whatever it was, it would be weakest then.
Pulling on his bow silently, it pointed down to the ground in a ready position.
Murmuring his countdown silently in his mind.


//min...tad..........// with a breath he turned round the tree onto the banks of the small watery stream, his arrow trained between the shoulders of whatever it was. Ready to shoot if it be something evil.
"neled?" he finished his count, dumbfounded.

Before him on their knees, facing away from him, was a person. A human it seemed, a female if he was not incorrect.
Her back was turned to him, her reflection slightly in the streams cool flowing waters.
Legolas instantly dropped his bow away from her and slipping the arrow back into his quiver he slung his bow over his shoulder.

The woman acknowledged him not, which made him think perhaps he had been to silent for the mortals ears.
If she did not hide her head with that cloth, Legolas would know that thought was far wrong. She indeed heard him, but was far to weak to care.

Legolas was not sure if he should move forward or speak, he might startle her. But opting that she might turn and fall dead from fright, he thought to say something.
"Is all well?" he asked, his head tilting in the most Elven way when he did not receive an answer.
Perhaps she was, what was the term...deaf? Estel had explained that loss of hearing and even sight or speech happened among mortals.

He idly lean forward opting to gently touch the woman on her shoulder and gasped as she fell back. Instinctively he lurched forward, down on one knee, and caught her deftly in his arms.
He pulled her away from the waters and looked down at her dark features. His head tilted for a moment not knowing what to do.
His strong hand reached to her temple, as her neck was hidden under the heavy head coverings. Her pulse was rapid and weak.
Her heart shaped face covered in sweat and her body was trembling.

He concluded she had been poisoned. Luckily they were but a few short hours distance from Rivendell. He hoped it would be swift enough to help her.
She was no weight in his arms, and he wondered if all young human females were so slight.
The form of her seeming a bit heavier by her look.

Ducking he picked up her pack and slung it over his shoulder.
With a resounding bird-like whistle Arod came round, chewing on his bit.

Legolas rose his arms above his head, pushing her easily into the stallion's back, then swung himself up, securing the girls pack behind him beside his own.
All the wonders, of where she hailed from and how she had been poisoned were pushed from his mind as Arod rose slightly on his hind-legs, taking off directly into a gallop.







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Dark blue eyes watch a leaf make its way from towering tree to babbling water.
The wind carried the crimson leaf, embracing it in its invisible hands and set it down in the water that pooled before the falls.

Autumn had long come in Imladris, and Elrond knew winter was not far.
He almost smiled, though it was a thing far beyond sad, he would be glad for it.
It was almost time.

Time for rest from his endless duties, time to look upon his people happy and free from death and the torments of this world.
Free to hold his beloved Celebrian in his arms. How he missed her. He had not looked upon her fair face and golden hair, and eyes like a pale blue sky, in so long it made him ache.

Another thing made him pain so.

He sat back, taking the newly found silence to his advantage.
His mind drifted like that single leaf to his children.
Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen.

It made his heart ache, that he would have to leave them behind.
//Nay// he scolded his own self. //You do not leave them, they chose to stay, and rightfully so//
It had not been an easy decision to accept, that he would go home and they would not. To him it seemed a choice of death and sorrow.

Elladan and Elrohir ever the protectors would stay behind and take handle of Imladris. Elrond also strongly suspected that they would never leave there sister.

Arwen's choice to Marry Aragorn had been her own, though still part of him wished she had not.

Another ache snuck up on Elrond as he sat in thought, going over all that had been said and done in the last year.
And among all the great and prominent things.
The battles, the destruction of the ring and the Dark Lord. And his daughters wedding to the newly appointed King of Gondor, one small thing came to mind.

His talk with Aragorn before he departed with the fellowship. He had not accepted Arwen's choice then, though he did with slight resignation now, it was still accept ion.
His words had been harsh with Aragorn.

//Estel, his name is Estel.// Had he forgotten all his love for the human in his moment of determination to change Arwen and his mind.

The answer shamed him. He almost had.

In the last few years before the destruction of the ring, Aragorn, nay, Estel had become estranged in his burden.
Taking almost fully to the wild, and returning only when he had need.
Where had the years gone? Where had the hopeful, stubborn, joyful young human gone?

//He grew thus into the Man you know as the King of Gondor. Was this not what you wished?//
The annoying voice sounded awfully like Mithrandir.
He could almost see the Leader of the Istari leaning on his white wooden staff, one bushy eyebrow raised because it had not been a question but a statement.

//You knew his love for Undomiel was as great as thus of Beren for Luthien. Was it not you who spoke to him that you would Marry your child to no one who was anything less than King of both Arnor and Gondor. And that he did, and is now King of Both. Did you expect him to fail?//

That last question troubled him. Had he expected Estel to fail, had he lost so much of his care for the man he once cared for as his own.

His long memory brought him to the day Gilraien and Aragorn arrived at Rivendell. She had been young, lovely, and afraid. Though despite that fear, she was strong and determined.
Aragorn had been a joy the very first day, bringing the light of a child back into the land that had seen none in so many long years.

Not since...

Another moment of sorrow it seemed. He had pushed that thought far back in his mind.
The sorrow of Elrohir.

It would not be spoken in tales of valor and adventure, but Elrohir had been wed at one time.
An elf maiden whom attended Celebrian. Celelinn she was called, and fair as the Elves of Rivendell come.
Dark eyes that were almost green in there color, and hair of chestnut. She had been most loyal to her mistress, and fell for the amusing antics of Elrond's twin sons.
Elrohir most especially.

She adored him, the most sensitive of the two, and they were wed the next spring.
And to him she bore two daughters, Adara and Aerviel.

Adara remained in Rivendell until this day, and did not follow her mother over sea. Eventually becoming her Grandfather Elrond's assistant in his healing duties.

Her mothers loyalty taking her to the undying lands with her beloved mistress Celebrian.

It was the youngest story that made his heart heavy.
She fell for a human, a Ranger of the North...and departed to be with him.
Once she returned, and bringing with her the last child to enter Rivendell until the arrival of the Perinath.

They journeyed to return to there home, and had never returned.

This was why Elrond had been so outright against Arwen marrying Aragorn, he realized as he took a deep breath.
He mortally feared the lost of his youngest as they had lost Aerviel.



A noise brought his attention around and slight curiosity bid him to go see what it might be.
As he left the room he briefly looked back at the fountains. Another leaf had dislodged from its tree and was making its way below as countless others had.

Like the years, they fall away even if no one is there to notice. They do not stop falling even if you see them, even if you will them not to.

He made a promise in that moment to make things right with Estel. He was proud of the man, his son.
His long red and violet robes moving about him as he made his way outside his study.

Leaning over the rail his keen Elven eyes could pick up a rider mounted on a grey horse.
His eyes momentarily went wide, It was Legolas. And he carry something.

The Elf lord rushed to meet them.






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Elrond of Imladris, lord of the last Homely house reached the stairs and took them swiftly. His eyes trained on the young Sindarin prince, taking in the odd scene.
He had assessed the situation by the time his foot met the last step.

In the blonde Elf's arms was what looked like a very young girl. Her eyes were closed, which lead Elrond to assess she was either in much pain, or unconscious. Her slight body slumped back against the Princes own.

Moving swiftly across the yard, he could hear soft footfalls behind him as Adara followed, obviously drawn by the disturbance.

"How long has she been Unconscious" he asked, touching the girls neck and finding a red puncture. A bite perhaps?

He checked her pulse, it was stringy and weak. Her breathing labored, her skin clammy and body slightly trembling.
Poison.

"Legolas?" Elrond asked softer this time, the young Elf lord seemed at a loss.
Finally he looked back at Elrond, seeming to see him for the first time. "An hour or more.." his brows creased, frustrated with his inability to calculate the exact time.

"man he cuinar, adar ned nin adar?" Adara's soft voice questioned, looking over to her grandsire with concern.

"he lothron" Was all he had time to reply before he delivered the girl from Legolas arms to his own. The sun was beginning to set behind the Mountains and dusk was setting in. Adara scooped a lantern and lit it quickly, following in Elrond's footsteps, her hand on the front of her gown in order to keep her feet free to move.

Elrond could be heard calling out commands to his helpers, moving in all haste to help the unknown child.

The sun spilled its last rays, as if Arien dispelled a special amount of light in a last attempt to warm the land below, before she slipped from sight.
It washed Legolas with hues of orange and yellow, highlighting his already corncob golden hair, and sky blue eyes set in a fair face.

The young prince stood in the center of the courtyard unmoving as the sun dipped and faded into the west.






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Translations:

Saeweg= poison-thorn

"man no I presto lagor min?"="What be the trouble swift one?"

min= 1
t�d= 2
neled =3

"man he cuinar, adar ned nin adar" = will she live, father of my father

"he lothron" = she may


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