Upon Earth's Opening

Chapter 7 : Second Thoughts

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Night had long fallen over Rivendell and all the Elves were retreating to their bedchambers to rest. That is, all except one.

Caen was that elf. She was saddling her horse in the stable and preparing to report to her father of the recent happenings of Rivendell. She knew that the news of the Ring’s presence in Rivendell would greatly excite him.

Caen rode her horse past Toad’s pond, thinking of what had happened yesterday. Yesterday morn, she’d been given her assignment, she’d been tossed into that toad-full pond, and she’d been made a real fool of by Legolas. And this afternoon, she’d matched wits with that arrogant Prince. Legolas just seemed to bring out the worst of her, and that irritated her.

At dinner, Legolas had sat with her at the high table, and they had actually had a conversation that didn’t involve insulting each other every other sentence. And Caen enjoyed that. But one question that Legolas had asked still plagued her.

“What do you enjoy doing, Caen?”

She’d escaped that one by simply joking (but not really), “I enjoy working as a spy and by the way, I’m mentally memorizing every word you say to report it to my boss.” Legolas had really enjoyed her “joke”, saying that that was the most original answer he’d ever heard.

Uh, yeah.

But the question still remained unanswered...

What did she enjoy doing?

She enjoyed a lot of things... she enjoyed the thrill of fighting, she enjoyed the everyday habits of being a spy, she enjoyed being able to contradict common society... yet, she also enjoyed reading, sitting in the garden, and singing with the women on festival days. How could she like such diverse things? How was she supposed to fit all those emotions into one person?

But that was it. She wasn’t one person. She was a spy and she was a noble elf.

When she was around Legolas, she felt less a spy and more an elf. A true, real, emotion-feeling, dance-loving elf. She didn’t want to do her job anymore. She didn’t want to seduce Legolas and then betray him. She didn’t want to be alive, if this is what her life would be forever more.

But as much as she didn’t want it, as much as she wanted to ask her father to let her leave, to let her off, she knew that she would never get what she wanted. She would never be rescued by her prince.

The orc on duty was asleep, and Caen rode through the encampment without anything more than the usual catcalls and insults. She dismounted and walked inside her father’s tent.

“I bring news,” she said to her father, who was sitting on his makeshift throne again.

“About time, wench,” her father said to her, drinking his black wine.

DON’T CALL ME A WENCH! Caen wanted to scream. But she didn’t.

“The Ring is in Rivendell in the possession of a Halfling. Elrond does not want it to stay in Rivendell and neither does the wizard, Gandalf the Gray,” Caen said, impassive in every way she could be. She showed no emotion in her eyes, in her stance, and in her voice.

“Is that all you bring me? What of the Prince?” Morthen asked.

“I have not had an adequate chance to coerce information out of him. The Prince is hard to get to; he has emotional walls built around him. I have to break down those walls before he will trust me enough to tell me anything,” Caen lied through her teeth. She didn’t want to seduce that damned elf and she wasn’t going to tell her father that she wouldn’t.

“There is not much time to fulfill this mission, Caen. You must do this quickly or face your own death,” Morthen warned. Caen knew he would not hesitate to carry out this statement. He had not hesitated to kill his own wife. What would be different about his only child?

“I have nothing more to say,” Caen informed him.

“Then you will leave,” Morthen replied coldly.

Caen did leave. She leapt on her horse and left, ignoring all the catcalls and wishing that she could stick a knife through her father’s heart.