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| Neithawen's Deception |
| 9. An Oath |
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Neithawens eyes opened to see soft rays of light streaming through her window. She bolted out of bed and shot to the window. Luckily enough, the sun was just starting to peek through the trees. She listened with her keen elf ears for any hint of movement in the surrounding area. She thought she could hear distant sounds of armor clinking against armor, so she hurriedly rushed to the mirror. She started to comb her fingers through her hair, getting out tangles and smoothing stray hairs. Gathering up her armor, she hastily threw it on. The sounds of clinking metal were growing louder. Neithawen slung her quiver over her back and hooked the clasps together. She attached her pack with supplies around her waist, and picked up the bag with her hair in it. What in Middle Earth am I going to do with this? she thought to herself, examining the bag. She finally decided to bring it along. Ill bury it in the woods somewhere, maybe. Opening the drawstring closure on her pack, she stuffed the bag inside and pulled the pack closed again. Neithawen picked up her last piece of equipment. Pulling her sword, Ice Lion, from its scabbard, she looked at the blade in wonder. Her father, Maeglin, had given her this blade as her seven hundredth birthday present, and taught her to use it as well. As an elf of Lothlorien, she was taught to use a bow when she was very young. Neithawen realized that being skilled in both was going to be an asset, and would make her seem like less of a female. Not many females were skilled in the art of blade-wielding. Neithawen sheathed Ice Lion again and strapped the scabbard to her waist. She approached the door, opened it, and exited. As she made her way down the hall, she passed the elf she had followed to the laundry. She glanced at him, and when he smiled back at her, she saw no recognition on his face. Thats certainly a good sign, she thought. Maybe I can fool the others too. Stepping through the archway leading outside, Neithawen looked around. Elves of all ages stood about, preparing. Her sharp eyes scanned the sea of browns and greens to find Legolas. He was easy to distinguish from the others; he wore a light green tunic with light brown on the chest and shoulders, and a silvery-blue shirt underneath. His leggings were a dark, forest green, and his boots were darker still, almost blending with the darkest shrubbery behind him. His pale blonde hair spilled gently over his shoulders. Just over his shoulder Neithawen could see his weaponry. His Mirkwood bow was etched with a gold inscription, and his arrows were fletched with dark red leaves. The sunlight filtered through them and made them shine like rubies. His bone-white knives glistened, the base of their golden blades just barely visible in the sheaths. He turned his back to her, tending to his horse, a beautiful dappled beast, white with grey spots on its body. In fact, it was the same horse shed seen the first time she had seen Legolas. The pair was immensely beautiful together. Neithawen slowly made her way toward Legolas. She came up behind him and took a deep breath. She was about to address him when he turned suddenly. Ah, Teleadan, it is pleasant to see you again. We are just getting ready to leave. Your horse is there. He pointed to another horse about 10 yards away. This one tossed its head, seemingly trying to free itself from the rope binding it to the tree. Neithawen walked over to the mare with her hand outstretched, speaking in soft tones. The horse turned her eye toward Neithawen, and calmed slightly. Neithawen placed her flat hand under the horses nose, allowing her to get a good smell. The horse calmed almost immediately. Her eyes stopped lolling in her head, and she pushed her nose into Neithawens flat palm. Neithawen smiled and ran her other hand slowly along the beasts neck. She had a way with horses, it had always been so. Neithawen turned back to Legolas and called above the clamor of elves readying for battle, Does this beautiful mare have a name? She does, to be certain. Legolas tone was somewhat of awe. No male had ever had much luck with this mare; she much preferred the company of the fairer sex. Perhaps it was because Teleadan was young. She is called Rochroval, meaning. Meaning Horse-Wing, Neithawen interjected, cutting Legolas off in mid sentence. Or Winged Horse, Legolas replied. Ive never heard the phrase Horse-Wing before, but I quite like it, he said. A small smile crept over his lips. Neithawens breath caught in the back of her throat. Hoping that Legolas had not noticed anything, Neithawen turned back to Rochroval. The mare was looking at her with expectancy that said to Neithawen, are you going to ride me or not? Neithawen smiled slightly at her own silly assumption, and started stowing some of her gear in Rochrovals saddlebags. Suddenly, a call was heard from a distance, but easily audible to the elves ears. We depart! An i auth! The voice was that of Thranduils. It traveled from far away, carried lightly on the gentle breeze. Neithawen led Rochroval over to where Legolas and his horse were standing. It would be a while before the first company moved out so that the second could follow. Legolas seemed deeply distracted by something. What is it, my lord? She followed his gaze to an empty window. In fact, it was the window that she had occupied when she first arrived. Ah, nothing that you would care about, Teleadan, Legolas sighed. You mustnt make assumptions, my lord. Who is to say that I will not care? Neithawen looked over at Legolas. His eyes were still fixed on her old window. A beautiful lady, Teleadan. She did not come to bid be farewell. Alas, I did not think she would. She was, no doubt, occupied in saying goodbye to her father, who is also leaving. And may I ask who this beautiful lady might be? Neithawen knew full well what the answer would be. Her name is Neithawen, and I long for her touch again, though I may never feel it. Not if I have anything to say about it, Neithawen thought. Out loud, however, she said, ah, yes, the lady Neithawen. Mine eyes had the fortune of her beautiful face, her slender figure, only this morning. Her beauty was marred only by the tears streaming down her face as she wept for the loss of her father. I now assume she was also weeping for you. Neithawen smiled inwardly at the thought of praising herself. It seemed foolish to her, but to Teleadan, Neithawen could very well be the most beautiful maiden in the land. Unfortunately, Legolas reaction was not what Neithawen had hoped. You saw her? She was weeping? Where was she? Legolas litany of questions startled her. She fought hard to come up with an answer. Ah, well, she was, near the dining hall, I believe. And how long ago was this? Only just this morning, my lord. I must go to her. Hold these. Legolas shoved the reigns of his horses bridle into Neithawens hands. Neithawen was horrified. Bu-but, my lord, you mustnt. We are soon leaving. Look! Even now the end of the first company departs! You must stay! Legolas stopped walking and turned to look at the elves departing before him. Alas, you are right, o young Teleadan. He bowed his head in sorrow and took the reigns from Neithawen again. When he looked up into Neithawens eyes, tears were pooling in his own. His sorrow ran into her like the cool water of a mountain spring. She felt tears prickling behind her eyes, but fought to hold them back. She put on the bravest face she could muster. My lord, you shall return to her safely. I shall personally guarantee it. You have my vow of protection. |
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