Mercyside

The two days between A’mael’s promise to her father and the ball passed by far too quickly for A’mael, She had awoken from a dreamless slumber just after dawn, and after having a small breakfast, she decided on going for a walk around the city. A’mael walked in silence, alone, ignoring the glances cast her way, the whispers of rumors.

She crept through the halls, among the stone pillars that glittered in the early morning sun, passing under archways and by unlit lanterns. She passed by the tranquil waterfalls and trees, over the bridges high above the valley and their rivers below. A’mael gazed at the mountain walls of the Valley of Imladris; her home. Father is right, A’mael thought, I belong here, no matter how often I feel I do not.

Eventually the youngest princess of Rivendell founder her way to the library, a large, open, semi-circle of a room, very near the heart of the Elvish city. Long ago, when she was still a young elfling, she’d spent most of her time here, reading anything she could get her hands on. Sometimes when he had more time, her father would teacher a language of some sort; a greeting in Dwarvish, or he would teach her something of history. It didn’t matter what he taught her, A’mael was happy just to spend time with him. Those times were some of the few where A’mael truly felt content with her life, but those times were now few and far between.

A’mael walked along one of the many bookshelves carved from brilliant white stone, and due to the openness of the place, and the balcony from the hall, light flooded into every crevice. It was beautiful, as if no shadow could ever touch it.

A’mael turned the corners; tip toeing silently, absentmindedly down the isles of knowledge, gazing at the spines of leather bound books. Some of the titles were so worn from time that they could barely be read, but even still, she recognized them. The young she-elf let out a sigh as her footsteps echoed off the walls, barely heard. Her mind seemed to clear of all thoughts, save the memories of her father teaching her something on a calmer day. Once, it’d been raining and A’mael and her father had done nothing but sit within the library, talking and watching the rain.

The elf maiden smiled at the happy memory, walking around the edge of another shelf, only to bump into someone. She staggered back, eyes wide. When she realized who she’d run into, though, A’mael nearly fell, her breath leaving her.

“K-king Thranduil! I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ she cut herself off, not knowing what to say. What could she say? She’d been too caught up in her own thoughts to realize she was not alone within her self-proclaimed sanctuary?

“You needn’t worry, princess,” Thranduil replied. His voice echoed off the walls too, but it sounded much more pleasant.

“I didn’t realize anyone else was here,” she spoke softly.

“This place holds lots of history, lots of memories.” A’mael let out a quiet, short laugh, nodding.

“Yes, my lord, it does. I’ve spent much of my time in here, especially when I was younger,” A’mael answered. She kept her voice low, not much louder than a whisper. She didn’t have to speak very loud to make herself heard in the peaceful silence around them.

“Oh, I can imagine so, given your…” He trailed off for a moment, trying to find the right word. “Talents,” he finished. A’mael was taken back by that comment. What did he mean by that? Forgetting the fact that she was speaking to the King of the Greenwood, A’mael let her disdain for his words be known.

“And what, King Thranduil, are you referring to,” A’mael snapped. She didn’t know why, but something within her wouldn’t tolerate him speaking to her as he was. Maybe it was a small forgotten shred of pride over her differences returning from her childhood, or perhaps her father’s words setting into her mind. She was a princess of Rivendell, and though she was a bit different, that was okay, because as Lord Elrond had said, every light had its shadow.

“I mean you no offense, my lady.” A’mael locked gazes with the king’s ice blue gaze and opened her mouth to speak, but Thranduil cut her off.

“That is why I said ‘your talents’. If you would think for a moment, you would see I show you no disdain.” A’mael remained silent for a moment, keeping her gaze on the king. No one had ever referred to her affinity to the dark as a talent before. Everyone else considered to see it as a burden, save for a select few like her father and Glorfindel. Even they had never called it a ‘talent’.

A’mael certainly wasn’t sure of what it was yet, so far, in her relatively short life by Elvish time, it had been a curse. Darkness was always a curse, especially for the Elves. She looked at him again, searching for any indication that he was not being serious. A’mael found nothing in his gaze betraying him.

“I wonder, though, if the rumors whispered of Lord Elrond’s youngest daughter are true,” Thranduil continued. Hearing this, A’mael glanced back at the king with a sharp glare.

“It is of no concern to you whether they are true or not,” A’mael replied, nearly sure now that he was trying to mess with her mind. Surely, he knew what was true and what was not, given his status and her father’s trust in him. Then again, maybe he didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. A’mael would not tell him. She knew better than to do something so foolish.

“As I said,” Thranduil started again. “I mean you no offense, my lady.”

“Of course you didn’t,” A’mael spat. “No one ever does.” Her words were sarcastic, blunt, and full of aggravation. The princess of Rivendell didn’t wait for the Elf king’s reply; she turned sharply, making her way to the library’s entrance. She stepped out into the hallway, walking as quickly as she could in no particular direction. She just wanted to be left alone. Perfectly, completely alone.

A’mael was sick of people assuming she was some sort of evil just because of a couple of rumors… rumors that were true, but what did it matter to anyone else? She was the princess of Rivendell, along with her sister. A’mael was adopted, yes, but she was just as much Elrond’s daughter as Arwen was. She shouldn’t have to compete for the respect of her people, it was hers by right. She wasn’t evil and she never would be.

.X.

A’mael sighed quietly in content as she looked in the mirror. Her dark hair hung down at her shoulders, with one single braid down the side. The braid was neatly done with white flowers woven into it, flowers showing that she was unwed and wasn’t promised to anyone. She didn’t care for the flowers and their meaning; who cared if she wasn’t married? It wasn’t like she was going to find someone worth the time, or rather, someone who would waste time on her, in one night.

Thankfully, she could ignore the flowers, courtesy of how beautiful the gown she wore was. It was a long sleeved, and though it was mostly white, there was a pale gold color as well that made parts of it glitter in the light. It was simple, but elegant and stunning, or at least, that was what A’mael thought, and that was all the more she would ask for. She knew she would have to dance and she knew she would make a fool of herself, but no one could argue that she didn’t look beautiful.

A’mael stood as the maid who was helping her get ready finished the braid. Smoothing out her gown, she thanked the other Elvish woman before slipping on the sandals that went with her dress. Smiling absentmindedly, A’mael looked in the mirror again. Her dress glittered as she moved and her pale blue eyes were sparkling bright, too. Lord Elrond had told A’mael long ago that when she’d first been born her eyes were as black as night, but seeing them now, she couldn’t bring herself to believe that.

The young she-elf turned, hearing a knock at the door. She hesitated a moment, standing in silence. Time to get this over with, she decided finally, making her way over the door. Her strides were long and graceful, betraying everything she was feeling. Out in the hall, A’mael found her father there. He smiled at her as she pulled the door open all the way.

“You look stunning, my dear,” Elrong complimented. A’mael smiled, thanking her father. Despite his daughter’s feigned relaxed demeanor, her smile was sincere. Lord Elrond knew without a doubt that A’mael was merely putting on a show, happy to be one step closer to wielding a blade. She couldn’t wait to begin her training and he knew it. He knew his daughter would put up with just about anything so long as it got her a chance at being on the borders of Rivendell with the lancers, patrolling the Great East Road.

Despite this knowledge, there was something different in how A’mael was acting. At least now, since their talk the other night, her brighter personality was coming back and her gaze did not seem so distant. Outside of what it seemed to most people, those that knew A’mael well enough knew that she was very friendly and pleasant, even if she herself did not always show herself as being so.

“Are you ready, my lady?” It was only when he spoke than A’mael realized Glorfindel was there waiting in the hall, beyond her father. She’d been so wrapped up in her own thoughts as of late that she’d forgotten that Glorfindel was escorting her. A’mael’s face brightened at this realization; time would go by much quicker if she had him to talk to. Glorfindel knowing that A’mael would not ask anyone to the ball and would turn down anyone who asked her had kindly agreed to escort her. The young elf was thankful for that, even if it gave people more of a reason to think that A’mael and Glorfindel were ‘together.’

“Yes,” A’mael answered quietly, albeit with hesitation. “I’m ready.’

.X.

Any chance A’mael had had of being able to hide her uneasiness disappeared the moment she and Glorfindel stepped into the main hall. All eyes were on them, judging. Whispers sounded here and there and though A’mael could not hear what was being said, she felt like she was going to be sick. Her skin had gone cold, her throat was dry, her stomach was in knots and she felt light headed. A’mael really, really hated social gatherings.

Glorfindel’s arm tightened around hers and she looked over at her friend. He smiled reassuringly.

“Relax, A’mael, before people start to think you’re going to kill everyone here.” A’mael laughed quietly. That would certainly make her feel better. If it weren’t for her friend’s tight grip on her, she probably would’ve dashed out of the room, never to be seen again so long as the night lasted.

“I can’t believe my father talked me into this,” A’mael grumbled.

“He bribed you,” Glorfindel laughed, reaching for a drink.

“Wine?” he asked. A’mael snatched the glass from her friend, downing the liquid immediately. It burned her throat slightly, but A’mael felt her muscles relax some. Glorfindel sent her a disapproving look as he took a drink of his own wine. A’mael, ignoring his look, grabbed another drink.

Before her friend could stop her, she emptied that glass too. Resisting the urge to groan she let out a quiet hum of a sigh as she turned, looking for her father. A’mael locked gazes with someone, but it was not her father’s. Letting out a Dwarvish curse she’d learned long ago from a book, she quickly turned her gaze from the ice blue eyes she’d just met, hoping that the owner of those eyes would not ask her to dance, or come near her at all, for that matter.

‘That was very unladylike, A’mael,” Glorfindel spoke quietly, smiling at a girl as she passed by. The other she elf smiled at Glorfindel as she walked by him, but glared at A’mael. A’mael narrowed her eyes, nearly muttering the Dwarvish curse again.

“Lady A’mael.” Her stomach dropped hearing the deep, yet calm voice of King Tranduil. With a quick, seemingly shy glance down to her feet, A’mael looked up at the king of the Greenwood. Their gazes locked, but no smile made its way to the princess of Imladris’ face. The gazes of both the king and princess matched in intensity and both were as equally unnerving.

Outside of her unnatural affinity to darkness, A’mael matched the Elven king in several ways, and he knew it. What A’mael lacked in confidence, the king had. Even still, the two made an interesting pair, or, at least, that was what Glorfindel thought. A’mael though, did not know what to think of the king. At least he showed her intrigue, rather than disdain.

At least he didn’t consider her darkness a burden. Not yet, anyway. For some reason the idea of him agreeing with most everyone else made A’mael’s stomach turn. Giving him the benefit of a doubt, she assumed that King Thranduil would not be so cruel as to embarrass her in front of her people. A’mael had heard many things about King Thranduil and did not know what to believe about him. She knew though, that her father trusted him and that was good enough for her.

“Yes,” A’mael asked, her voice flat. She knew what was coming.

“Would you care to dance with me?” he asked. A’mael glanced at Glorfindel, swallowing the ball of nerves that had gathered in her throat. She did not want to dance at all, but she could not deny the king of the Greenwood. That would look bad.

“I’m not much of a dancer,” A’mael spoke before she could stop herself. Glorfindel nearly choked on his drink hearing her reply.

“But,” she added quickly. “I’d… love to dance.” Managing a small smile, A’mael took King Thranduil’s hand, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. With each step, A’mael felt sicker and sicker. As the two reached the center of the dance floor, the music changed, taking on a much slower melody.

A’mael instantly felt better, but then she realized she would be slow dancing with King Tranduil. Upon this realization, A’mael’s heart nearly stopped. People were already whispering, even those near Glorfindel. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her friend say something and then the ones who’d been watching, pointing and whispering with their heads bowed, walked off with unnerved faces. Though she appreciated that Glorfindel defended her, it did nothing to help the fact that her mind was swimming. She needed to focus, or she would mess up the dance even worse than she already knew she would, simple as it was.

Every time the king spun A’mael through a turn, or pulled her close to him, she could see people around them staring, gossiping. She could feel every single glance and with each step, A’mael’s mood fell even more. Spinning outwards, away from Thranduil, her feet tangled and she gasped as she started to fall.

With a relatively rough jerk to her arm, Thranduil pulled A’mael back to him, though the move was greatly out of time with the music. For a moment the she-elf wondered if her mistake had been noticed but up hearing a few laughs from those near by, she knew they’d seen.

A’mael collided with Thranduil’s chest, letting the Dwarvish curse flick from her tongue once again as she felt her face heat up, not caring that the king could hear her. She hated this. She really hated this. Thranduil remained cool and calm as he always was, acting as if she hadn’t tripped over herself.

“How do you do it?” she asked finally, referring to how he remained so calm around such obnoxious people. A’mael’s father had told her once that Thranduil, after his father’s death, had been subject to a great deal of ridicule, yet he still kept his head held high. A’mael wanted to know his secret, for no matter how much she wished she didn’t, she admired his confidence. If he would not tell her, she would just assume his ego was far larger than she’d originally thought.

“Do what,” Thranduil questioned in reply.

“How do you put up with such… chatty people?” The king of the Greenwood smirked. He knew well what A’mael meant by ‘chatty.’

“Grin and bare it,” was hit curt reply. A’mael took notice to the Elven king’s subtly amused tone and rolled her eyes, unable to stop herself.

“I’m serious, Thranduil.” The king looked at A’mael, glancing down because he was a whole head taller than her, upon hearing her address him so informally, which was not something she had done before. Every time he’d spoken with her over the years, she’d been well mannered, albeit blunt and a bit unconscious of her words. She was quick witted, smart, and not at all shy, however, her confidence had been greatly damaged by her uncontrollable affinity to darkness, and Thranduil knew this. Truth be told, he really didn’t mind her merely calling him by his first name.

“All I can tell you, my lady, is that not all is as it seems. Not all that is shown is what is real.” And at that, their dance was over. Thranduil pressed his lips to A’mael’s hand in thanks, before leading her back to Glorfindel.

“Thank you for the dance, A’mael.”