Chapter Text
The duties of being Queen spared no rest for Elithien. Only a few weeks since her marriage and coronation, she found herself seated beside her husband in the House of Councils. Discussions were being made on matters with the Dwarven folk north of Greenwood; a long unresolved dispute that was never quite addressed until now.
“They are stubborn little creatures,” Fendris, one of the Council members, muttered. “We have sent emissaries in the past to negotiate with their King but all we receive in return—nothing. They will not even listen to what we have to offer.”
“What did they say?” Thranduil asked.
“The same as they always do: they do not have time to indulge in squabbles. Perhaps we should not bother keeping good relations after all, if they are so fickle and arrogant,” Fendris said.
“Let us not be irrational,” Cendir interrupted. “They have proven to be highly valuable assets for the kingdom. Their metal work is unbeatable and opening trade with them would in the best interests of Greenwood.”
“Then how in Eru are we supposed to propose this deal when they will not even receive us?” Fendris said in exasperation.
It was then the room fell silent when they could not come to a solution. While it was Elithien’s first time hearing this subject matter, she could tell this had been an ongoing dispute that left them time and again, stalemate.
Thranduil rubbed his chin. “What say you, my wife? Perhaps an opinion from the outside could enlighten the Council with a fresh idea.”
The elleth straightened after remaining silent for the entirety of the meeting. She thought it was best to observe the discussions for now and none of the Council seemed interested in her involvement either way. Perhaps this could be her moment to prove she was more than simply a pretty face.
“From my understanding, the dwarves take offence to our method of contact. In more recent times, they are not exactly the most appreciated kind in Middle Earth—especially amongst our people, and the scrutiny they receive have left them reclusive. They know we desire their goods but are not willing to entertain us until we prove that we genuinely hold our interest in a more… sincere manner.”
Fendris scoffed. “Typical. They should be grateful we even wish to trade with them.”
“That attitude is exactly what proves my point,” Elithien grimaced.
“So what do you suggest then, my lady?” Fendris said.
It was clear that they did not appreciate her involvement in their politics. Even when working with Maeldir in the past, she remained in the shadows whenever it involved Council meetings. But their politics were now hers to address as well, and she would no longer keep silent on her opinions.
“Send his majesty to personally address the Dwarven King,” Elithien said.
They looked at her in surprise, blinking like they had not understood her. She noticed Thranduil glanced at her with the faintest grin on his face, hidden to the rest of them.
“His place belongs in this kingdom, not unless with utmost importance,” Fendris argued.
“So are you to argue that the Dwarves do not deserve our attention? My lord if this is how you truly feel then this kingdom is as ‘arrogant’ and ‘narcissistic’ as the Noldor. And we know how much you loathe our kind,” She with a hard smile.
Fendris opened his mouth to quickly retort but he was left unable to come up with a good enough answer. He pursed his lips together into a fine line and, if Elithien suspected correctly, glared at her.
“It seems we have come to a reasonable solution,” Thranduil said. “I will go pay the Dwarves a visit and negotiate with their King. My soldiers shall accompany me in this journey and I leave the Queen to govern the kingdom in my absence.”
“With all due respect your majesty, the Queen has hardly any experience to run a kingdom yet. Our customs are different from the Noldor,” Fendris interjected, clearly opposed by this idea.
“Are you questioning my judgment, Lord Fendris?” Thranduil said with a hint of threat in his voice. “Lady Elithien will rule in my place and that is final. The issue has been addressed, and thus I adjourn this meeting.”
None of the Council could object after Thranduil rose from his seat and waited for Elithien to follow suit. She stood and bowed at the other members, noticing Fendris was whispering to the other lords while his sour expression remained locked on her. She looked away, deciding their disapproving looks were not worth her time and took her husband’s arm, walking off to be left in the comfort of their own privacy.
☽
The Queen of Greenwood adjusted the crooked brooch pinned on Thranduil’s tunic before she gave his chest a gentle pat and smiled at him.
“I will miss you, melmenya,” Elithien said.
The Silvan leaned to give her a long kiss. They were unabashed to display their affections in public, not when they could finally do it without fear. She held him tightly, wanting to remember the scent and warmth of her husband before she would be without it for a while.
“I should not be away for longer than a moon’s cycle,” he said, releasing her and moving to mount his elk.
Elithien came forward and gave the creature a gentle stroke. “Take care of my husband, Alato,” she whispered while resting her forehead against it.
“I have no doubt you will protect our kingdom with ease,” Thranduil said, tugging his reigns to prepare for his departure. His elite guards, including Ruieth, followed behind him. She gave the captain a nod before stepping back. The party took off, journeying past the gates of Amon Lanc while Elithien remained at the threshold until the King was completely out of sight.
She heard a disgusted noise from behind followed by some whispers she just about picked up and turned to find the Council staring condescendingly at her. They had spoken in heavy Silvan dialect, unbeknownst to them that she had become familiar in their slangs and colloquialism since Thranduil’s help. Even so, they were foolish to believe she would not pick up their language despite residing in the Wood for many years.
The elleth held her chin high and bowed at them. “My lords,” she addressed sternly.
They bowed in response, clear that it was out of sheer obligation.
As she went past them, she gave a quick remark. “Also, I would try harder for an insult to my kind. I have heard far more creative names for the Noldor. ”
She resisted the urge to turn and see the looks on their faces and settled with a smug grin upon her lips.
☽
It came to her as no surprise that the Council did as little to cooperate in assembling meetings for future matters, especially with her. Their discussions would only end in circles and then postponed for another meeting, a decision they believed would be only wise to address once the King returned. It had only been just over two weeks and too early for her to start picking her fights.
And so Elithien held her ground and surrendered to their constant delays. What she did not inform them of is taking all books filled with hundreds of entry logs and ledgers, that were supposed to remain in the Council room, back to her quarters. She hardly doubted they would care if she chose to read the entire kingdom’s records, so long as it did not involve her interjecting her opinions on them.
Elithien was on her third pot of tea after Lyssa had recommended having something to eat while she sat on the carpeted floor, scattered within seas of open books and papers. The Silvans were impressive in keeping track of their records and Oropher had been critical to addressing many issues Greenwood once had. However, close to his passing, she noticed a pattern of repeated offences that were neglected and these issues significantly increasing since he died. From her understanding, the Council had played a major influence on Oropher’s decisions and while their solutions for their larger issues were relatively smart, they ignored plenty of the lesser claims.
Yet, as she wrote down a list of these unresolved issues, it had quickly filled both sides of a long parchment for what surprisingly occurred within a single month. Farmers who requested new tools, the healers seeking for more workers and more alarmingly, ladies reporting cases of inappropriate harassment beseeched on them. The remark beside the particular cases of sexual assault reports was either blank or written as ‘to be further discussed’, and judging from the ongoing list, it never was addressed again.
“Lyssa,” Elithien called, straightening from her position and stood with the parchment in hand.
“Yes, mistress?” she replied hurriedly, rushing to her side.
“Take a look at this,” Elithien said, handing the parchment to her. “How concerned should I be about these reports?”
The elleth hummed while she scanned through each line. “I admit that I have heard from other servants distressing over this. A few of these names on this list are my acquaintances.”
“But is this true?” Elithien pressed. “Am I believe that several ladies have been sexually harassed and nothing was done about it?”
“Oh, well.” Lyssa scratched her neck. “Nothing vile has been committed. They have mostly been lords stealing glances or subtle brushes. I would say nothing more than any elf would do to court a lady.”
“Subtle enough to report this?” She said, shaking her head in disagreement. “No, clearly it was much more alarming. Surely I am not to believe the Silvan do not see forced contact as taboo much like the rest of our kin have always seen it?”
Lyssa frantically shook her head. “No, mistress! We absolutely do not condone such behaviour. I suppose these acts have not been severe enough to be considered a crime. Many would argue it could have been misinterpreted as a poor attempt of courting.”
The Noldo pursed her lips. “No, I do not believe these were failed pursuits, not when there are so many on this list. What is to say there are an abundant more that have not even come forth to report it out of fear for being reprimanded? Lyssa, these are crimes committed and I will not let this go ignored any longer.”
“What are you going to do, mistress?” The servant asked.
Elithien took the parchment from Lyssa and rolled it up. “I am going to call for each of these elf’s audience and hear directly from them.”
☽
Elithien had prepared a table and two chairs in the palace’s greenhouse and invited every victim that reported their case. After interviewing just over ten quendi, she could already confirm the incidents were indeed connected, but the results so far still gave her no real lead. All their stories had mentioned it had occurred at night, often when they were in a large crowd when they could not identify the perpetrator. It was only until a lady by the name of Yeven explained her story that provided her with a different anecdote of her encounter with the mystery predator.
“The strangest thing was that I saw him yet I also cannot remember a single detail what he looked like,” Yeven said while recalling the events of her incident.
“So you actually saw this elf?” Elithien interrupted, tearing away from her notes and looking at her eagerly.
“That is the problem, your highness,” she sighed. “I knew there was an ellon, but I do not remember anything about him. I was sorting the plates in the servant’s kitchen and then, I felt someone touch my back, I jumped and turned to find an elf with a few plates in his hand that he took from the table and offered to stack it on the top shelf. I politely declined since I had a ladder and I have done this plenty of times so it was not an issue for me. Still, he insisted and ignored my request. He continued to return the plates while trapping me between him. He was uncomfortably close and I could have sworn he was sniffing me.”
Elithien felt nauseated hearing Yeven’s story, but she forced herself to remain claim. “I am truly sorry for what has happened to you. I assure you I will never allow this again.”
Yeven dropped her head and slowly shook it. ”He did it again when I was struggling to fetch several bottles from a cabinet—when I had only a stool to use at the time.”
This information was what caught the quendë by surprise.
“Wait. You are the only elf that reported not only seeing someone but being harassed more than once. How come I have not seen your second report?” Elithien said.
Yeven shrugged. “The first one went unnoticed. Why bother with the second?”
“You mentioned earlier about not being able to see his face. What do you mean by that exactly?” The Noldo continued.
“It is like when you dream and you know someone is there, someone you even talk to. Yet when you truly try to think harder on it, you cannot describe their face, or what they looked like. It is an odd thing.”
It did not take long for Elithien to figure out what it was. “He used a cloaking spell on himself. A minor one just to hide his face. It’s a clever tactic when you wish to hide in plain sight.”
The Silvan lady seemed distressed from the conversation so Elithien set her notes aside and reached to place a hand on hers.
“Thank you for everything, Yeven. Believe me when I say I will not rest until I guarantee the safety of all our people.”
Yeven glanced at the Queen’s hand on her and returned a small smile. “I am already glad someone would at least hear my story. What will you do?”
Elithien pulled away and gathered her notes.
“I have a plan, but I may need your help.”
☽
The Noldo shrugged the last piece of clothing on and tightened the lace of the bodice, coloured in the Wood elves’ signature forest green. It was tighter than she expected and felt like she could hardly breathe in it. Elithien moved to stand in front of the mirror and inspected herself in Yeven’s garments.
Illusion spells were not difficult to conjure but they can be incredibly tedious when wanting to impersonate another elf. She had prepared a poultice earlier that day to temporarily dye her hair into a cool black and worked thoroughly through her roots and locks to let the pigments catch.
The last step was to cast an illusion spell on her face and morph her appearance to look identical to Yeven. It took a lot of concentration and intent as she chanted an incantation in Old Quenya and felt her face tingle as it began to reform. When she opened her eyes, hoping that her skills in magic have not gone rusty, she was greeted with Yeven who stared back at her from the mirror. She grinned.
☽
The Noldo instructed Yeven to remain in her quarters that day while she took her place. Elithien had spent a good hour learning the essentials to pass as Yeven and to make sure she would remain unsuspicious until their target would take the bait.
Thus the quendë placed herself in the kitchen and slowly went about her day sorting out the room, wiping the table, sweeping the floor and gathering loose herbs in bunches to dry. After spending the entire day working the kitchen and no one approaching her—set aside a few fellow servants asking for minor favours—she began to grow hopeless that their perpetrator would show up.
When her patience had given up, she took her apron and began folding to store away. It was when she turned that she found herself trapped by two outstretched arms. Her eyes whipped to the elf’s face and as she suspected, the moment she studied his features, she had immediately forgotten it.
“It was almost like you were expecting me,” he spoke. She could not recognise his voice either.
“Consider your days of tormenting the quendi within these borders over,” she hissed.
Judging from his body language, it seemed at first he took her words as empty threats but when Elithien unsheathed a dagger from under her sleeve, he was quick to shove her hard against shelves and began to flee.
The knock of the wall caused a few bottles and jars to tip onto the floor and hinder the elf from escaping. She was quick enough to dodge the falling objects, lurching forward to slice her target. He managed to evade a serious wound but she was able to leave a cut on his unknown face. The elf cursed. Elithien thought she would be able to detain him but what she didn’t expect was for him to throw a handful of flour towards her, leaving her distracted and to her disappointment, his escape.
She frantically wiped her messy face with her sleeve and hear guards rushing into the room.
“What is this disturbance?” They demanded while inspecting the floor covered in broken bottles, scattered piles of powder, and jars.
“A lord attempted to violate me!” She yelled, still pretending to be Yeven.
The two of them looked at each other before her. “We saw no one else leave this room.”
“Forget it,” Elithien muttered, deciding it was not worth arguing over it.
“Go rest. You are weary and all the other servants have left,” the taller of the two said, helping her up from the floor and carefully guide her away from the mess.
She remained silent and left once they said they will clean the glass themselves. When she was no longer in anyone’s sight, hiding in a bathroom, she removed Yeven’s clothes until she was only in the base of the dress and quickly washed the dye from her hair using a basin of water.
When she was able to look remotely like herself again, that was when she pulled out the dagger from her sleeve and inspected the blade. The blood had transferred to her clothes but she was more than content with the progress she made. The trap had been laid.
☽
For the next several days, Elithien kept her eyes peeled for any suspicious behaviour. She had sent Yeven to a village in northern Greenwood for her safety, concluding that after the sequence of events, her life may pose a threat.
While there were many within the walls of Amon Lanc, it was not impossible to encounter all of them within several days. Her search felt like it became futile when she spotted no odd behaviour and considered that her perpetrator may not even be within the palace. Her only remaining chance was the Council and if they proved not to be the culprits, then she would have to expand her search.
To her luck, there was a scheduled meeting with the Council. It was a monthly lunch with the Council that was less formal and more of a change of environment. Elithien knew they were deliberately postponing the regular meetings but they were shallow enough to attend this one, especially when food and drinks were specially prepared.
Elithien came to the Council room around the time it was soon to be concluded, waiting for their bellies to be stuffed and they guard to be down after having several drinks. The Noldo entered the room and found the Council exactly where she expected them. Upon her arrival, they lazily pushed themselves from their seats and rose to greet her.
She raised a hand and dismissed them. “Greetings, my lords. Please do not let me disturb your meal. I have only come here to ask if there was any necessary information I may need to know.”
“None at all, your highness,” Ilden, the tallest of them, responded. “Nothing that would need your immediate attention.”
Of course. Elithien ignored the usual aversions and pursed her lips into a hard smile. “I see one of you is missing. Where is Fendris?”
They looked at one another until Cendir spoke. “He is unwell my lady. He just departed no sooner after you arrived.”
Elithien quirked a brow. “Did something happen?”
“He was attacked,” Cendir answered. Elithien felt her fingers twitch. She forced herself to remain nonchalant.
“Well, I shall not keep you from your meal. Could I at least have a copy of today’s discussion?” Elithien said.
Cendir nodded. “Of course, your highness. I will have it sent to your room as soon as it is concluded. You should have it no later than this evening.”
She thanked them and made her way out. The elleth held the temptation to rush until she was completely out of their sight and began briskly striding in search for Fendris. She asked the guards along the corridor and to her luck, she just managed to catch him at the bottom of the stairs. While she was unable to confront him, her suspicions had been confirmed when she noticed a prominent gash from his cheekbone to the middle of his hairline. Elithien exhaled a triumphant sigh of relief and continued to watch Fendris until he was no longer in view.
She had found her target.
☽
That evening, Elithien could not focus on the stack of papers on her lap. She was comfortably in bed, but her body was restless, thoughts running non-stop while she tried to process her newest discovery. She would have thought if he was capable of conjuring an illusion spell, he would be smart enough to conceal his scar. Still, it did not matter anymore, she did not expect she only had to go through the first plan.
There was a sudden cold rush of wind and Elithien felt the fine hairs of her arms raised. She swung her legs off the bed and went to the balcony to close the doors. As she was about to reach for a robe to cover herself from the armchair, a sharp pain struck her neck and she yelled. Her body gave into the shock and she fell to the ground, feeling her consciousness waver. The Noldo managed to turn her head and catch a glimpse of a masked figure standing over her, drawing a dagger out.
The adrenaline of a life-or-death situation surged. Elithien managed to roll away and stumble back up. She frantically shook her head, willing herself to regain her focus and barely dodged a lunge from her attacker, falling onto the bed.
It took no second for her assailant to climb over her and grab her by the throat with a crushing grip. She gasped while thrashing around, her pupils dilating while she begged her body to listen to her. Elithien knew how to break from a choke, but the initial blow left her slightly delirious and finding her concentration was a challenge of its own.
The black figure raised his armed hand and she knew then that he had intended to kill her. Elithien thrust her knee and landed a hit on his torso. The attacker grunted and his grip loosened on her neck. In that critical second, she shot her arms and grabbed his wrist to disarm him. She was agile enough to knock the weapon from his hand after he flung his arm from her attack, causing it to fly across the room and fall onto the floor with a loud clatter. However, it did not save her from danger.
Her assassin used both of his hands to crush her neck and she could feel the life escape from her. Her vision was becoming hazy and his grip was too strong for her to pry his fingers away. Her arms flailed outwards, hoping by all desperation that there was something that could save her.
Every passing second became harder for her to fight, her fingers searching everywhere for anything . Her knuckles brushed against the pillow and like a revelation, she prayed that Thranduil had kept his words true about his precautionary bedroom habits.
She felt her heart immediately sink when she did not find what she desperately needed but the moment she retracted her hand, she felt a hard object knock against her thumb. With every remaining strength she had left, she grabbed the handle, pulled it out and shoved the dagger right into her attacker’s stomach, her scream coming out nothing more than strangled cries when she shoved it further in and finally, slashed across the length of his belly.
Elithien gasped the moment his fingers loosened and swallowed as much air as she could muster, coughing heavily while her head throbbed once the oxygen came flowing back to her head. She heaved painfully until her eyes were squeezed shut and her neck burning like firey liquid had been poured down her throat. Even if her assailant posed as immediate danger, she had no energy left to resist.
Her heart rate never seemed to calm and while the long seconds felt like it would come to an end any moment, nothing came her way. Elithien remained limp on her bed, hardly able to process any feeling or sensation in her body while she only wanted to breathe as much air in as she was able to. Her eyelids eventually fluttered open, blinking away her tears. She managed to prop her elbows and lift her head and shoulder up, finding her assassin limp on her thighs and his innards splayed across her blood-drenched dress. She jerked her leg to nudge him but received no response. He was dead.
Elithien leaned forward and wrenched the body to roll off her and fall on his back. She crawled over and yanked his mask away, revealing an elf she did not recognise. He looked average, save a few ugly scars but no one she would think wanted her dead. Her only speculation at the time was that he was hired by someone who did.
The quendë staggered to climb out of her gruesome bed and slowly walked towards the main door. She attempted to shout at first but her throat was still too raw from pain and uttered nothing more than a squeal. She barged out to the corridor and whipped her head towards the two guards standing by the end. The moment their eyes caught her, they immediately panicked and rushed towards the elleth.
“My lady!” the guard shouted, clearly disturbed by her being completely soaked in blood. “What happened to you?!”
He was about to speak again but Elithien interrupted him and snapped first. “Summon the entire palace to the Great Hall. I want every single elf in that room within an hour by all means necessary. Drag each quendë out of bed if you must. That is an order .”
“Yes, your majesty,” they answered immediately and turned to charge off without a second to spare.
By the end of the conversation her voice had returned but it was still sore to raise her voice. She went back to her room and stood over her dead attacker, staring with a blank expression. The elleth then reached for the elf’s collar and pulled him off the bed, falling with a thunk. She turned around and with her grip still firm on him, she walked the entire distance from her quarters to the Great Hall while dragging the body behind her. She left a grotesque trail of blood along the way but ignored the screams when servants caught her walking towards them. They sprinted away as fast as they could, like she was Morgoth himself.
When she finally arrived in the Great Hall, loud gasps and nervous murmurs filled the room as Elithien continued onto the platform before throwing the assassin towards the crowd, his body rolling off the elevated floor and falling onto the cold ground. Many of the quendi stumbled back in fear.
“People of Greenwood,” Elithien called, ignoring the strain of her volume. “Before you is an elf that attempted to murder me in my own quarters. He was skilled and certainly well-trained, for he nearly succeeded in taking my life. As you can see however, he has failed.”
More whispers circulated around but they were quickly silenced once Elithien opened her mouth.
“One of you, clearly wants me dead more than anyone else, and I suspect it is because you were caught.”
Her eyes snapped to the Council gathered by the side, scanning each of their perplexed faces before her eyes locked her gaze on Fendris. She raised an arm and pointed at him.
“Seize him and bring him to me,” she commanded. The guards obeyed and went to detain him.
“What?” Fendris said incredulously. “You think I sent him? This is absurd!”
Her eyes shifted when she saw a figure coming forward. It was Míldir with a genuine look of panic. “Is this really necessary? Should this not be handled more calmly?”
Elithien halted him with a hand and then returned her attention to Fendris who was brought to the stage and thrust down onto his knees with the two guards holding him. The elleth clasped her blood-stained hands together and approached the lord.
She leaned forward and inspected the long and jagged line across his face. “How did you get this scar?”
Fendris blinked before furrowing his brows. “I… was attacked. Somebody gave this to me.”
“And you never reported this crime?” She questioned further. He looked uncomfortable with her interrogation.
“It was only a scratch. It did not feel worth reporting,” he mumbled while averting her gaze.
Elithien remained silent, contemplating his words until she decided to step forward and face the confused people of Greenwood.
“I have demanded your audience because there have been malicious perversions roaming within our home. Many of you had reported your assaults but not one claim had been answered. I understand your frustration for the lack of justice, thus I have taken it upon my own hands to end this cycle. Thirteen ladies have come to me and confessed the unfortunate events bestowed upon them against their will. And there are many others I am sure to have been victims but were too afraid to report it.”
She turned and glanced at Fendris who had his mouth gaping at her.
“Do you wish to speak?” She asked him.
“Are you accusing me of assaulting them? I have never touched a single elleth without their prior consent!” He spat angrily.
The sound of murmurs from the crowd became louder, staring at Fendris with surprise. The ellon began to wrestle the guard’s grasp but he was only answered with them further tightening their grips. “Whatever crime you think it is, I did not do it! You are accusing an innocent quendë!”
Elithien drew her eyes to the Council who seemed stunned by this scandal. Her eyes set at Cendir and then she beckoned him to come forth. He obeyed without thought and approached them on the platform.
“My lord,” she addressed him. “Do you think this ellon is guilty?”
“Well,” he swallowed. “I did not believe such a foul thing could happen in our home. However, attempted murder on the crown is accountable for the highest level of treason. The mastermind behind the murder must be brought to justice.”
“I did not send any assassin! Perhaps the one who tried to kill you wanted you dead for himself!” Fendris hissed while glaring at the pale carcass on the floor.
“How sharp is your blade?” Elithien asked the guard.
“Welded every day, your highness.”
She hummed in acknowledgement. “Míldir, do you serve your queen?”
Her friend stepped onto the platform and knelt before her. “With all my heart,” he answered sincerely.
She went to the guard and pulled the sword from its sheath. Elithien turned and then handed the sword to Míldir with both hands.
The gesture seemed to have put Fendris in a sheer state of panic, wrestling once again as he began to fear for his life.
“I swear to Eru I never sent anyone to kill you nor harm any elves!” Fendris said in a frenzy.
“I know,” Elithien said. “You are indeed innocent. You could have not done it, or else you would hardly be able to speak by now.”
The answer let not only Fendris in confusion, but the whole crowd spectating as well. Her eyes flickered to Cendir. The beads of sweat began trickling down the seer’s face and his face had become very pale.
“Feeling unwell, my lord?” She asked nonchalantly,
“I… may have eaten something spoiled earlier.”
She shook her head. “You nearly succeeded in getting away with your crimes. Pinning it on Fendris whom you knew has a hot temper seemed like an easy target to blame. You are clever enough to conceal the knife wound since you are capable of conjuring far more powerful magic. And so you attacked Fendris with an illusion spell and fabricated the only evidence I had on him. What you completely failed to account for was that I coated the blade with poison. Not enough to kill you, but it does contain a rather unpleasant mixture of northroot and midnight cap. It needs about twenty-four hours before it slowly takes effect, but once it passes seventy-two hours, you will start to experience the full symptoms of hallucination, fever, nausea and the most prominent feature, the darkening and protrusion of veins, accompanied with bloodshot eyes.”
By the time she had finished her sentence, Cendir’s face had completely matched her description, his skin turning into an ugly shade of purple. He struggled the urge to shiver uncontrollably, but not long after, the coughing fits began.
“You have been exposed for your crimes, Cendir the traitor. I demand your confession,” she ordered.
“Can you not see the vile Noldo that she is?!” Cendir directed his attention to the crowd, his usual calm demeanour completely dropped. “Are you truly going to let this mad elf rule over us? We spent all over lives creating an identity of our own, away from the condescending eyes of the high elves, and here we are, reducing ourselves beneath their sneers.”
Elithien remained silent and merely observed as the crowds began exchanging whispers of doubt.
“Do not listen to him!”
All heads turned towards the source where Yeven emerged from the audience. The Silvan pushed through the people until she was at the front and turned to them.
“My friends, for the last several months I have been tormented by this horrific ellon. He would abuse his powers and proceed to violate me when I am powerless. He had done this multiple times with no remorse. I would see his head off his body for what he has done to me.”
The crowds broke into an uproar upon this confession. Such crimes were considered one of the vilest and were completely shunned from the elves. Cendir looked panicked, hardly able to stand when the effects of the poison were taking full effect.
“And where is your proof of that?” The seer spat. She could not believe he was still trying to dissuade them.
Elithien pointed at his face. “You. I was disguised as Yeven the night you targeted her again. I had no intention of killing you--not yet at least. I wanted to find out who had the audacity to terrorise the ladies of the Wood and hear your confession. Now did you or not sexually harass not only Yeven but all other ladies of Greenwood who also fell victim?”
Cendir cursed. “Yes. Now get over with my punishment.”
With his confession finally verbalised, Elithien nodded at Míldir who then walked to the culprit and brought him to his knees.
“Cendir the traitor. You are hereby sentenced to death on the attempted assassination of your queen and for the heinous assaults performed on multiple quendi of the Wood. Speak your last words,” Elithien declared.
“Long live the Silvan,” he muttered as he bowed his head.
Míldir turned for Elithien’s final confirmation. She nodded and so he gripped the sword with two hands, raised it over his head and swung down, slicing through Cendir’s neck with a near-seamless cut. His head rolled off and toppled onto the floor, leaving a gruesome trail of blood. The people of Greenwood gasped in horror, stumbling back as the head rolled towards their way. It continued to tumble until it hit the tip of Yeven’s shoe. Her eyes darted down to the grotesque sight before she spat on Cendir.
“May you rot in the depths of Morgoth’s wrath.”
Elithien proceeded to exhale sharply and walked off the platform.
“This audience is dismissed.”