#part.2

Shoes were scattered near the door, jackets draped over the ottoman in the foyer after the coat rack had seemingly run out of space. Your jacket had joined the pile, the warm air inside the house a testament of how many people were currently lounging around the home. It was spring now, so your thin windbreaker wasn’t doing much to keep you warm, and yet it felt bothersome to wear around the house.

You hadn’t even rounded the corner to the living room fully as you were already pulled into a hug. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” There was no need to see her face - the waft of vanilla paired with her thick blond curls gave her identity away immediately. Giggling softly, you put your arms around your longtime friend. “It was quite spontaneous, I’m sorry.”

Just a few hours ago, you had no idea this get-together was even taking place. You were neatly folding your laundry as a text from Jay lit up your phone - you went to school together, after which he went off to study law at some university whose name you could never remember. He had finished his exams recently and decided to hold a small gathering with some fellow students to celebrate their hard work.

It was meant to be nothing major. Just some friends, good music, delicious food and possibly some silly card games. Though his message did read ‘Feel free to bring some friends along (as long as they’re cool),’ hence the house was now filled with plenty of people you couldn’t recognize.

In search of more familiar faces, you gazed around the room, opting for a kind smile and two-handed waves instead of hugs. “Come on, Mira is here, too!” The blonde girl pulled you along towards the kitchen, where you immediately spotted a few of your closer friends, causing you to let out a sigh of relief. You weren’t exactly extroverted, so if they hadn’t promised you to be here tonight you probably wouldn't have shown up.

Rounding the corner fully to step into the dining area, which was adjacent to the kitchen, your eyes fell on the side table sitting against the wall. Instead of the usual season-specific decorations, it was covered in heaps of snacks. Bowls of chips sat half-empty, bright packaging had been crinkled and torn open, candy scattered around by seemingly careless hands. Some sweets were left unopened, stacked up as neatly as possible, like someone had just put them there mere minutes ago.

You glanced at the colourful display once, instinctively, then looked away just as quickly before drifting into the open kitchen. It wasn’t disappointment so much as resignation, just quiet acceptance paired with the usual thought of ‘Good thing I ate before coming here.’

With all of your allergies and intolerances, you’d never been able to indulge in any snacks laying around at get-togethers or events. Sure, it was a hassle, yet you’ve gotten used to it over the years - so much so that your thoughts barely stayed with the plethora of sweets for more than two seconds.

You joined the group of familiar faces, leaning against the counter behind you as their animated chatter filled up your ears. For a moment though, you were more interested in scanning your surroundings some more rather than participating in their conversation about unfair workload distribution.

Thanks to the modern floorplan of the home, the kitchen opened up into the dining area, which in turn was separated from the much bigger living room only by a half wall. This left you with a perfect view of the hustle and bustle around the lower level. Sometimes, you envied your friend for living in such a lovely home - other times, you were thankful you didn’t have to pay their heating bills. You didn’t even want to know how expensive they must be.

From where you stood, you weren’t just left with a perfect view of the girls sifting through polaroids on the dining table, but also of a group of boys lounging on the large grey couch. It wasn’t very hard to miss them actually, as their laughter and antics filled the slightly stuffy air. You recognized some of them from school, like Jay and Jake … others you’d only met once, maybe twice. Your gaze flickered over their bright faces before settling on another familiar person amidst the group, Heeseung.

He was sprawled out across the far end of the sofa, legs stretched out as much as possible with the low coffee table sitting in the middle of the seating area. Leaning into the backrest, he was enthusiastically clapping his hands while laughing at something - probably one of Jake’s silly jokes as the younger boy was gesturing wildly next to Heeseung.

It took him a bit to catch himself, moving to sit up a little straighter. He leaned his elbows on his knees as his gaze jumped from one friend to another. They seemed to be playing some kind of game, each of them saying something before moving onto the person to their right. There was no way for you to make out what they were going on and on about, so you quickly abandoned your curiosity about their game, your gaze refocusing on Heeseung.

You kept your eyes on him for a second longer than you meant to.

There was something so effortless about the way he took up space - natural, confident, loose. He was always like this, especially around his friends. Animated, silly in a way that never crossed into overwhelming, choosing intriguing giggles over loud roars when his energy peaked.

The sound of your name pulled you out of your thoughts, your gaze darting around the faces in front of you like they could spell out the question someone must’ve just asked you. “Huh?”

“I was asking about your part time job. Don’t you usually work on Saturdays?” Your eyes settled on Hannah, a rather short girl from your language course whom you’ve quickly formed a friendly bond with. “Oh, I changed my shift with my colleague. I’m working on Sunday this week instead.” You explained briefly.

The chat stayed on the topic of everyone’s Saturday plans for a while. Understandably - it was a Friday evening and, as far as you understood, this was an open-end get-together. You mentally thanked your past self for switching shifts with your colleague, as you could not imagine yourself up and ready to function at 8am tomorrow.

Your eyes drifted back over to the living room, searching for nothing in particular yet instantly noticing a missing presence in the room. The spot that Heeseung had lounged in mere seconds ago was now taken by a much younger guy you had only ever seen in passing. Scanning the room briefly, you expected to spot the boy you were mustering earlier somewhere nearby - on the other couch, maybe, or by the now open window. However, you quickly abandoned your search after being unable to catch sight of him.

You didn’t even know why you were looking for him, anyway.

A voice cut in beside you, and you shook off the thoughts occupying your mind, letting yourself drift into your friends’ animated conversation. Mira was mid-sentence, something about her cats’ catastrophic first vet visit last week. You hadn’t caught the beginning of the story, but her eager gestures drew you in nonetheless. Others continued to chime in, the noise swelling and overlapping voices filling the space between thoughts.

The conversation evolved from funny pet stories over current diseases going around to how each dog owner in your circle had been keeping their little ones warm throughout the winter. You didn’t have any pets yourself, but you were more than willing to react to your friends’ happenings and admire their furry friends. Maybe you should look into adopting a cat sometime soon.

“No, really - look! Isn’t she just adorable?” Hannah, who had gotten her puppy only a few months ago, turned her phone screen towards the group.

You leaned in as well, turning slightly to your right to peek at the device. Standing back up straight, you were about to comment on how cute her pet looked in her fluffy yellow sweater when a familiar figure suddenly appeared in your field of view.

Heeseung stood to your left, barely two steps away, eyeing you with his head tilted slightly, like he was debating whether or not to pull you out of your conversation. For a moment, your gaze flickered between your friends and his figure, quickly deeming him too intriguing to ignore for the sake of keeping up with your group’s exchange. Your interest was painted onto your face, eyebrows raised and chin slightly lifted as you mustered the tall boy.

You didn't even hear him approach over the upbeat music that was floating around the house. He stood there, his hair slightly dishevelled from whatever escapades he was just up to. As always, his posture remained relaxed with a veil of confidence, one hand behind his back, the other scratching his nose as his eye movement mirrored yours - fluttering over to his friends on the couch before finding you again.

Noticing your eyes on him, he shot you an almost sheepish look that disappeared prior to you even really noticing it, before taking a step closer to you. He kept about an arm's length of distance between your bodies, the same distance he always seemed to leave whenever he stood next to you. Like a higher force had told him that that was where he shall stand.

He now not only stood close enough for you to hear his voice over the noise surrounding you, but also close enough for the scent of his cologne to reach your nose. With your eyebrows still raised, you expected him to open his mouth, but he didn’t say a word. Instead, he lifted his arm that was previously hidden behind his back, holding three smaller bags of sweets out in front of him.

You blinked, surprised, as you eyed the coloured packages half-heartedly. A breath caught in your throat; an apology, an explanation already forming in your head. “ Oh. I–,” you started, lifting your eyes to Heeseung’s face. Your voice drifted off slightly at the sight of the warm yet expectant look on his features.

You were about to tell him off, already dreading the disappointed look on his face - or worse, the quiet frown he carries whenever something doesn’t quite go his way - when his voice interrupted your busy thoughts. “You can eat these,” he said gently, tone certain and steady, carrying the same warmth it always did when he spoke to you, “Don’t worry.”

The boy pursed his lips, his eyebrows raising now as he lifted the coloured bags a few inches higher. You looked down, observing the snacks he was trying to hand you. The packaging was all too familiar, brands you knew and always had stocked in your kitchen cupboard. The kinds you didn’t have to scrutinize or second-guess anymore.

As you stood there, slightly dumbfounded and with a million questions in your mind, your chest felt strangely tight. Like something had settled there without asking for permission, shoved aside whatever feelings were holding your heart captive before, and started spreading warmth throughout your body - the kind that made you feel seen without quite knowing why.

“Ah,” you said quietly, more to yourself than to Heeseung. A beat later, you added “Thank you.” A grateful yet timid smile appeared on your face as you looked up at the person across from you. Knowing someone went out of their way to make you feel more welcome, more comfortable, always left a bitter feeling in your mouth as much as it moved your heart.

As your eyes met Heeseung’s brown orbs again, you searched for any sign of bother, some kind of glimmer showing any discomfort. But he just smiled at you, unassuming, like he hadn’t just done something that mattered so much to you. His eyes held a content shimmer, almost as if handing you these bags of sweets was his one and only mission today.

He was always so kind, too kind for his own good, really. His peers must be really grateful to have such a thoughtful and selfless friend.

Your hands reached up, taking a hold of the three packages and slowly bringing them closer to your body. With too many thoughts in your head to try and decipher his emotions any further, you observed him straighten up slightly before taking a small step back.

He didn’t linger. Maybe a second or two to ensure the weight of the candy bags was fully out of his grasp. When you were about to ask him how he knew about your allergies, he was already halfway out of the kitchen, hand dragging along the edge of the countertop before finding its rightful place in his jean pocket.

Judging by the dazed look on your face, he assumed you hadn’t noticed him earlier.

How he had lingered by the snack table for what must’ve been ten minutes.

How he had picked up one bag after another, flipping them over, eyes narrowing slightly as he read each label carefully. Even the fine print. How he’d put some packages back, checked others again - once, twice - until he was sure.

But maybe it will come up in your next conversation.

⠀

💌⠀@akaania @en-chantedtomeetyou

Matoba: …the shadow… Do you see the large butterfly now? Tanuma: No, sorry. My apologies for the disturbance. Natsume: Tanuma-a...Where are you? Tanuma! What happened...

Natsume: Ma-Matoba-san…!? Tanuma: ...Someone you know, Natsume? Matoba: My My…We meet in the strangest places. I saw you and sent someone to call you to the room. Sorry, I didn't realize you were with a friend. Matoba: And your friend seems to be… Nyanko-sensei: He's just the son of the temple priest. He feels things somewhat, but he's easily influenced. He has almost no ability to see spirits.

Tanuma: … Natsume: Sensei!! Nyanko-sensei: With him around, trying to hide things clumsily would just make him investigate and cause more trouble. Matoba: Ah, the temple priest…Don't worry. We don't meddle with temples or shrines. Natsume: Eh? Matoba: The exorcists just drive out whatever things. But the temple priests show the way back to where they belong. When we've all fallen, they must be the ones we turn to for refuge. Matoba: They are the ones who tread the path forged by our principled predecessors who cared for the world. Even monsters who understand neither words nor reason must sense something there, I suppose. Matoba: Now, this is no place for standing around talking. Come inside.

Matoba: Hoo. I'm amazed. To barge right into Yoshizu village without even knowing the Box-passing ritual's contents. Natsume: …What brought you here? Matoba: The Matoba family is invited every time as the witness. In recent years, the top-ranked person attended as the representative. But I was curious, so this time I came myself.

Tanuma: Um, the Box-passing ritual? Matoba: Yeah. Today, the four major families of the village will gather at this residence. The owner of this house is the Kuge's family. Matoba: The Nire's family, the Kashima's family, the Iwakura's family. Together, they're called the Square House of Yoshizu village. These four families gather regularly to pass around four boxes. That is the Box-passing ritual.

Matoba: It is said that long ago the great disaster that befell this village was sealed away inside one box. And so the question arose: what to do with this box? The four prominent families that were once influential came to take turns holding and enshrining them. Yet the mysterious box remains terrifying. To prevent the families from passing the burden among themselves,they created decoys—four indistinguishable boxes. Representatives from each family gather periodically, passing them around to maintain custody.

Natsume: (That is the Box-passing ritual…) Tanuma: Indeed, I have heard of the custom where locals pass around objects said to contain some kind of entity. Matoba: Right. Whether it be an evil spirit to be appeased or a deity of fortune to bring wealth. Some regions even pass around a portable shrine housing a deity. Here too, the ritual itself has been passed down since ancient times. Did you see the masked people? Natsume: Yes.

Matoba: In this event-starved countryside, under the guise of sightseeing, each one of the Square House brings along someone knowledgeable in this field or bodyguards to accompany them. Matoba: And yet, when the Matoba clan comes…It's not very interesting, is it? Natsume: … Tanuma: Natsume, are you all right? Natsume: …Ahh, sorry for introducing you to a such peculiar person, Tanuma… Tanuma: Is that so? I get the feeling he's someone who knows what his role is.

Natsume: (That might be true. He's the kind of person who charges ahead without a thought for how others might perceive him) Tanuma: Still, this really is a splendid ryokan. All decorations look like high-quality pieces... Natsume: Yeah…Fufu. You has an eye for these things, Tanuma. Natsume: (Those paintings on the walls look old…) Natsume: I don't see any works with the same touch as painting of Reiko-san in the hall around here… Tanuma: Ahh, you're looking for a specific painting, right, Natsume? Nyanko-sensei: You fool, like it'd be that easy to find. Natsume: It's from the previous auction… Tanuma: The Fo-Ti Society's one…? Did someone win it? I wonder where it is now… Tanuma: A painting whose artist is unknown…That's difficult. Hm?

???: I know a way to track down the painting's whereabouts. In exchange for telling you, could you do me a favor?

???: I want you to spot the Real Box during the Box-passing ritual that will be held later. Natsume: Ban-san…

Podia dizer com convicção que algo estava muito errado, mas agora, no entanto, podia sentir seu coração bater com mais rapidez ao mínimo sinal de medo. Podia sentir medo agora, por tudo e por nada. Estava com medo de ter dado tudo errado ou tudo certo, sentia medo por seus amigos, sentia medo pelas meninas ainda em missão e que não haviam retornado até então, agora ele se lembrava. 

Ao lembrar-se de Asami e Liza, quase chorou de saudade. 

Thorn se pôs sob os cotovelos e foi aí que as dores iniciaram-se. Ele olhou para os lados e não enxergou nada além de uma escuridão intermitente, o bosque sendo iluminado apenas pela luz da lua minguante naquela noite quando sua cabeça estalou e girou como se estivesse acabado de sair de uma das montanhas russas da Disney. 

Agora, cambaleando em meio às árvores, as mãos segurando-se aos troncos para não desfalecer completamente, ele se perguntava se estava vendo mesmo o que via, ou se estava mais uma vez em um estado de ilusão completa devido, nesse caso, à magia. Seus sentidos auditivos captaram ao longe o som de teclados de piano em uma melodia lenta e ritmada, as vozes certamente das ninfas ecoando pela escuridão da noite. Ao levantar a cabeça para procurar pelo som, Thorn viu. 

Na extensão do antebraço cresciam manchas azuis despigmentadas e desuniformes, com um brilho característico de estrelas vistas ao longe, embora naquele momento estivessem opacos. Parecia quase um ferimento que de nada brotava sangue. O cenho franziu-se imediatamente e Thorn ergueu uma das mãos para tocar a mancha irregular. Não sentia dor, apenas um vazio onde tocava. Era quase como se estivesse tocando um portal, o vácuo advindo do buraco criado entre as dimensões. Por um momento, os passos cessaram, e ele se perguntou se estava finalmente morrendo, o coração acelerou-se, as batidas antes fracas tomando um galopar ardente. Aquilo nunca tinha acontecido antes, nem mesmo quando fora perfurado nas entranhas com uma espada — não sabia nem mesmo como não tinha morrido daquela vez  — agradecendo à Apolo por ter feito tantos filhos capazes de curar com tanta facilidade. 

O ferimento parecia brilhar cada vez mais à medida que Thorn andava com mais rapidez, pressionando o braço contra o peito para abafar a luz. Tinha de chegar ao chalé o quanto antes, antes que alguém o encontrasse naquele estado em que nem mesmo ele sabia o que acontecia. Tinha, também, de encontrar Johanna e Grace, mas aquilo seria feito amanhã. Agora, o suor pingava de sua têmpora e a cabeça doía, a barriga sendo tomada por um embrulho tamanho que o fez parar para vomitar. 

Ele se segurou nos próprios joelhos, o corpo subitamente gritando de exaustão. Não lembrava mais onde estava no acampamento, tinha perdido completamente seu senso de direção e era estranho ver aquilo acontecendo visto que ele conhecia aquele lugar como a palma da sua mão. 

Ao levantar o queixo, percebeu que estava próximo as forjas, alguns metros de grama o separavam do local onde, agora com a visão focando um pouco melhor, conseguia ver Lisander saindo. God damned. Tinha suas diferenças com o Deus mas tinha de admitir que ele era sua melhor opção ali. Apesar de tudo, se respeitavam mutuamente e Hérmio jamais contaria um segredo seu a ninguém se ele o pedisse. Cambaleando, os braços erguidos quase em um suplício, Thorn soltou um grito abafado em sua direção, percebendo, antes de cair completamente no chão, que Lisander o tinha ouvido. Não conseguiu captar mais nada além do chão à sua frente, os olhos vítreos abertos sem esboçar nenhum brilho, as íris girando incessantemente em aspirais azuis que mais lembravam os movimentos das galáxias. 

Uma lágrima de dor derramou-se de um dos olhos, brilhando como luz estelar, até encontrar a areia negra do bosque. 

Thorn sentiu, na derme, as mãos do outro o virando em um movimento rápido, as feições dele tomadas por uma preocupação inerente à pessoa à sua frente. Talvez não se importasse que àquele ao qual olhava era Thorn Brekker, seu maior inimigo de mentirinha, uma vez que era um Deus e estava ali para ajudá-los. 

Em meio a soluços e tossidas, Thorn conseguiu dizer: 

—  Eu preciso que me leve ao chalé…

— E qual é o seu chalé, criança?! – Lisander perguntou com exasperação, tentando trazê-lo de volta com tapas no rosto quando seus olhos verdes começaram a revirar-se.

Thorn quase riu. 

— Vamos lá, Lisander! O fogo comeu seus miolos…

Provocou em meio à mais uma tossida, o ar em seus pulmões queimando quase como o gelo era capaz. Ele tateou o próprio corpo, tentando abraçar-se tamanho era o frio que sentia. Seus ouvidos captaram as próximas palavras de Lisander e o coração de Thorn, que antes galopava como uma manada de mamutes, quase parou. 

— Eu vou te levar para a enfermaria, você claramente não está bem, vamos, ande logo, me diga seu nome! — Esbravejou enquanto o erguia pelo braço, colocando um por cima do próprio pescoço. 

Enquanto era arrastado, algo dentro de Thorn congelou completamente. 

Lisander, mais do que ninguém, o conhecia. O conhecia tanto que o detestava. Como era possível que ele estivesse lhe perguntando quem era?

Medo. 

Era o sentimento que Brekker sentia naquele momento, sua mente sendo tomada por imagens diversas que outrora tinham sido situações das quais viveu ao que ele julgava ter sido horas atrás. 

A voz de Johanna ecoava em seus ouvidos como a voz de Afrodite o fizera séculos atrás. 

“Pode ser que haja consequências…” 

Thorn Brekker estava acostumado a lidar com as consequências mas a única coisa que ele queria era trazer seus sentimentos de volta, custe o que custasse. A voz de Johanna se misturou à de Hérmio:

— Você não me é estranho, garoto, mas não lembro seu nome… para te levar ao seu chalé preciso que me diga de quem é filho pelo menos. 

Thorn empurrou Lisander para longe muito embora mal conseguia se manter em pé direito. A dor em sua cabeça havia passado minimamente, agora o latejar sendo transportado para o antebraço que formigava no local de onde a mancha azul brilhava. Ele observou enquanto o olhar de Lisander pairava sobre o ferimento, estático e confuso. Brekker deu alguns passos na sua direção, furioso, o empurrando com as duas mãos no peito. Sua vontade era de gritar, lutar com o Deus como havia feito vezes antes, mas a única coisa de saiu de sua boca foram palavras abafadas pelo choque do que seu coração se recusava a acreditar. 

Aquilo, para ele, era pior do que morrer.

— Mas é claro que eu não sou estranho, seu imbecil! Você me odeia, eu sou Thorn Brekker, filho de Caos, a pessoa mais detestada por você e por outros por ai. For god's sake!

Thorn levou as mãos à cabeça, o rosto se contorcendo em uma expressão desolada. Ele balançou o queixou algumas vezes, completamente descrente, quando lágrimas azuis brotavam incessantemente pelos seus olhos. Ele não conseguiu se conter, não conseguiria, não mais. 

Não agora que tinha recuperado seus sentimentos de volta, que se tornava, novamente, autoconsciente de quem era, do que queria, do que sentia. 

— Me diga que você se lembra, não venha me dizer que esqueceu de mim. — Perguntou em um sussurro, as mãos tremendo-se com a possibilidade de imaginar uma resposta negativa de Lisander. 

No entanto, nenhuma palavra foi necessária. Apenas a expressão confusa do rosto de Hérmio foi o suficiente para Thorn virar-se de costas e correr, os lábios murmurando sem parar. Não, não, não. 

O que aconteceu depois ele não pôde dizer, pois a dor em seu braço foi tão grande que o fez desmaiar. O brilho que emanava do ferimento aberto de sua carne autoconsciente de Sraf era tamanho que ofuscou até mesmo a lua naquela noite. 

[Narrador]

À medida que aquele ferimento se intensificasse, Thorn estaria perdendo completamente sua forma física. Era feito de Caos, de partículas elementares tal como o Sraf, por ele mesmo mencionado no início deste relato. No entanto, o que ele não esperava era que, com aquilo, também iriam as pessoas esquecer-se de sua presença na vida delas. 

A ideia de consciência é diferente para cada ser, seja ele humano, animal, planta, estrelas...

É praticamente impossível que seres diferentes, com percepções diferentes do mundo, possam julgar uns aos outros e compreendê-los verdadeiramente. 

Aquilo, entretanto, não era exatamente um fenômeno natural. Como diversos outros, era um fenômeno antropológico provocado. Johanna, quando desfizera aquele feitiço anterior, acabou por mexer com leis que ricochetearam a natureza primordial do Caos. Portanto, como ela mesma havia dito, poderiam haver consequências. Embora ela não tivesse feito com aquele propósito, certamente a feiticeira havia amado o que provocou. 

Todos estavam fadados a esquecerem de quem Thorn foi em suas vidas bem como o que ele fez durante seus 600 anos de existência. Qualquer relato dele seria como uma lembrança de um déjà-vu, disforme e sem paradeiros anteriores e completamente esquecida com o tempo. Aquela sensação onde uma cena ou experiência que se está vivendo nesse momento já aconteceu.

O que eu tenho a dizer? Bem, Thorn é uma figura inconsequente e certamente imperfeita em todos os seus aspectos. Impulsivo? Completamente. 

Mas nem ele merecia um destino tão assustador.

O que Thorn sempre buscou quando menino, e ai eu me lembro bem... foi pelo amor. Quando Seraphine se foi, e ai culpe Apolo pela displicência em ter permitido aos Nosos — espíritos da doença — a escapatória, Thorn se viu sozinho em um mundo desconhecido. Ter se entendido como semideus e, além do mais, filho do Destino, foi demais para ele. Meu filho tem lá suas manifestações de grandeza, decerto... mas ser esquecido? Ser esquecido será sua segunda ruína, depois do que Afrodite fez à ele. Não posso dizer que ele me traz bastante entretenimento. Ser quem eu sou me da trabalho, sabe? Todos me culpam por motivos inerentes a quem sou, as vezes, são apenas as atitudes individuais de cada um que os levam a tais fins. Como as dele. 

Bem, não posso culpá-lo, sei exatamente o que é viver tantos anos e se perder no meio do caminho, mas uma coisa posso dizer: por mais que nos percamos, há sempre um caminho de volta. E se não houver um lugar para qual voltar…

busque outro caminho para recomeçar. 

Somos nada mas também somos tudo, estamos conectados com todas as coisas. Não existe nada no universo que não seja energeticamente existente, inclusive nós mesmos. 

Espero que um dia ele aprenda essa lição e jamais tente brincar com as leis primordiais novamente.

Meu filho é um palerma, disso você já sabe, mas uma coisa que você não sabe sobre ele é o que contarei agora: 

Vocês não o conheceram em sua juventude, e por mais que ele seja quem é hoje, nós, e até mesmo ele, somos incapazes de perder de verdade nossa essência. Ele não perdeu a voracidade e a coragem para lutar pelo o que ele acredita. 

Talvez tenha se perdido em algum lugar, mas ainda está lá.

Espero que um dia a encontre, e quando a encontrar, não a solte jamais. 

Com minhas sinceras esperanças,

A great deal of frustration comes with talking to the King of Mirkwood.

He always speaks down to you, condescendingly, while carrying himself like he’s the most important person in the room at every given time. Personally, you don’t see the appeal. 

You’re standing on the ground a few paces in front of said king while he stands at the beginning of the steps to his throne.

For a while all he does is stare, taking in your unusual appearance (mostly the clothes, you’re in jeans after all) and the brightly colored backpack hanging from your shoulders. His hands are behind his back much like when he was speaking with Thorin, his scrutinizing gaze making you feel uncomfortable and vulnerable. 

“It is very interesting… I’ve never seen garments like yours before, not even in my own imagination. And your bag? Unheard of. So do tell me, where are you really from? Because a creature such as yourself, speaking as you do, is in no way from Middle Earth.” His little monologue was well thought out you had to admit.

Nothing escapes his keen eyes and ears, and you find yourself at a loss for words. There is no lie you could conjure up from your limited knowledge of this place that would convince him of anything, so instead you choose to hold your tongue. 

You can see your silence annoys him from the change in expression on his face, so he takes a step forward to intimidate you with his obviously larger size and broad shoulders. His gaze is intense, but you will yourself to maintain eye contact despite your waning resolve. 

There’s another long stretch of silence and then he steps forward with another long stride.

You tilt your head up a bit to look at him better, attempting to keep your face as it was before. You aren’t scared per-say, but you are intimidated. And you know that he can tell.

“Speak.” He hisses to you, tapping his foot lightly against the ground.

For a few moments you make no effort to speak, then you drawl out lazily despite how unnerved you are. “I have nothing to say to you.“ 

His jaw sets tightly as clear frustration shows on his face. His hand shoots up before you can even blink to grab your jaw harshly, pulling your face in close. "You will tell me what I want to know, or your dwarves will rot in their cages.”

You can’t stop yourself from whimpering at the bruising grasp on your face, but you meet his eyes defiantly regardless, and it seems to successfully piss him off.

“I have been patient, but you will tell me what I want to know, one way or another.” His hand drops from your face, but he doesn’t move to step back.

So you do that for him, crossing your arms over your chest, “I don’t have to tell you anything!" 

He stands there for a minute, anger radiating off of his entire being. The king turns away from you, hands still behind his back, as he stares out to the twisting roots that make up his kingdom probably in an attempt to calm himself down. "All I ask is where you are from. It is a simple question.”

You huff in frustration, then shoot back, “I’ve already told you, I won’t ta-” You’re cut off abruptly by a loud resounding smack echoing out around you. Your head snaps to the side and a burning pain blossoms on your right cheek.

You hand goes up instinctively to gently hold the side of your face, eyes wide from shock. “Fuck you!” You yell at him, turning away.

Taking a few steps forward you move to leave, but he grabs your arms and yanks you back into his chest.

“Answer my questions and you will return to your friends." Even after he hit you, he still kept his voice even (with traces of anger).

You stomp down on his foot a couple times, but it doesn’t effect him like you had hoped it would. Instead, his grip on your arms tightens and you feel the beginnings of bruises forming beneath his sharp fingers. 

Where does this bitch get the time to do his nails?

He pushes you down to the ground and looms over you, the glower on his face making an uncontrollable shudder pass through you. "Those dwarves do not care for you. The riches they want? As soon as they have it, you will be cast aside, and left to die hundreds of years before them. None of them will care, or even flinch if something were to happen to you. I simply want to know about you and you keep denying me.”

You can tell he isn’t used to being told no; which is probably the source of his uncontrollable anger.

“He told me not to tell you anything, and I won’t!” Tears blur your vision at his harsh words, but you refuse to let yourself cry even with the horrible burning of your arms and cheek trying to coax the tears out of you. 

Thranduil almost felt impressed with your tenacity, but your determined expression hasn’t changed and your refusal to give into him is what really spurs him on.

He crouches down next to you and reaches out to lightly press his hand to your cheek, seeming much more tender and soft than before. “I know you’re not from here, and I need to know why and where. That’s it. Nothing more, and nothing less. Tell me this and I’ll let you return to your friends." 

The request is simple, and you know he’s already aware that the way you got here is far from natural, but it feels like a betrayal to even do that much. You haven’t done much to help the group as of yet, so the least you can do is endure this situation.

"Why don’t you just let them go? I can do what you ask if you let us leave." 

His expression hardens again, but his touch doesn’t become harsh like before, "You’re not in any position to be making demands, girl. All I want to know is why someone from another world is before me with 13 dwarves. It is not a hard thing to answer, and I’ll hardly learn a thing from it." 

You jerk your head back and scoot away as far as you can.

He lowers his hand slowly, staring you down intensely as all signs of kindness leave his face. "Perhaps I should send one of my guards to tell them you’ve told me everything. Tell them that you’ve decided to stay here with me and even shared my bed. And after your image is ruined for them, I’ll let all of you go and throw you out and leave you at their mercy. I’m sure you know of how much they hate us after all.”

You eyes widen from horror at his words, shocked that he would even threaten such a foul thing. 

“Y-You wouldn’t! They wouldn’t be dumb enough to fall for the lies of a stupid elf like you.” You’re surprised that you manage to keep your voice so even, but his expression doesn’t change despite this.

“I will. Or you can tell me what I want to know.” He repeats yet again. 

And you find that you have to comply this time. Even if you’re sure they know how loyal you are to them, you can’t stand the thought of such a thing being uttered to them, nor do you want to even entertain the idea of anyone actually believing it. You take a deep breath and wipe your wet cheeks, mumbling softly,“…Fine." 

The king almost seems surprised when you finally submit. He’s mostly shocked that you care so much about how they perceive you, how none of his threats or battering managed to sway you but a simple promise to slander your character turned you in mere seconds. 

He gets up after that and folds his hands behind his back again, "Go on." 

And you do. 

You spill everything about where you’re from to him, about what you do and what you plan to do, how you got there, and he simply listens along. And when you finally finish your rather unbelievable tale, he heaves a heavy sigh. 

The look on his face makes your heart drop, and you realize he no longer has any intention of fulfilling his promise. 

"Well… now that I know this, there’s no way I can let you return to them…” He heaves a heavy sigh after saying that, looking out at the twisting roots and huge trees once more, “Such an important piece to their game in my hands? I can’t pass up such an opportunity, I’m sure something like you could only bring me fortune and luck.” He speaks as if you’re some sort of magical item or accessory they carry around. 

You get to your feet and protest immediately, “W-What do you mean? You said I could go back! You promised I’d be allowed to return to them!” You find yourself pleading with him now to go back, eyes wide with a sad expression on your face.

Surprisingly enough he finds himself almost wanting to comply with your wishes, but he has his mind made up. 

He turns away from you again and walks ahead a few paces. “You really do care for them… it is peculiar…” he trails off for a few moments before turning his head over his shoulder to look at you, “You will get your own cell for the time being until I can prepare you your own room. Don’t get comfortable.” He gestures towards you and then heads back up the steps, his steely gaze not meeting your relieved eyes again. “Take her away." 

You don’t bother fighting the tall elf that escorts you to the cells, for two reasons. One, you’re eager to return to your friends, and two, despite the fact that it’s captivity you’re being brought to, anywhere is better than being under the scrutinizing gaze of the Elf-King.

When you enter the dimly lit dungeons you find yourself searching for anyone or thing that may be familiar, but you find that it’s hard to see into the cells and the red-headed elf and blond one from before aren’t anywhere around. 

The distinct voice of Kili calls your name suddenly, and you turn towards the sound to just catch a glimpse of something familiar.

A small smile makes it way to your face, though it’s a bit painful because of the swelling on your cheek. You can see his face through the bars, but once he gets a good look at you his smile drains away from his face.

”What happened?!“ Thorin yells a cell away from where you’re taken too.

You’re nudged in a bit harsher than necessary, and then the door is closed and locked without hesitation on the guards part. 

When you stand in front of the prison door and look out at the cells before you, you see the majority of your friends pressing their faces through the bars to get a peek at you.

"What did that freak do to her?” Someone asks in the cell next to yours, though you can’t see who it is. 

“Did you see her arms?” Someone else calls. 

Thorin then repeats, “What happened? What did he want with you?”

A long, weary sigh leaves your lips as you look at the swollen skin and claw marks caused by his harsh grip and sharp fingers. “He was asking about my home and why I was here…” you trail off after a few moments. 

“Did you tell him anything?” Thorin presses, and you find yourself feeling ashamed. 

“I-I didn’t want to! Thorin I’m sorry, but I had to tell him what I knew! He was very cruel, and he was threatening to-” You cut yourself off quickly, dipping your head down as your knuckles turned white from your grip on the bars. Discussing the things said to you isn’t really something you want to do right now. 

Thorin’s expression softens almost immediately when he sees how distressed you are over it.

“Threatening to do what?” His oldest nephew pipes up after a few moments, his tone voicing the concerns that everyone else had for you. 

You sign shakily and drop your arms, sitting down against the wall next to the door. “Nothing… I’m sorry… I really tried to keep quiet but he knew exactly how to get under my skin…" 

There is an unbearable silence for a few moments there, and then Thorin speaks up again. "I am not upset, Y/N. None of us are. Just tell us what he did.”

You feel yourself relax at his assurance, but still you don’t want to discuss any of that. “No… m-maybe later. I just need a bit to sit and think, okay?” You pause after saying that and add, “Though… I suppose I won’t have much time to do that." 

"What do you mean?” Ori asks in his usual soft voice. 

“The king has ordered that I be taken to a separate location. He said something about me bringing him luck or something…" 

When you tell them this outrage beaks out amongst the dwarves. Dwalin begins yelling multiple curses, Ori whimpers in the cell next to you, Fili and Kili yell about how they wont let that happen etc, but Thorin stays quiet until the yelling dies down.

After most of the shouts have ended and everyone is quiet, he speaks calmly to you, "We won’t let that happen… so please, do not worry yourself.. I’m sure master Baggins is taking care of the issue right away." 

You nod your head quickly at his words, feeling rather hopeful that what he says is true. A small smile makes its way to your face, then you press your knees to your chest. "You know I trust you.." 

—

You’re not sure how much time passes between then and now, a few hours maybe, but eventually the lot of you stopped all the blabbering and quieted. 

From what you could tell a majority of the dwarves are either resting, sitting idly, or speaking in hushed whispers with their cellmates/cell neighbors, and you’re apart of the middle group. 

You’re seated right next to the gate with your head leaning back against the stone wall and closed eyes when the light is suddenly blocked. 

One of your eyes flutters open and you’re met with the sight of the same red-headed she-elf from before. 

She’s staring down at you with an expression you can’t quite read, but you don’t ask about it and instead stand up and ask quietly (so you don’t bother the others), "What are you doing over here?" 

When you step out into the light her gaze flickers from your swollen cheek to your bruised arms, then back up to your face again. Her eyebrows furrow together and, instead of answering your question, she asks, "Did King Thranduil do that to you?” Her voice holds concern and no little amount of surprise. 

You grimace, glancing down at your arms before looking back up at her, “I’m afraid so." 

"I am sorry.” She finds herself speaking without thought, feeling guilty almost, “That shouldn’t have happened, you didn’t do anything wrong…" 

"No, you don’t have to say sorry. I’m fine…,” you trail off, then add a bit more slyly, “Besides, I’m a prisoner in your dungeons." 

If you hadn’t been smirking she probably would’ve thought you were upset, but she allows herself to smile slightly and steps closer to the bars, "They’re hardly my dungeons, though I am the Captain of the Guard." 

You smile this time (albeit painfully since the movement hurts your face) looking up at her with amusement sparkling in your eyes, "Captain of the guard? Wow, beautiful and impressive." 

Pink tints her pale cheeks as she laughs softly, leaning down slightly to see your face better, "You’re such a forward little thing, a complete charmer." 

"Charmer? No, my dear I just call it as I see it.” Yeah you definitely are a charmer. 

She laughs again and her eyes flicker back down to your arms, the smile dissipating from her face right away. “Here, let me see.” She states suddenly, holding her hand out to you. 

At first you don’t quite get what she means, but then you notice where she’s looking and understand. 

“N-No, you don’t have to-”

“Just do it.” She cuts off, smiling at you reassuringly since she seems to sense your hesitation. 

Despite your urge to argue further, you reach through the bars with both arms and turn them palm-face up. “Like this?”

She nods her head and places her hands beneath both your elbows, observing the darkened and irritated skin of your upper arms. 

A few beats of silence pass with her holding your arms and looking at you before she finally speaks, “Well, you will be glad to know that they aren’t too bad. These should heal in a weeks time I’m sure." 

You nod your head and return your arms to your sides when she lets you go, but instead of leaving it at that, she reaches through the cell door and places her fingertips under your chin, lifting your head. 

She turns it left and right, then tilts your chin up, "This one isn’t so bad either, though it will take a bit longer to recover.” Slowly she trails her fingers up the good side of your face, her touch feather soft and tender, “It’s a shame, you’re very pretty." 

And queue the blush. 

Your face goes warm at her compliment and you begin to stutter as your brain goes into panic mode. "P-Pretty? M… M-Me?” You just barely manage to stammer out, pointing at yourself lamely. 

Once more she begins to laugh as she retracts her hand, “You certainly can give compliments, but it seems you are not familiar with receiving them." 

"Well…,” before you finish that thought you realize something. “Oh! I haven’t even asked your name." 

"Tauriel.” She states warmly, “And what is yours?" 

"My name is Y/N.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” She replies. 

Gosh she’s so lovely. 

“No, the pleasure is all mine.” You begin to flirt again, really it’s just so easy to do with her, and then say a bit quieter, “Thank you for looking over my bruises…”

Her humored expression becomes a bit softer at your thanks, and she replies just as quietly, “No need for gratitude. You didn’t deserve that." 

"Tauriel!” Someone yells suddenly. 

Said she-elf turns quickly on her heel, looking up the stone stairs at the blond elf who brought you to the king before. 

“Legolas.” She replies slightly nervously, glancing back at you. 

They exchange a few words in their Elvish language, the male elf glancing over at you a few times, before she turns and walks off. 

As Tauriel passes by she smiles slightly and says, “Goodbye, Y/N. I hope we can speak again." 

And then she’s gone. 

The blond elf approaches your confinements and looks down at you, "I apologize for my fathers treatment of you." 

Your eyebrows furrow and you look at him weirdly, "And you are…?" 

"Legolas, son of Thranduil, the king." 

Oh shit, you didn’t even realize. 

"I’m afraid I must go, though I wanted to tell you as much before leaving." 

You nod your head and smile up at him gratefully, "Thank you." 

And then he’s gone too.