'IT'S A . . . MEMORY. '

“There is no reason to be so contrary Miss. Alice, it was just an innocent question.” The Caterpillar took a sip of his tea, the warm china a godsend to his freezing hands. “All Wonderlands, or Underlands, have their issues, I only ask that you take in perspective.”

     ▓✕ ❛ @absolemcaterpillar ) ALICE MEME ) ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

⌠♚⌡━━━━

Aye, he could ask the evidently confused girl how she has even made it through the woods alive. And he could have demanded explanation regarding a background, a reason that must exist for such encounter to even occur. But needless details. For now. Her whole condition is rather alarming, and while Thranduil could easily toss intruders back beyond the borders, or let his guards kill them, a mere girl ( or woman ) could he not shoo away like that. 

Slow steps carry him downstairs from his throne, gaze scanning the mortal repeatedly as inwardly he keeps seeking possible answers for———- not only those bloody knuckles. Fluid motion lastly causes him to stand in front of Alice, her question luring a frown to the king’s features, for yes, it did sound impolite. 

                                                               “Not everyone.” 

A quick, simple and only correct answer drags with itself the motion of a pale hand aiming for one of the mortal’s hands for him to inspect these bruises. Thranduil cares little if she approves of this action or not, could surely have ignored that detail as well but decided against it, concluding that he yet requires a few more informations before any decision can be made. 

                              “Did you  f i g h t  your way to these gates, Alice?                                If  so,  it must have been of much importance to                                you; risking your life for——— yes, exactly what?”

               SELF-INFLICTED WOUNDS OFT MAR HER FLESH,  for frustration is a difficult foe to quell with mere words,  EXHAUSTION is her tool,  apparently.  Debilitated and fatigued she might appear to him,  but it is only her knuckles stained red,  only her eyes rimmed DARK.  The injury may indeed be somewhat fresh,  but she hardly feels it.

               WHAT SHE DOES FEEL,  HOWEVER,  is his reach,  his hand reaching for her.  Immediately,  does she flinch,  the appendage twitching without her say,  her upper body reaching backward for a short second.  Inwardly,  she SCOLDS herself.  It is a mere knee-jerk reaction,  conditioned into a young and VIOLATED mind,  stubborn to dissolve.  Her attention falls as finally her fingers begin to ITCH.  In response,  she shakes her head,  then recalls as though a sudden wave of understanding hits her back.

               ‘ A spider. . . Large,  foul. . . ’

               SLOW WORDS,  AS THOUGH IT IS DIFFICULT TO RECOLLECT;  she’s still staring at his hand,  her own.  The creature had not been unlike beasts she has seen before,  though it brought with it a new and vile stench,  a queer twist of DEATH’S strangling smell.  Not the cause of her bleeding;  her own fury’s doing.

     HE DIDN’T CARE ABOUT NEGLECTED DUTIES  he was just merely confused and worried about her recent behaviour, people don’t vanish without tangible reasons, they just don’t abandon their posts without previous permission from the Captain unless its an emergency, which this clearly is the case ;  HE SAT DOWN right in front of her, whilst her eyes scanned her up and down over and over again, he feared of her to wounded, regardless of it to be something serious or a simply  scratch. 

                         ❝  it’s okay Alice, i just want to know if something is bothering you  ❞

      IF THERE IS SOMETHING FOR HIM TO DO  to make things right, he would do his best to make her feel better, no matter what would it be, he wants to hear it from her, he needs to   understand why he can’t find anything else than rage within her daily glances, to understand why is she so shattered from the inside that it shines bright on the outside.

          ❝  your hand screams yes, mind telling me what it is ? ❞  he’d spotted it, she wasn’t the best person to pretend everything is okay, if it weren’t true, he wouldn’t be there in the first place; his own hand reached out for hers, she wanted to see how bad it was and if she needed assistance to heal it, her skin was COLD AS ICE,  which provoked a chill to run through his spine .

               ‘ YES. ’

               SOMETHING IS BOTHERING HER,  MANY THINGS ARE.  Her mind is a distorted maze of deadly memories that swirl and make her dizzy.  Jagged edges TEARING against her scalp and setting her skull on fire;  she SHUDDERS as each recollection hits her anew,  a wave of pressure and childhood terror that refuses to let her go.  Fire.  Ruin.  Death.  Guilt.      ------------ NOTHING.  

               SHE TEARS HER SMALLER PALM FROM HIS,  a strangled noise of defiance CRAWLING from within a heaving chest.  Peering at him through the self-preserved gloom she has nestled herself with,  she only shakes her head.  Damp cheeks,  both tears and cold sweat,  are fleetingly SMOTHERED by her hair;  she shields herself as an animal would,  curling further into the shadows.

               WHAT DOES SHE KNOW?  Her name,  Alice,  the ship that rocks beneath her,  the blade embedded in the wood beside her --- and the eyes,  still looking at her through THICK shadow,  kind and questioning.  William’s eyes,  not Bumby’s,  not Radcliffe’s;  his hand does not drip with poison and RUIN,  there are no black stains upon his cheeks,  nor tar dripping from his eyes.  She LOCKS her own gaze upon his,  weary as she might be,  She considers laying a touch upon his face,  or poking his chest,  just to make certain that he is REAL,  but panic and fury rises once more,  and she keeps still.

               ‘Don’t ------ ’

               SHE KNOWS NOT WHAT WORDS TO SAY TO HIM,  what explanation to offer.  It will pass,  her doctor’s notes always said so.  Lucidity feigns for only a short while now;  she is getting better - or,  at least,  would like to believe so.  Her hand lifts,  SHAKING,  resting upon chewed lips;  she shakes her head once more.  A girl,  is she.  USELESS and frail;  words whispered in her ear,  a cretin’s CLAWS upon her throat.  She swallows,  lays her own hand upon her neck as some feeble shield from an imaginary threat.

⌇♖⌇—She was quick to be AGITATED but the elf held nothing of such against her. She was learning; no one was perfect. Even HE had to learn the language himself (granted that way centuries ago). In due time, it will be learned. But, with the learning of such (to which he was surprised she took interest in) the prince had hoped to SOOTHE&&HEAL open scars. There was a smile.

                                                        ❝Better && it only took two tries.                                          Have p a t i e n c e. You will learn it, I promise.❞

For an elf, he had much FATE in others; There were more than one race that made up the world && to be closed off from them seemed foolish, primitive even.

                                                               ❝Shall we try another?                                                          Or shall we cease for today?❞

               ‘ ANOTHER,  if you will. ’

               SHE WONDERS IF HER SPARKING CONSCIOUSNESS has room enough to hold more than what it already does in it’s ever-fragile confines. She may AWAKEN tomorrow morning only to find that she barely remembers her own name.  It seems oft time when new memories are forced,  created,  the old are DELETED.  It is of sheer luck that she still even recognises her own reflection,  such an intangible STATE her mind is in.

               BUT SHE HAS ALWAYS BEEN EAGER TO LEARN,  quickest to decipher words.  She learned to read quicker than her sister over could.  Before her years of disaster and TURMOIL,  she was a mere child who only wished to expand her knowledge,  and beneath the burns upon pale flesh,  the S H A T T E R E D lucidity,  little Alice still remains.  Curiousity guides her when her rage does not,  and she watches the elf now with barely-masked WONDER.  Stoic façade seems to weaken,  even if only fleetingly.

⌠♚⌡━━━━

Rarely has he met mortals that expressed such an amount of caution, with gesture, gaze and words, so Thranduil has in no second assumed she could reveal herself as threat. Not truly. But does that not mean his own caution would suddenly crease, for one never knows what ultimately lingers behind an ever so innocent facade. 

                   “Well, Alice, you do not seem to me like an individual which                intends  to bring harm upon my people.  For reasons UN-                KNOWN you are but here, and what would you suggest I                     should do with you?   A mortal among elves …  you  will earn                     quite much attention.”

              UNCERTAIN DOES SHE REMAIN BENEATH HIS GAZE,  wrists beginning to itch and anxiety WRITHES just beneath her flesh;  she damns it,  damns herself.  Lithe fingers click as she shuts them tight against her palm,  bruised and bloodied knuckles protesting at the apparently SUDDEN movement.  She is an intruder ( such is a LIKELY notion,  though not one she is entirely unfamiliar with ),  and those that do not belong,  should oft tread with light feet.  Trouble being,  Alice was not gifted a gentle tongue at birth,  nor a charming gaze,  light feet are a far away dream.

               TATTERED LOWER LIP GRAZED WITH SHAKING TEETH,  she ponders his words.  Never one to seek attention,  for all she has ever received  ( all that her SHATTERED consciousness can recall )  has been foul,  and holding promise of torturous things.  The girl cants her head,  however,  in some stoic display of acknowledgement.  If she is indeed an ENIGMA so intriguing,  then perhaps there are advantages to be found still.  DANGER may not yet be chasing at her heels here.

                                              ⌇♖⌇—❝Try it again. Pronounce it like me.                                                                       Mê g'ovannen❞

               IT IS FRUSTRATION AT HER OWN INEFFECTUALITY that has her pursing her lips,  a fire threatening to LIGHT itself within her eyes.  This is foolish,  the words hand upon her tongue,  though she keeps them caged;  however much impatience stirs,  he is HELPING.  It would do her blackened heart some good to remember such a thing.

               ‘ ------------ Mê g'ovannen? ’