Author's Note:

The dress that Sarráh is wearing in this chapter is displayed to the side.

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        I ran my hands down the clean material of the dress I was wearing, stopping my hands at the beginning of the thin and long bow. The Steward, Lord Denethor, had summoned me for questioning, so I stood before the throne while he stared me down. I felt uncomfortable in his presence, it was an indescribable feeling. It wasn't a good feeling, though.

        His thunderous voice shook me out of my thoughts, "Who are you?"

        I swallowed and locked eyes with him, "I am Sarráh Silverstone, of-"

        "Of the Whitewood realm, I am aware. That was not what I was asking. My question was who are you? As in, who lies beneath the name?" he cut me off, narrowing his eyes at me.

        I tried to speak but no words came out. What was the question? It didn't make any sense, "I'm afraid I don't understand."

        He leaned forward as he spoke, "Let me put it this way: What is an Elvish princess of the North doing here in Gondor? How did you get here? Because it seems highly suspicious that the likes of you would be so near our borders, fighting for your life all alone."

        "Well, it's a very long story." I told him, clasping my hands together.

        He leaned against the backrest of his throne, lifting his chin importantly, "Summarize it, then."

        My mouth opened then quickly shut again. I couldn't find a place to start, I wasn't even sure if there was a way to summarize it. The council, that's a good starting point.

        "Surely you heard of the council Elrond held not 15 days ago, haven't you?"

        He nodded and I continued, telling my story all the way up to the point where I blacked out. Silence heavier than stone pressed down on the room while Lord Denethor contemplated what I just told him. It wasn't uncomfortable though, instead the pain in my wound held my attention. Standing for extended periods of time, according to the woman who mended me, was not helpful for the healing process. But still, here I stood before this foolish man who was too powerful for his own good.

        "I don't believe you."

        I opened my mouth to question him but two pairs of arms gripped me and pulled me out of the room. They definitely weren't mindful of the sever in my leg. I cried out in protest, fighting against the guards who were undoubtedly taking me to a dungeon somewhere. The harder I pulled, the rougher they were with me, so I stopped fighting and let them take me away.

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        I was on that cold ground for countless hours before I saw that somebody occupied the cell beside me. Not wanting to be noticed, I inched into the darkest corner and tried to make out the features on the mystery person's face. The figure sat against the locked entrance of her grimy cell, rubbing their fingers down a bar slowly. A female, by the looks of her body type, and her matted hair was tucked behind her ears, exposing their pointed tips. I my jaw slightly dropped, a little more than shocked to see another elf in Gondor's dungeon's. A part of me wondered if I knew her, but I didn't want to get involved. As of now, I had to think of a way to convince Denethor that I wasn't a liar.

        There was a little brown feather on the ground by my feet, lying motionless in the still room. I scrunched my eyebrows together as I picked it up, allowing my eyes to study it's details carefully. Streaks of different shades of earthy browns created an intricate pattern. I brushed my thumb down its length before tucking it behind my ear, along with some of my hair. Then I crawled onto the little pile of blankets and closed my eyes, remembering what Legolas told me before I left.

        'I need no token to remember anything you tell me, my lady.'

        He was a real charmer, I must admit that. There is so much distance between us now, but I still see him when I close my eyes. Maybe I would never get to see him again, maybe my promise to him will be broken. The tears that had begun to build up spilled over when I opened my eyes. I bit my lip and reached up for the necklace that Legolas gave me, stroking it gently with my fingertip.

        'No,' I thought, 'I will see him again, I promised him I would.' It was a vow to myself. If I didn't keep this promise, then I'd never trust myself with making promises again.

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        Author's Note:

Sorry guys, but I didn't proof read this. If you see any grammar mistakes, please, PLEASE let me know (politely) in the comment area below! I just wanted to post this really soon because it's been a while since I've updated. I've been doing school things and church activities, as well as babysitting and blah, blah, blah. Tell me what you think about this chapter, any criticism (as long as it is constructive) is appreciated! Don't forget to vote for this chapter if you liked it, too.

        Love you guys!  -Sara Ann