485Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters, ideas and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
A/N: First of all, I'd like to apologize for the delay in posting up this chapter. I feel so ashamed, really. To be honest, I was overcome with MAJOR writer's block. I know some of you might think that it's just a summary of canon (although I am deviating slightly from the plot) so how can you get stuck? but really it's much more than that. Other than the fact that Electra is VERY different from Harry, I have to channel my inner Thranduil (if that makes sense, LOL), and I lost my muse. BUT, I am back, and I PROMISE that I'll start updating regularly again.
Second of all, no matter how long it takes for the next chapters to be posted, I am NEVER, I repeat NEVER EVER EVER, going to abandon this story (or my other stories). So get that ridiculous notion out of your minds LOL, I do not abandon my stories as they are all my babies! XD
I hope you enjoy this chapter! XD
Chapter 15:
Insensate jabbering permeated the air, following the wizened Headmaster's flummoxed announcement. Two simple words managed to submerge the denizens congregated in the lavish Great Hall that had previously been bursting with boisterous applaud and cacophonies of enthusiasm, with an eerie hush. A myriad of unsettling emotions crossed the denizens' features, and after a brief moment of pause, emulating a swarm of angry bees, enraged buzzing filled the Hall, and a certain few actually stood up to obtain an unobstructed view of the floored redhead. King Thranduil however, stood paralyzed in his regular position behind his three favorites Istaris, and Electra Potter herself sat between her comrades in an immobile, gobsmacked stance, unable to comprehend the fact that her name actually regurgitated from the blasted magical artifact.
"Electra Potter!" In a rare turn of events, the powerful Elven-King jumped in shock, too consumed by his paralyzed fear, he had forgotten his surroundings, and the urgent call of the wizened Headmaster succeeded in awakening both, Thranduil and Electra, from their unresponsive trance. "Electra! Up here, if you please!" It took the combined efforts of Lavender and Neville to get the redhead onto her feet, and the subsequent instances had the bitter King swelling with unmitigated rage.
How blissfully naïve King Thranduil had been for actually believing that his favorite Istari's fourth year of education in the blasted castle would be tediously uneventful. In hindsight, with the past three years of perilous predicaments and a Dark Istari hell-bent on revenge for some unknown reason, the bitter King should have known better than to have confidence in some sort of reprieve for the courageous redhead. But if Thranduil relied on the assumption that the wizened Headmaster and the many professors had the ability to shield Electra from the dangers of the tournament, then he was wholly mistaken.
To make matters worse, the Beauxbatons Champion was downright insulting and revoltingly self-righteous; who was she to call his Istari a 'little girl'? Young, yes… but litte?! Sacrilege! Electra Amycate Potter, in her fourteen years of life, experienced loss, sufferings, triumph, and portrayed utmost valor in the face of death that even the most experienced warriors would cower in fear. She had the bearings of a legend, a victor, and mostly, a leader, and if any other Istari had the opportunity to face even an inkling of the hardships and the series of unfortunate events the redheaded Istari had encountered, they would all crumble and plummet into the steels grips of Mandos.
The honorable champion remained politely puzzled, and the Durmstrang Istari stood stoically in the shadows with a perpetual scowl marring his features as the adults congregated around Electra who had yet to utter a word since the announcement of her name in the Great Hall. Thranduil's patience was nearing its crescendo; he was surrounded by a bunch of simple-minded fools! Conjectures and speculations could be heard from the wizened Headmaster and the cat lady; exuberant interjections erupted from a blonde, rosy-faced Istari who had a profession in the ministry; culpabilities were being snarled left and right from Igor Karkaroff who plainly unnerved the bitter King; bilingual indignations were being spouted off by the giantess and her champion; the hook-nosed professor sprang forth with acidic ranters which in all honesty, was unsurprising, what with his penchant for haranguing the redhead. Electra repeatedly exclaimed her innocence which was met with open skepticism from the visiting institutions and the abrasive hook-nosed Istari, and it wasn't until the weather-beaten Istari stumped in, growling common sense, did relief consume Thranduil.
Finally! Somebody of intelligence blessed with the ability to deduce anomalies instead of spouting off censure at random!
Thranduil's relief was sorely short-lived once the weather-beaten Istari divulged his hypothesis; the Elven-King participated in numerous battles and up till this very moment, he remained victorious. Thranduil had a strategic and disciplined mind, inherited and personally inculcated by his late Adar, Oropher before he was slain in the Battle of Dagorlad in the Second Age, and for that reason, Thranduil knew that the weather-beaten Istari's suppositions had merit; unfortunately, it did nothing to appease the bitter King.
"Maybe someone's hoping Potter is going to die for it."
That was one method of silencing the acrimonious simpleton known as Fleur Delacour, and it was also a method to gain fruitful results in awakening the senses of the arguing adult Istaris. Thranduil could not ignore the truth of that accursed statement. Moody's assumption was dead on. Somebody is plotting against his Istari. The perpetrator tricked the powerfully binding artifact into accepting Electra's name in the hopes of her downfall, knowing the only way of escaping such a deviant predicament was losing her magic – her legacy. Quite ingenious – he begrudgingly admitted – what better method of achieving immoral goals and getting away with murder while keeping one's identity anonymous, but by entering the chosen victim into a dangerous tournament, infamous for its high death toll? The perpetrator was no simpleton… no, the perpetrator was a heinous and iniquitous mastermind!
Aghast exclamations ensued, most vocally from Ludo Bagman. Thranduil cared not for the ludicrous tales that spewed forth Karkaroff's lips regarding the weather-beaten Istari's unlimited paranoia, for the truth was glaringly obvious, and the wizened Headmaster agreed with the morose assessment that Electra Amycate Potter's death was the motive of the entire affair and Thranduil – for the umpteenth time in the past fourteen years – felt incompetent and utterly useless, for he could not interfere, nor could he lend aid… all he could do was observe in despair, and pray to Eru that his favorite Istari would once again, beat all odds stockpiling against her and emerge as the victor.
*** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) ***
The aftermath of Electra Potter participating in the tournament as the fourth champion was devastating and was met with naught but uproar. The castle's populace were divided and enmities skyrocketed at an alarming pace, but the common denominator was that Thranduil's favorite Istari was being – once again – treated as a criminal and a pariah, eschewed by her peers and facing ridicules that were borderline abusive.
The House of the Lions looked to be torn; while they were overjoyed that their house would be represented in the accursed tournament, Electra was envied and branded a cheat and a liar, persecuted by the revolting sloth, Ronald Weasley whose jealousy overrode all common sense. It was, for all intents and purposes, a witch hunt! Metaphorically speaking, that asinine sloth grabbed a pitchfork, spoke deplorably against her, amassed supporters, and altogether, banded against the compassionate and pure redhead. Only Neville, Lavender, the Weasley twins, the three Chasers who adopted Electra as their younger sister and a few others, remained staunchly by his favorite Istari's side. The House of Badgers contradicted what they were known as: loyal and just. The House of Eagles were divided between indifference and scandalized, but all the same, treated Electra spitefully. Only the House of Snakes proved to be unchanging, for bullying and belittling the Lions, and most especially Electra and her companions, was to the norm.
Thranduil despondently shadowed the three Istaris he had grown absolutely fond of, affected by their moroseness that clung to him like a second skin. Hardened crystal orbs would turn ablaze upon hearing every crude comment that followed Electra's wake, and with his enhanced senses, the bitter King not only heard every disparaging remark, but he effortlessly observed every pronounced sneer, malicious glare, and the plethora of limbs that would appear in the redhead's line of vision, in an effort to catch her off guard and elicit an inelegant tumble onto the ground.
The most contemptible action in Thranduil's esteemed opinion was those of the professors; trusted with the welfare of children, meant to maintain neutrality and keep peace – they failed… abysmally! The adult Istaris purposely blinded and deafened themselves to the outright bullying against his favorite Istari… the cat lady never intervened or punished the disgraceful and deplorable actions of her house against one of their own; the head of badgers who managed to endear herself to the bitter King due to her utmost impartiality that she was renowned for, treated Electra dismally, which only encouraged the members of her house to continue with their incessant harassment; the abrasive hook-nosed professor if possible, intensified his bullying ways and took malevolent glee in her public demise. Only the diminutive professor and the wizened Headmaster remained impartial, but to King Thranduil's ire, they never went out of their way to protect her from her peers.
With each passing day, Thranduil's disposition turned almost feral and his Kingdom suffered the consequences. Even Legolas avoided his Adar for fear of being on the other hand of acidic remarks and short temper. Thranduil was impatient for Mithrandir, Elrond and Galadriel's arrival, for only they would comprehend the reasoning behind his appalling behavior, and share his ire. And then, an incident occurred that equally infuriated and confounded the Elven-King.
Descending to the dungeons, the redheaded Istari and her closest companions, Neville and Lavender, were confronted by the uncouth boy who gleefully informed her of the creation of a batch of slurring badges. Thranduil's pale and flawless features morphed into a shocking magenta shade once the bold letters 'Support CEDRIC DIGGORY The REAL Hogwarts Champion' altered to 'POTTER STINKS'. The Lions stood idly by, unresponsive and uncaring as the Slytherins howled with uproarious laughter, all but the Delphic Slytherin whose face was contorted in fury and had to be physically held back by his two female companions. Neville and Lavender clenched their fists in identical fury, but much to Thranduil's bafflement, Electra smiled. She actually smiled. That genuinely baffling reaction prompted all offensive laughter to halt and Thranduil watched in interest as his favorite Istari approached the uncouth boy and… kindly asked for a badge?
Nonplussed at the bizarre reaction, the uncouth boy hesitantly presented a badge from the nearly depleting batch and the stupefied silence was broken by Electra's mellifluous voice. "That's ingenious spell work. I mean, the intricate charms to simply modify the words, and the color-changing charms, it's beyond any fourth years. Did you do it?" and upon receiving an affirmative from the shocked uncouth boy, the redhead beamed, returned the badge and without another word, ignored the other Istaris as she entered the classroom.
Yes, Electra Amycate Potter was simply and uniquely one of a kind. She never showed weakness in the face of her enemies, she kept her head held high, and ignored all the bullying and belittling she was incessantly on the receiving end of. She was an inspiration! And despite the fact that Thranduil itched to lock all her tormentors in the dungeons with naught but meager water and stale bread, or perhaps decapitate them with his blade, he was consumed with pride.
That incident spread throughout the castle walls like wildfire, and all hazing upon her person promptly desisted; for how could they bully someone that cannot be affected, and retorted with tender kindness? However, a moment of reprieve would be too kind, for a new player entered the game… Rita Skeeter.
Thranduil could assemble no kind words when looking upon her or even, the mere act of hearing her name. That female had a nauseating appearance from her features to her lurid garments and talon-like nails that had the bitter King shudder in revulsion. Most horrifying were those three golden teeth! She had no sense of decorum, was too vulgar for his taste, and lacked proper respect. That odious woman relished in besmirching one's name, and was blatantly corrupt! She whisked Electra off and that damnable 'Quick-Quotes Quill'… well, he couldn't help but inquire over its authenticity, surely such writing tool must be illegal! Once the wizened Headmaster intervened and succeeded in protecting his favorite Istari from further debasement, crystal orbs hardened once the odious woman inquired over his opinion regarding some inconsequential article and he promptly replied with cordiality, though a hard edge could be heard in his tone.
"Enchantingly nasty… I particularly enjoyed your description of me as an obsolete dingbat." That odious woman didn't even have the audacity to look remotely abashed; such a lack of propriety in the face of a venerable Istari that should be treated with utmost respect.
King Thranduil itched to detach her head from her neck and send her off to the Halls of Mandos once that odious woman's article was released to the public. It held nothing but many paragraphs that shone Electra in a humiliating and debased light; all lies, slanders and offensive statements that had his blood boil with unmitigated anger that wished to be unleashed. And with that nasty article, the bullying resumed tenfold. Wherever his favorite Istari went, the odious woman's lies were being malevolently quoted, and while Electra portrayed nonchalance, Thranduil was present to the moments where, after her dorm mates would succumb to their unconscious states, she would cast a silencing charm around her bed and finally allow herself to be affected by the cruelty of her peers and cry herself to sleep – the palpable misery and the raw pain tugged on his heartstrings and shattered his heart, for only a heartless being would be unaffected by the obvious cry for help.
*** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) ***
Unmistakable and unadulterated fear was the main emotion on King Thranduil's flawlessly handsome features. When he materialized by the redhead's side that day, Electra's enthusiasm rubbed off on him due to the fact that her godfather would be appearing to her after midnight. Curiosity subsequently replaced enthusiasm upon hearing the giant's odd request that entailed meeting him by his hut with her trusty Invisibility Cloak. Enthusiasm and curiosity disintegrated to dust once his crystal eyes focused on the petrifying scene unfolding right before him and Thranduil was paralyzed at the sight of his greatest fear come to life.
Dragons!
Not one.
Not two.
No… Four! Four Drakes!
FOUR!
These Drakes may differ from the creations of Morgoth residing in Arda, but all the same, those accursed fire-breathing creatures with nearly impenetrable scales and a taste of flesh had him drowning in fear and vulnerability. Thranduil couldn't find it in himself to concentrate on the important conversation that took place between goddaughter and godfather; he barely reacted upon seeing the innocent convict's head emerge from the flames, and he absently listened in on the speculations of Karkaroff being a Death Eater and the reason behind the redhead's forced participation in the tournament.
Time was an inconsequential matter for the Race of Elves, for they were immortal and time essentially had no effect on them. Currently, it was an entirely different matter for King Thranduil, and for the first time in a long while, he found himself nervously counting the days where he would not only be forced to be in close proximity to his greatest fear, but watch his favorite Istari battle one and try and elude her encounter unscathed. Unfortunately, the First Task approached at an alarming speed and Thranduil shadowed the redhead in the confined space of a tent as she nervously paced and tried to steady her heart rate, for her battle against a dragon was due any moment now.
Istaris of this realm were fools! It was absolute sacrilege that they found such a task entertaining! Children should be cherished, nurtured, protected, and not discarded as lambs to the slaughter! Thranduil reached near hyperventilation, for not only would he be facing a Drake, but according to Lavender, the Hungarian Horntail? was the most violent and vicious type out of the four species the champions were meant to battle, and naturally, Electra – the youngest and inexperienced out of the four – had the nasty luck of pulling the vicious Drake out of the offered sack.
Thranduil never felt ashamed over the fact that he had a deep fear of Drakes, for the Elven-King's fear was borne from experience and acts of courage. Fear was a motiving force that although ended with him becoming bitter, it made him stronger and a better leader to his people. If he were to confront a Drake in the future, despite his paralyzing fear, he would persist. In King Thranduil's personal opinion, the most effective form of education was the experiences and challenges faced throughout life, and Thranduil was confident that if he were to battle with a Drake, he would emerge unscathed.
Evil, bulbous yellow eyes; monstrous, scaly black skin; energetically thrashing spiked tail; menacing wings half-furled; long gouge marks imprinted in the hard ground; a positively terrifying roar. Thranduil shouldered on and shadowed his brave and courageous Istari, and his crystal orbs turned glacial upon perceiving the nest of eggs, deeply disturbed that the Istaris of this realm urged the breeding of such abominable creatures. The moment Electra's precious broomstick was summoned to her side Thranduil's heart leapt when she soared upward and goaded the Drake into follow her, giving the redhead ample time to gather the golden egg in her possession.
All cacophony of noise were drowned out once his vision was surrounded by dragon fire; fear for the safety of his favorite Istari consumed him, but also… he cringed in unconscious pain, his left side tingling as he recalled the excruciating and agonizing effects he suffered through… the aftermath of dragon-fire that haunted him to this very day, and that forced him to abandon his dwarrow allies like a coward. Terrified screaming belonging to the crowd abruptly snapped him out of his tormented reverie and he focused on the redhead, just in time to observe the accursed Drake's scaly tail slash her forearm. Pride and awe consumed him, for despite the obvious pain, Electra ignored it and in a huge spurt of speed, descended toward the nest and triumphantly grabbed the golden egg with her uninjured arm.
"Look at that! Will you look at that! Our youngest champion is quickest to get her egg! Well, this is going to shorten the odds on Ms. Potter!"
Yes. King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm was proud of the pure nerve and outstanding courage Electra Amycate Potter had displayed. Despite the odds, the challenges, and all the danger looming over the horizon, she managed to endure and prove wrong everyone who dared to underestimate her. The bitter King fondly observed from afar as Neville and Lavender embraced her, their faces shining with relief and their fear abated. And just as Thranduil felt himself awakening in his bedchamber, the Delphic Slytherin approached her with an intense look in his eyes, gathered her into his arms and flush against his chest, and planted a deep kiss onto her lips… and Electra eagerly responded.
*** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) ***
"I shan't repeat myself again, Elrond," Thranduil snarled through gritted teeth, "Chinese Fireball, Hungarian Horntail, Swedish Short-Snout and Welsh Green. Peculiar names, yet utterly terrifying."
Lady Galadriel and Mithrandir traded sympathetic glances but kept quiet while Elrond mulled over the new piece of information, fascinated with the plethora of Drakes existing in the other Realm as opposed to Thranduil's horror. The elleth and the Istari could not imagine what Thranduil went through… forced to stomach the sight of the very creatures that left a deep mark on his soul and a permanent scar on his handsome features as well as a blind eye. Galadriel merely glimpsed into the recess of his mind and shivered in fear, and she hadn't seen them firsthand.
Poor Thranduil.
Mithrandir decided the best course of action would be to divert any further utterings of Drakes, "What interests me, is the theories made by the Istari with one eye and leg. What are your opinions regarding the discombobulating matter, Thranduil?"
The Elven-King stroked his lower lip as he pondered over the unverified happenstance, "As much as I loathe to admit, I agree with Moody. The perpetrator was meticulous in his conspiracies. There is no doubt that Electra was entered into the tournament for some sort of nefarious intention, most probably her death, and what better way to eliminate the threat, but by forcing her into a tournament with a huge death toll and no loophole of escaping?"
"The arrangements for the tournament, from what I have discerned, must have taken years to prepare, mellon nîn," Elrond pointed out with a grave expression, "I am certain there is an infiltrator amongst them, most definitely in the castle keeping a close watch on Electra."
Thranduil paled drastically, he never considered there to be a spy in close proximity to his favorite Istari. Galadriel nodded in agreement and fixed the Elven-King with an inquiring expression, "Have you noticed anyone odd or suspicious?"
"Many," Thranduil scoffed, "However, according to the girl's godfather, the Durmstrang Headmaster, Igor Karkaroff – after the Dark Istari's downfall, he was a captured Death Eater. He made a deal in return for his freedom. But his reaction after Electra was made a champion contradicts him being the perpetrator."
Mithrandir sighed, puzzled and unnerved with the conundrum, "I sense darker times shall follow, Thranduil. The Death Eaters that appeared before that Mark was cast in the sky, and now Electra participating in such a dangerous tournament… no, I believe there to be a much bigger picture, one that doesn't bode well."
While Thranduil and Elrond pondered over Mithrandir's ominous words, Lady Galadriel latched on to the image of the enchantingly gorgeous redhead and the handsome boy with mesmerizing indigo eyes as they shared their first moment of intimacy. Unseen to the other three prominent figures of Arda that were congregated around her, the elleth smirked knowingly… yes, things shall prove to be much more interesting, especially when it came to the genuine emotions that were remaining deeply buried and portrayed sentiments of denial.
Lady Galadriel interlocked her fingers together and wiped the smirk from her face; it won't take long now, events are setting in motion and nearing culmination…
*** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) ***
Conditions in the castle radically calmed down, especially concerning his favorite Istari; apparently, all it took was a mere glimpse of four murderous Drakes, for most of the populace to concede to the truth behind Electra's exclamations of innocence. Thranduil recalled his distaste with the Weasley sloth, who didn't bother to apologize over his deplorable actions fueled by jealousy and initiated romantic advances. Thranduil however, was unconcerned with the plebian sloth; consequent to the First Task, the Delphic Slytherin and his favorite Istari started courting, which was met with uproar in regards to a few Slytherins and Gryffindors due to their nonsensical bigotry and rivalry.
Fortnights passed without incident, when finally, Thranduil's curiosity waxed after the announcement had been made regarding a Yule Ball taking place in Hogwarts, a traditional part of the Triwizard Tournament, and according to the cat lady, an opportunity to socialize with the foreign guests. Naturally, he desired to perceive and compare the differences between the Yule Ball and the balls celebrated in his Kingdom every Rhíw.
How interesting… since Electra was considered – despite its infraction – a Triwizard Champion, in accord to its traditions, she was obliged to open the ball alongside the other Champions. Thranduil fondly observed the color flood the redhead's cheek after the Delphic Slytherin asked to be her escort, and he was torn between amusement and apoplectic anger once his favorite Istari asked him for lessons in dancing. The bitter King's anger stemmed from the fact that due to her abusive upbringing, Electra had been prohibited of regular privileges. It was tradition for elves and elleths to be educated in the art of dancing at a young age
They really were an endearing pair; Blaise and Electra. They were still at a fresh and initial stage of their change in relationship from friends to lovers, but Thranduil could clearly perceive a future for them. Despite his bitterness that accumulated with the departing of his meleth Lainathiel to the Valinor, and the traumatism to dragon-fire that left him with a perpetual scar and a blind eye, Thranduil never lost the ability to recognize love, or personally feel it, for the love he felt toward his son knew no bounds, in spite of his detached behavior.
Amusement colored his features as he witnessed the countless Istaris pursuing his favorite Istari in hopes of escorting her to the Yule Ball, regardless of the fact that she had a significant other. The Delphic Slytherin, more than once, had to chase the many suitors away at wand point. The night of the ball arrived and Thranduil was rendered speechless at the divine beauty Electra Amycate Potter truly was in a rich and modest emerald gown with silver and gold embellishments that hugged her figure and accentuated her curves – how far she had developed from the cherubic toddler nestled comfortably on her father's lap, poking colored bubbles; Thranduil smiled sadly in remembrance.
Lavender and Neville preferred to accompany each other as no other had yet to amorously catch their interest; Thranduil shadowed the three companions from the Gryffindor Tower towards the Great Hall where the Delphic Slytherin awaited them, his indigo eyes brightening with lust and adoration. Thranduil scrutinized the completely unrecognizable Great Hall; intriguing lights decorated the entire scenery and upon closer observation, a mystified Thranduil recognized them as no ordinary lights but… fairy lights? Hundreds upon hundreds of actual living fairies sat in the rosebushes, and fluttering over the statues were some sort of … entity he failed to discern. The walls of the Hall had all been covered in sparkling silver frost with hundreds of garlands of mistletoe and ivy crossing the starry black ceiling. The House tables had vanished, replaced by about a hundred smaller, lantern-lit ones that he estimated could seat about a dozen people. In conclusion, it was a magnificent sight to behold, but the Elven-King admitted to being biased, preferring the lavish and overelaborate halls of his Kingdom.
An astounding modification that captured Thranduil's attention was when the wizened Headmaster spoke to his plate. Pork chops, he said… and lo and behold, pork chops appeared. Definitely mind-boggling.
For the entirety of the Ball, King Thranduil alternated between shadowing Electra and Blaise, and Lavender and Neville, as they mingled around and danced enthusiastically. At one point, the imbecilic sloth of a Weasley intruded on a fluid dance, bellowing to the redhead about her fraternizing with a slimy snake. Simple-minded fool! Thankfully, his twin brothers dragged him away by the ear, their faces reflecting naught but disappointment and embarrassment over their sloth of a brother's public display of utter idiocy. At another point, the honorable champion cordially approached them and parted Electra with a cryptic clue regarding the deciphering of the irritating golden egg that wailed in a deafening manner once opened.
"Listen… I owe you one for telling me about the dragons. You know the golden egg? Does yours wail when you open it? ... Take a bath. … Use the prefects' bathroom. Fourth corridor to the left of that statue of Boris the Bewildered on the fifth floor. Password's 'pine fresh'. Just take the egg with you and – er – just mull things over in the hot water. It'll help you think… trust me."
In true fashion of a pure soul, Electra humbly proclaimed her gratitude over the lending hand given by the honorable champion. In contradiction, the Delphic Slytherin shared Thranduil's exact sentiment; irritation. The redheaded Istari directly confided in the honorable champion that there would be Drakes involved, therefore, the cryptic hint spoken in an elliptical manner of speech was severely unappreciated.
Thranduil's irate mumbling abruptly desisted upon observing his Istari and the Delphic Slytherin interlocked in a passionately intimate exchange, blindly navigating each other into an empty chamber. For some reason, his throat felt dry and he felt… a twinge… a twinge of some unfamiliar emotion he could not decipher… for it was an emotion he never once experienced throughout his many millenniums of life… Unable to stomach witnessing their act of intimacy that was rapidly leading to, if he wasn't mistaken, intercourse; crystal orbs snapped shut and the Elven-King willed himself to awaken in his bedchamber.
He abruptly shot up from his bed, relieved to be back in his castle and he lifted a hand to rub his chest for he suddenly felt a void. Why was their act of intimacy affecting him so? But most importantly…
What was that twinge?
*** (The Elvenking & the Pure of Heart) ***
Whenever Thranduil faced a dilemma, or had to make arduous decisions regarding the regulating and the safety measures of his Kingdom, he would ensconce himself in either the Throne Room or his bedchamber, and contemplate in utmost silence. Clearing his mind, the Elven-King didn't take long to decrypt the honorable champion's allusion. The golden egg must be submerged in water in order for the ear-splitting wailing to be coherently interpreted in colloquial terms.
A few days after the Ball, Thranduil trailed behind his favorite Istari during her evening excursion toward the specific bath chamber mentioned by the honorable champion. Respectful of the redhead's privacy, and him being an elf of his stature, the Elven-King chivalrously looked the other way and concentrated on a peculiar golden-framed painting of a blonde sea creature, due to her being in a state of undress, and only once Electra immersed herself into the magnificent bath, did he finally establish eye contact.
Thranduil felt mildly uncomfortable, almost like an interloper. That bizarre reaction thankfully washed away once his favorite Istari submerged her head into the water and his lips quirked into a diminutive smile, pride consuming him in regards to her intelligence. Due to his enhanced hearing, a chorus of eerie voices singing vibrated in his eardrums prompting his head to incline in intrigue.
"Come seek us where our voices sound, we cannot sing above the ground,
And while you're searching ponder this: we've taken what you'll sorely miss,
An hour long you'll have to look, and to recover what we took,
But past an hour – the prospect's black, too late, it's gone, it won't come back."
King Thranduil was not lacking in the mental acumen, and he succeeded in deciphering the puzzling riddle with rapid ease; obviously, the Black Lake shall be included in the Second Task, and an entity of importance shall be taken from each of the four champions, and must be retrieved in the allotted hour otherwise it shall be lost in the immensity of the lake. How egregious! How on Arda are these mortals supposed to breathe underwater for an hour? Thranduil honestly wondered which simpleton organized such suicidal tasks for children!
His mental tirade was put on pause as he shadowed the invisible Istari toward her destination; due to his nearly four years of being a ghostly spectre, Thranduil could easily navigate his way through the ginormous and intricate castle, therefore he immediately noticed his favorite Istari take a wrong turn to the Gryffindor Tower. Frowning in confusion, the Elven-King fluidly matched her pace and a brief moment later, the adventure took an unfortunate turn. Too absorbed in her pursuit, the redhead sank right through the trick step and while she managed to grab on to her Invisibility Cloak with her sharp reflexes, the same could not be said for the ingenious map and the bothersome egg that cracked open and wailed loudly, no doubt awakening half the denizens.
With abated breathe, Thranduil stoically observed as the cantankerous caretaker and the abrasive, hook-nosed professor partook in a heated squabbling regarding the liable perpetrator; the irksome poltergeist, or Electra Potter, respectively. Until the war-beaten Istari intervened and sent them off and had his favorite Istari reveal herself. The supervening conversation succeeded in capturing Thranduil's unquenchable interest; the stern judge, Bartemius Crouch had apparently caught some sort of ailment that resulted in keeping him bedridden for months, and yet… the Istari's name appeared on the ingenious map, rummaging through the abrasive, hook-nosed professor's private store cupboard.
How intriguing, and equally mystifying…
Thranduil decided to ponder over the anomaly at a later time as the day of the Second Task approached. Neville being a prodigy in Herbology provided valuable aid; according to the clumsy Istari, a magical plant … Gillyweed? such ridiculous names… when imbibed by an Istari, one would grow gills and webbing between fingers and toes – basically, the plant allows an Istari to navigate and process oxygen underwater without difficulty. His favorite Istari managed to order the peculiar plant from the wizarding distract and much to the Elven-King's relief, looked to be prepared for the Second Task.
As each champion flung themselves forward into the water, Thranduil felt the experience of trailing his favorite Istari to be completely out of the ordinary. Breathing seemed to be of no issue to the Elven-King and he easily swam alongside the transformed redhead. Silence pressed upon his ears, small fish flickered past him like streaks of silver, tangled black weeds were clustered… the experience was utterly bizarre. Thranduil preferred his feet to touch the ground or to travel by horseback; swimming was not a predilection to the King.
The grotesque water demon the wolf mentioned the previous year attacked his favorite Istari while he could no nothing but watch in horror. The redhead wrestled with three of them until finally she managed to gain the upper hand and trounced them with a well-aimed spell. Ignoring the residual gore of the filthy creature, Thranduil kept a sharp gaze on their surroundings until finally, the eerie chorus could be heard, and the baffled King set his sight on several merpeople for the first time. Lord Elrond and Lady Galadriel would be most intrigued by them; they had repugnant grayish skin and long, wild, dark green hair – of all colors; most unnatural! Worse, their eyes were a yellow hue and their teeth were broken. What fascinated Thranduil however, was their silver fish tails. And while the merpeople had inherent distasteful features, orcs were still the most hideously repulsing and vile creatures to ever exist.
A heavy scowl marred the Elven-King's visage as he inspected the champions' 'possessions'. CHILDREN! HOW DARE THEY? Do these mortal Istaris have utterly no respect to children?! Apparently, in this realm, children – precious children – are used as a bartering tool! Children kept hostage for the champions… children that wanted no part in this ludicrously suicidal tournament that lacked a true purpose! And to King Thranduil's ire, a young girl who looked to be the miniature copy of the Beauxbatons Champion and no older than the age of eight was kept hostage and in peril. Sacrilege! If these Istaris ever set foot in Arda, King Thranduil would sentence them to a life of imprisonment for putting the lives of fragile children in jeopardy for a mere tournament! And they consider this entertainment? He inwardly scoffed in aggravation. Such desecration! Sheer acts of folly!
Pride and concern battled for dominance once Thranduil slightly recovered from his rage. His brave, courageous and pure-hearted Istari managed to release the Delphic Slytherin from his bindings, but instead of abandoning the perilous immensity of the Black Lake, she seemed to be unable to leave until the champions rescued their hostage. The honorable champion arrived shortly after she released her lover, followed by the stoic one… but the girl never graced them with her presence and if he weren't mistaken, the allotted hour was dangerously nearing fruition.
Such a pure soul… unlike the elder champions, Electra could not live with herself to depart with the Delphic Slytherin and forsake the young child to the merpeople. Those dratted creatures however, brandished their sharp weapons in a menacing demeanor in an effort to keep the young child in their possession. Thranduil's heart leapt and clenched as his favorite Istari put all her effort in shoving the two captives over water to release them from their enchanted slumber.
No.
NO!
Crystal orbs widened and hardened as he watched his favorite Istari struggle to remain unconscious. Oh, Eru!
The next thing Thranduil knew, his surroundings changed and he found himself positioned behind Neville and Lavender, both of whom were fussing over Electra and the Delphic Slytherin. Pinching the bridge of his nose, the bitter King's fear vanished. His Istari was safe. Only one Task remained and he would finally be able to breathe again.
A/N: I hope you liked this chapter? XD
(1)Okay… so, there were a lot of events in this chapter. We're nearly done with Book 4. Next chapter, we will finish the Third Task and Book 4 will be complete! YAY! (2) Some of you might be curious about some events I skipped… for example, yes Rita Skeeter published Hagrid's GIANT secret, and blah blah blah... I am trying to summarize the more important highlights of the book so that we could finally arrive in Middle Earth. (3) Electra and Blaise are finally a couple… what do you think about that? Oh, and BTW, Lavender and Neville are NOT, nor will they ever be, a couple, so don't jump to conclusions. LOL. (4) If you've noticed, the scene with the POTTER SUCKS badges changed. Like I said in the last chapter, this story is called The Elvenking & the PURE OF HEART. Electra is too pure and too kind and it takes a lot to awaken the famous Evans temper, LOL. But don't worry, we'll be seeing that terrifying temper of hers as the story progresses. ;) (5) Rhíw – Winter. (6) Fun Question: The twinge Thranduil felt… what do you think it meant? What was that twinge? ;)
R&R.
