𝐍𝐘𝐌𝐌𝐑𝐈𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐎𝐋𝐃 ━ lord of the rings

Thirteen: Alone, Unnaturally

He could feel the blue eyes watching him where he sat, but refused to meet their questioning gaze.

"She is not supposed to speak to the prisoners in her charge," the elf said, leaning against the rocky wall with his ankles and arms crossed as he stared at Nymmril.

"Are you supposed to?"

"I can get away with more than most."

The skin-changer's green eyes flickered to the Prince's face. "Will she get away with it?"

"Why does it matter to you?" The elf asked, confused. "She was the one to lock you up."

"She was only doing her job," Nymmril sighed, looking back down to the floor and wringing his hands in his lap. He did not want to speak to the princeling, who had done little to stop his father's prosecution, but he was drawn to the eyes of the elf. "It is not her fault I am down here."

"No, it is not... I'm afraid the King thinks you a terrible threat to our realm."

"And do you think the same?"

The elf cocked his head, starlit hair tumbling over his shoulders: "I cannot see the danger he does. I had thought you were simply a man, but he spoke as if you were not."

"He spoke so because I am not."

"Then what are you?" At those words the shifter cracked a small smile, the likes of which contagious and spreading to the lips of his jailor. Nymmril craned his neck to stare up at the young elf.

"That is yet to be seen."

"You said something similar earlier, with the spiders. I think now is as good a time as any for you to reveal this ongoing mystery."

"Mystery is alluring, fair prince," the man replied, eyes glittering. "I'd hate for you to lose interest."

The noble elf seemed momentarily struck, as thought taken a-back by his prisoner's words. "It is not you that intrigues me but rather what you are," he decided.

Nymmril raised an eyebrow, tracing circles on the stone with his index. "You say that what I am and who I am are not the same... that is a concept I have never had the chance to play with. Pray, explain yourself."

"Race does not define. Actions do. One's soul is measured by the goodness in their heart, not the blood in their veins."

"I cannot see your father's soul weighing very much, if that's the case," the skin-changer sniped. The Prince's face tightened at the mention of the king. 

"He works hard. He does not have the time nor get the pleasure of goodwill towards others."

"And you? You are by definition your father's son, but does your heart whisper royalty?"

"I do not see how this concerns me! I was simply asking after the nature of your species and yet here you are twisting my words into riddles and examining my familial ties."

Nymmril shrugged, climbing to his feet and wrapping his lithe fingers around the bars before him. He leaned in with a dangerous smile, canines white in the cavern light. The elf prince narrowed his eyes.

"What I am and who I am are one and the same - they cannot be separated. If you lived as I have lived, you would know this, but instead you appear to have never left the Mirkwood; I assume it is unwise for you to ever stray too far from the King's side lest he tie you to his throne with real twine."

The elf surged forward, pressing his face to the bars in aggravation until their breaths mingled. His sapphire eyes burned a bright, starry blue and flared as he next spoke.