I did not create Estel/Aragorn, Elrond, Lindir, Erestor, Glorfindel, Elladan, Elrohir, Celebrian, Imladris, Rivendell, Greenwood the Great/Mirkwood, or Middle Earth. Tolkien did. The only characters in this story that I created are Mellolaes, her briefly mentioned ancestors, Collas, and Nithrestil.
I should also mention that in book canon Estel/Aragorn's mother was there to raise him during his childhood in Rivendell. That is not the case in my Middle Earth canon. So this is an AU.
This story is for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.
This chapter starts right after Legolas states the idea he mentioned having at the end of my story "Why Estel Got a Nurse." If you haven't read "Why Estel Got a Nurse" yet, I suggest you do so before reading this one.
You may have noticed that I rated this T, unlike "Why Estel Got a Nurse" and "Estel Gets a Nurse." This is because while the other stories had no real violence. This one will have blood and be more depressing, because some of it takes place in Mirkwood, which is experiencing an invasion of dark creatures of Sauron. I thought I should let you know.
Now you can start reading the actual story. :)
Legolas glanced from one dark haired elf to another. All three refused to meet his gaze. Finally, Elrond spoke.
"How old did you say this elleth is?"
"She is less than a half-century younger than I," Legolas replied.
Elrond glanced at his twin sons. They shrugged. Both had been considered adults centuries before Legolas was born. However, there were still times Elrond wasn't convinced his twins had "grown up." He looked back to the even younger warrior before him.
"You say her heritage is 'common' elf?"
"Silvan," Legolas corrected. "Her ancestors dwelt in trees, guarding themselves and their homes through their secrecy and courage, long before my father and his left Doriath."
"She has no Noldor blood, no ancestor of Doriath?"
"No, but her great-grandfather is Glingol. He provides the northern wood with honey and wax. His wife, Yavistui, is wise in the ways of fruit trees. Together they provide Green Wood the Great's warriors, my father's household, and the men of Laketown with dried and honey-coated fruit for the winter. Mellolaes' is also a descendent of Maercheredir, a famous Silvan artisan of pottery and basket weaving. He provided the Silvans with the means to store their food for winter long before my ancestors were their kings. His wife, Calnethril is the cloth maker of the Lakeshore. When my grandfather set up the earthen palace he wisely took them and their children into his household. There their skill grew beneath the instruction of those who followed Oropher from Doriath. The daughter of Calnethril apprenticed with the finest weaver of my grandfather's household, Celefnethril. Istuinethril soon surpassed her mother in the art. Istuinethril later wed one of the sons of Glingol and Yavistui. Their daughter is Mellolaes' mother, Merilvaid. Mellolaes has inherited her ancestor's skill and patience in working her tasks to perfection."
"What of the other branch of her family?"
Legolas broke eye contact with the elven Lord, before forcing himself to meet Elrond's gaze again. "Her father is a great warrior. All members of his family are either warriors or healers, which is likely how Mellolaes gained the gift of healing hands herself.
Elrond glanced back to his twins. They shrugged again. The Lord of Imladris straightened in his seat, leaned forward, and pinned Legolas with his stare.
"How Silvan is she?"
Legolas smirked nervously, "You mean is she defiant and reckless?"
Elrond shook his head while making a dismissive gesture with his head. "That is not all that 'Silvan' means."
"We are also asking if she sings and laughs as often as Silvan's are known to," Elrohir broke in helpfully.
"And does she aim her arrows better than she wields a sword when she's not speaking with trees?" Elladan broke in less helpfully.
Elrohir scowled at his twin. Elladan grinned back. Elrond lifted a brow at them both. Legolas rolled his eyes at them all, but turned a straight face back to Elrond.
"Some have called her reckless . . ." Elrond raised an eyebrow, but remained silent as the young elf went on, "and when she thinks differently than her superiors she may do something other than what they have asked." Legolas turned to Elrohir, "And, yes, she does sing and laugh more often than most elves in this valley." Legolas glared at Elladan, "She also speaks with trees. Though she is no warrior, she can draw a bow as well as aim an arrow. Her father has carefully taught all his descendents to defend themselves, and their home with both knife and bow. This last century my father has demanded the same from our entire household. I have never heard of her learning to wield a sword though."
"Then she is thoroughly Silvan," Elrond replied.
Legolas turned back to the Lord of Imladris. "Does being 'thoroughly Silvan' make one untrustworthy of the care of a child in Imladris?"
Elrond sighed and met Legolas' gaze. "No, Thranduilion, it does not. But it is apparent that Estel needs to learn obedience and discipline. Having one raise him, who holds these things lightly in esteem, could undermine his developing these qualities himself."
Legolas' shoulders lowered slightly. It was true. If Estel ever came fully into his own he would need to have court manners a true Silvan could not teach him.
"But, he has you, Erestor, Glorfindel, and us to teach him such things, Adar."
Legolas and Elrond both turned to stare at Elladan. Elrohir spoke next.
"Estel needs another who can play with him."
After a long moment of staring at his sons from beneath furrowed brows, Elrond turned to the other young elf and nodded. "I will keep your suggestion in mind as I make this decision."
The three younger elves left the study to go to the stables, where Legolas could check on his horse.
"How likely is it your adar will actually consider my suggestion?"
"He will when he runs out of other options," Elrohir replied.
. . .
Mellolaes raced through the wood. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her breath could not come fast enough.
I'm coming! I'm coming! She cried in her mind, as the scream in Ilúvatar's song drew nearer. She had not the breath to call with her mouth, and it wouldn't help anyway.
She could feel the anxiousness in Nithrestil behind her. Mellolaes had not told her friend why she suddenly raced away, yet Nithrestil didn't call out either. They were drawing near the area it was no longer safe to go. Nithrestil would know why soon.
Mellolaes sensed the guards and scouts scattered throughout the trees above her. They comforted her, but it wouldn't have mattered if they hadn't been there. Nothing mattered but this screaming she felt in the core of her Silvan heart and bones.
Some of the trees and plants were drawing aside for her. Mellolaes was grateful, especially with her skirts hampering her. She vaulted a log and heard cloth tear. She stumbled slightly, before catching herself and going on. The elleth grit her teeth in frustration.
I knew I should have changed into my archer's outfit.
Not that she was a true archer like those in the trees, or her brother, or her father. She kept in practice, but her passion was not in the song of hissing arrow and released bowstring. It was in healing. The scream in the song grew louder and closer.
Almost there, almost there! Her heart answered.
She rushed into a small clearing and stopped. This would be a good place to meet her patient. She sent out her message in touch, including the touch of her bare feet upon the earth. Please, please, block her path, close her in, stop her flight!
The bushes and trees were more reluctant to do this than they were to clear her path. Getting out of the way was one thing. Getting into the way was another. A few did as she asked, but not fast enough.
Mellolaes could feel Nithrestil catching up behind. A strong elf warrior was somewhere overhead, but Mellolaes' own eyes focused on where the bushes were being crashed through. She tensed.
The doe burst from the bushes and trees. Her sides were swelling and lathered. Her eyes were widened in terror. The plants in her way were not holding her. Mellolaes stepped in the deer's path and held up her arms. If the deer simply continued over her . . .
An elven warrior dropped from the trees and wrapped his arms around the doe's neck as he landed, his feet barely touching the ground. The doe reared up on her hind legs, then brought them down with a thump and froze. Mellolaes took a stride backward to avoid the front hooves. Then she rushed forward and wrapped her arms about the neck and heaving chest of the animal as well. The warrior smiled wearily at Mellolaes. "In need of aid, milady?"
"Yes, thank you, Collas."
Nithrestil appeared. She began to sing a healing song of Doriath. Mellolaes and Collas joined in the song.
The doe continued to shiver where she stood, but the elf and elleth could feel the terror draining out off her. Collas and Mellolaes loosened their grip, and ran their hands over her flanks. Blood. Long gashes. Warg bites!
The doe suddenly collapsed. Mellolaes and Collas knelt down at her side. Nithrestil leapt forward, sat down with crossed legs, lifted the doe's head, and placed it in her lap. She ran her hand over its head and continued to softly sing.
"She must have run for miles," Collas said. Mellolaes nodded. Both Silvans could sense there were no wargs nearby.
Nithrestil broke off from her song. Her voice trembled, though she kept it sweet and smooth. "I don't think we can save her."
Mellolaes pulled some of the Atheleas she had been gathering from her pouch and placed it against the bite marks without replying. A short while later, the doe sighed and went still.
Mellolaes smashed her fist against the earth. Collas cursed all wargs. Nithrestil looked up and met Mellolaes' gaze. "The fawn!"
Mellolaes put her hands and one ear over the stilled side and listened. Yes, the fawn was still alive inside, a few days from being born. Mellolaes became still. The rest of the song, her surroundings, faded from her mind. She concentrated on the sound of the heartbeat, the way it pulsed pushing life throughout the rest of the creature. A picture formed in her mind of where the fawn's heart was, its chest, its head, its body, and finally all four legs and hooves. She knew where it was, and where it wasn't.
Collas was just about to reach out to both comfort and draw Mellolaes away when she drew her knife. Before he could stop her, she stabbed the doe's underside. The cut was far up missing both of the tiny, folded in, back legs within. She drew the blade down. Thank Iluvatar and the king for sharp, elven, healer's blades from Rivendell. Warm blood gushed out over the grass. The moment after Mellolaes realized the blood might not only draw the forest's wolves, but also entice wargs deeper into their realm.
Oops . . .
After thinking this, Mellolaes finally felt the fear and frustration of the warrior at her side. She also noted the amazement and nervousness of her friend. The Healer paused for a moment.
I might as well finish now.
Mellolaes dropped the blade and thrust her arms inside the warm body. Her hands wrapped around the front and back leg. She pulled. The fawn emerged and began to struggle at the sudden change of environment. It was a little doe.
Mellolaes smiled. She had already known, but it was so nice to see with her eyes what she'd felt in the song. She wiped blood and other bodily fluids of birth from the creature. Nithrestil came over to help. Collas grimaced before turning his face away.
"Why great warrior, don't you see blood all the time?" Mellolaes asked.
Collas nodded. "I do, but I don't purposely cover myself in it."
Mellolaes and Nithrestil dried the fawn off together with Collas standing next to them, not watching. Several other warriors had surrounded them in the branches above now.
Mellolaes lifted the new-born in her arms, stood, and strode toward the nearest stream of water. She, Nithrestil, and Collas left the body of the doe for the wolves. All gave backward glances of regret. Some of the warriors in the trees followed them, and others went to reinforce the border, and watch for the wargs that would be drawn to the blood.
At the stream, Nithrestil took the fawn from Mellolaes and finished cleaning it with the water. Mellolaes stepped away to clean herself. In the end she removed both her outer shirt and skirt. Collas' eyes widened at this. He quickly drew back and turned away yet again. The other warriors in the trees joined him in this, except for the few elleth among them.
Nithrestil then handed the fawn back to Mellolaes. The darker elleth also removed her light cloak and put it over her friend's shoulders. The cloak covered Mellolaes' back, and the Fawn covered her front. The under skirt was just barely see-through anyway. The leggings beneath were the same color.
The small creature shivered and nestled into Mellolaes' arms, as content as a hungry fawn could be, but she was hungry. Mellolaes let her lick some water from her fingers, but water was not all the babe needed.
. . .
The three elves approached a thicket of brambles. Curled up within them was a tiny, female fawn three days old. "One of a pair of twins," Nithrestil sighed. "The other was dead before they were born."
"Such things did not used to happen in Green Wood the Great."
Collas and most of the other warriors were growing bitter with their inability to hold back the evil that was spreading through their Kingdom. Nithrestil reached up and touched his arm in shared sorrow. She used to live in the now darkened southern section of their wood.
The elf sighed. Then he turned and held his arms out while keeping his eyes upon the place the older fawn hid. "Give me the babe then."
"Why?" Mellolaes asked stepping back. "Do you even know what to do?"
Collas was startled into looking at her. He placed his hands on his hips and laughed. "I was finding new born fawns before you were born."
"Not for very long before," she answered with a smile.
He opened his own grinning mouth to say something back, but Nithrestil reached up and laid a hand on his shoulder.
"Just let her do it, she knows what she wants done."
Collas gave the briefest of doubtful glances at the hem of Mellolaes skirt, but then shrugged and leapt into the tree above. Mellolaes took a deep breath, held the fawn close, and began to struggle toward the other fawn through the brambles. Cursed skirt!
She sang as she approached. The other fawn looked up in curiosity, unafraid. She was small, even for only being three days old, as a twin would be. She was just the same size as the fawn Mellolaes held. Mellolaes set her patient down beside the other fawn, carefully watching their meeting. They sniffed each other. Then the new born cuddled against the slightly older creature who let her.
Mellolaes grabbed handfuls of the nearby soil that smelled most of the urine and droppings of this fawn and its mother. This she rubbed them over the orphan, while continuing to sing. Nithrestil went out to find and ready the doe.
The songs of both the Green Wood Silvans and those of Doriath are powerful in their effect upon animals. The doe returned to her own fawn in a motherly and loving mood. She first sniffed the new fawn in suspicion, but she only smelled the scent of her own fawn, herself, and the elves she trusted. At the new fawn's hungry cries the doe's instincts kicked in. She let both fawns nurse. Mellolaes, Nithrestil, and Collas sighed in relief.
Just in case, Mellolaes perched in a nearby tree to continue to watch. Nithrestil went back to the palace to get her friend a change of clothes. When she returned she took over the watch. Mellolaes changed behind a surrounding veil of helpful vines, trees, and brambles. When she came out, fully dressed, she almost ran into a waiting Collas. His merry, green eyes were unusually solemn.
"I'm going to have to inform the King about how you endangered our Kingdom, Mellolaes."
The elleth sighed. "I know. I didn't think, at least I was thinking, but only about saving the life before me."
"Which is why you are a healer and not a warrior," Collas said softly.
Mellolaes looked up into the elf's face with a sly smile. "It seems I've heard of certain warrior's saving one life, against orders, and in a reckless manner."
Collas cleared his throat, while trying to stop a grin from spreading over his face. "We are always punished for that." Mellolaes laid a hand on one of the warrior's crossed arms. He looked down into her smiling face.
"Warriors are not that different from healers," Mellolaes insisted.
A grin spread over the elf's face. He slowly shook his head and chuckled. "No. No, we are not. I will speak and say so to the King. He is more understanding about Silvan recklessness than you would suppose, unless it is one of his family members. Then he is less understanding. Yet, if your recklessness was in saving one of his family, he is more understanding."
"You speak from experience?"
Collas chuckled and shrugged. "Captain Legolas takes after his mother."
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