Match-maker
Chapter 1: An Agreement
Spring had come and passed, and summer sped by in a whirlwind of events. The forest floor of Eryn Lasgalen was now covered in the fallen leaves and the few leaves that remained on the branches were painted in varying autumnal hues of reds and yellows. Under an oak tree, a solitary figure sought respite from all the hustle and bustle of elves preparing for the annual autumn feast. Bow and quiver were rested on a rock nearby, placed carefully in the manner of a warrior.
Sinking to the ground and resting his blonde head against the tree, the elf relaxed into the solitude of the forest, inhaling the forest air and simply revelling in the familiar sounds and smells of the forest. Oak, beech, ash, these were the trees in which he had spent many happy childhood days holed up in one bough or other. Hearing the murmur of trees singing their delight at his return, seeing the vast expanse of greenery that spread as far as his eye could see, feeling the craggy, worn bark of the old oak tree beneath sensitive fingertips, he was flooded with happiness. He was home.
With an impish grin, he grabbed a handful leaves and tossed them into the air. He was careful though to ensure that they landed in front of him, and not on him. While a little mess did not bother him, his father was of a different mind regarding appearances.
As he settled down quite comfortably in his position, the news he received upon his return soon came to his mind, none of it pleasant. He shook his head as if to dispel distasteful thoughts, though they persisted in tormenting him. It was a festive season and he should be filled with light and joy.
Yet despite his relaxed pose, he had completely not abandoned caution, his senses extended to their limit as he searched the surroundings for possible danger. Though peace had come, it was always prudent to be certain of safety for small bands of orcs still took to prowling around.
It was safe, he decided after a moment, but wait, his keen hearing picked up the sounds of approaching footsteps. The possibility of threat was dismissed, however, as at the very same moment, he had detected the faint hum of elven song, a very familiar tune and voice at that. He smiled to himself and rose to his feet, determined to surprise the other with a very warm welcome indeed.
Scant minutes later, a second elf appeared in the clearing. He was dressed in the greens and browns of the Mirkwood Home Guard and a hood obscured much of his face in shadow. His arms were folded across his chest and in each hand, a long white elven knife, while bow and quiver were slung across the back. This was surely not a figure to be crossed.
A knife appeared seemingly out of nowhere, swung in an downward arc at the newcomer, who calmly parried the stroke aside with one blade. The assailant seemed to be deterred as the knife was swiftly withdrawn and there was the sound of metal being sheathed.
The first elf materialised from the shadows, twirling an arrow from his quiver in his right hand. The second merely regarded him coolly, piercing gray eyes sparkling from beneath the hood. Neither seemed alarmed at the turn of events.
'You found me earlier than I would have expected.'
The second elf threw back his hood and swept his dark hair out from beneath the fabric, all the while, gray gaze pinioning the other with a mock glower. It was revealed in that moment that the he was actually a she— a beautiful, feisty maiden to be exact.
'Are you insinuating something? A lack of speed perhaps? Speak for yourself.' There was a hint of challenge in the calm accusation, indignation bleeding through dulcet tones.
'I made no such statement. You read too deeply into my words.' Quiet, collected, it was answered blandly.
'Nay, you cannot deny the hidden meaning in those words. I demand a withdrawal of that unfounded allegation.' There was open challenge in her words, but by now, wide smiles had slowly spread across their initially stolid expressions, ruining any pretense of levity and hostility.
'Welcome back, Legolas.' They clasped forearms in a warrior's greeting, and then maiden embraced him fiercely, almost toppling them both.
'I would appreciate if you released me.' He said wryly, gently prying her arms off him and releasing himself from her death grip. 'If I was not so certain otherwise, I would have been convinced that you greeted an elf returned from the halls of Mandos.'
'Not quite, but it comes close. A certain elven prince was supposed to be delivering a message to Imladris but ending up gallivanting on a Quest to save Middle-earth, slaying orcs and abandoning his fellows in Mirkwood.' Legolas laughed, rubbing his arms where they had been bruised by the overenthusiastic hug, but her sharp gray eyes did not miss the fleeting shadow in the clear grey glance and she resolved to talk to him about it later. For now, she sensed a different sort of problem.
'Something troubles you.' It was in very countenance, the slight furrowing of brows, the creases at the corner of the mouth, the hint of a grimace and the elusive slump in his shoulder, as if warding off an unpleasant thought. Yes, something was definitely wrong.
'You think too much. Nothing is the matter.' Legolas shrugged off the question mildly. His feigned insouciance did not fool her. In fact, his attention to the arrow in his hands and the refusal to meet her glance, only served to reinforce the impression of something amiss. She did not immediately expose his untruth, though, waiting to allow him to reveal what he would.
Minutes passed in silence. When no answer was forthcoming, she decided that a more direct approach was needed.
'Out with it, Thranduilion. You are clearly distressed and morose, and broadcasting the signal for anyone who can read it. Speak.'
When he did not respond, she continued to speak, baiting him out of his self-imposed silence. 'And if I may hazard a guess. Nine out of ten, this has something to do with your father.'
Legolas sighed, resigned to the fact that it was pointless to lie to his best friend. At times like these, he wondered if she had the ability to read minds. Resigned to his fate, he nodded slowly, but did not seek to explain further. In response, she prompted him repeatedly with discreet coughs. Sighing for a second time in the brief span of a few seconds, he recalled his friend's tenacity in attaining her goals. He scowled, knowing that there was no other way, but not content to let his friend get away with her prying.
'My father...' He opened his mouth to speak, but stopped as abruptly as he started. He honestly had no idea where to start. But he did not have to reply after all, for his friend already had the answer.
'Let me guess, could it be your father will be arranging a ball, which you are obligated to attend and during which you are to socialise and possibly find yourself a match?' She paused thoughtfully, letting the question linger in the air, smirking. Legolas arched a brow.
'It seems you should have been a soothsayer under the Lady Galadriel instead of loitering around and annoying me to no end. Indeed, my father has decided that since I have been taking forever to find a companion, it would only be appropriate to organise a ball to allow me to— what is that term he uses, ah yes— review my options. In contrast to his enthusiasm, I have plans otherwise. Much as I appreciate his efforts, I am enjoying my status as an eligible bachelor and would like to remain as I am. Pray tell, how come you by this piece of information?'
'I am psychic.' She said smugly, a smile playing on her lips. Legolas evidently did not believe her. The truth was she had been on her way to the forest when she overheard the conversation between the king and her father.
'Cheer up, if your shoulders droop any lower, you will be sweeping the ground with your tunic. At least your father gave you until the last day of spring to find a maiden of your choice, before he enforces the ball.' She said in an effort to lighten her friend's mood. For all her efforts, he gave her a look that would silence an orc.
'Take it that I said naught, then.' She said, plunging into thought as she contemplated how she could be of help. Her curious silence garnered a puzzled look from the prince. 'What are you doing?'
'I'm helping you to think. Two heads are better than one.' She said in reply. For a few moments the atmosphere was disquietingly silent. Legolas could feel the eerie silence reverberating in his ears, feeling him with a sense of unease. He could almost imagine the cogs turning in her head, her mind swirling with all sorts of ideas.
Then suddenly her eyes lit up with a light that made Legolas even more uncomfortable. I think I know what she is going to say and I do not want to know what she has to say. He squeezed his eyes shut, willing for his friend not to speak, but his prayers were either unheard or conveniently ignored.
'I have a proposal to make,' Mirielel said a little too smugly for comfort. 'What say you, to me helping you find your match.'
'No.' The answer was an instantaneous, resounding no. Mirielel was trouble on legs, and any of her schemes would inevitably result in mayhem. Of course, the fact that the very same thing could be said of himself did not occur to Legolas, who had been the chief mastermind in executing many of her schemes and had orchestrated many more equally convoluted plots of his own. This would not occur to him. Neither would he remember that the notorious stunts pulled off by they pulled off along with two childhood friends had collectively earned them the nickname of the Fearsome Foursome. Right now, he only knew that this particular look in her eyes spelt trouble, and in that moment he knew fear.
The fact that her most recent attempt at matchmaking had ended up in abject failure was further reason to say no. She had introduced Legolas to a beautiful, gentle, intelligent and understanding maiden, who had quite charmed the prince. Only that they would find out months later, that she was not quite as gentle or understanding as they had supposed. Quite to the contrary, she had a jealous streak that ran a mile wide and had firmly forbidden Legolas from associating with any member of the opposite gender. Legolas was not allowed to talk to Mirielel, who had been his lifelong friend and confidante. She had even flared up on seeing him take a bowl from the butler's wife, a matronly figure who had been his nanny as an elfling! It seemed that her jealousy knew no bounds.
Having tired of her endless insecurities and accusations, Legolas had broken off their relationship, but the girl took to stalking him and confronting any female he came into contact with. It was only when her mother arrived at the palace, looking terribly flustered as she looked for her daughter, did they find out that the girl was insane, devastated by the loss of her love in a skirmish with orcs. The mother had brought the girl home to the woodland settlement just north of the palace, reassuring the prince that she would be under constant supervision, but the incident had resulted in a general wariness that Legolas exhibited especially whenever he was out of the palace.
Judging by the look on her face, Mirielel seemed to have thought of the incident too. 'Oh, that time.'
'How was I to know that she was mentally unstable. She exhibited no outward signs at all. Surely you can't hold that against me?' She protested weakly.
But the prince would not be swayed.
She tried every form of persuasion she knew, and seeing as her father was a diplomat in Thranduil's court, and she, once his understudy, her repertoire was considerable. She proceeded to try every trick in the book: She swore on the warrior's code, begged him humbly, promised to complete a host of favours, even used their friendship as leverage, yet Legolas remained firm in his rejection of her help. She flashed her a smile that would melt glaciers and used her puppy dog eyes; combined they almost broke his resolve, but he just managed to hang on and refuse her.
Finally convinced that he would not concede, Mirielel slumped onto the grass, ready to admit defeat. The elleth painted a despondent picture, her head drooping, shoulders sagging and eyes downcast. She looked so utterly cheerless, that the prince could not resist the feelings of sympathy for he knew she had truly tried her best the last time and the maiden's insanity was hardly discernible even to the girl's own mother (as she had revealed) at times. The use of her charm, and the rising sympathy and desire to see Mirielel restored to her constant state of effervescence proved to undo the prince.
Legolas sighed. He could never deny anything she wanted. 'Why did I have to fall for that?' He wondered out loud for the umpteenth time in his life.
Mirielel looked up at him and blinked, the implications of his resigned statement only just registering in her mind. 'You mean...'
Legolas nodded.
'Yes!' Mirielel was practically bounding with joy. The elf maiden took her friend's hands and did a little victory jig to celebrate. Legolas on the other hand, was none too ecstatic and even starting to think he had made the wrong choice. Trying to reassure himself that all would be well, he could already hear Lasbelin's cynical laughter in his head. However, seeing her joy, he shook his head and berated himself for his weakness, before half-grudgingly allowing himself to be brought into her celebratory display.
