A/N: Thank you everyone for all the lovely reviews and encouragement! Without further ado, off we go!
Born From the Green
The third time Hermione woke in the wood, there were men searching the trees all around her. She shrunk back into the shadows of her willow, her first instinct being to hide. Memories of Death Eaters and Snatchers danced before her eyes, coupled with a childish fear of people, adult people, that she didn't know. She grit her teeth, pressing her lips into a thin line, irritated at herself for both things. These were not Death Eaters or Snatchers, and while she might look like a toddler, she was twenty years old, and would not succumb to a child's unreasonable fear.
But still, a little caution wouldn't go amiss.
Pressing her face to the silvery willow, she whispered as quietly as she could, "Who are they? Will they hurt me?"
She was not quiet enough, for every head turned toward her tree, making Hermione cringe. Their ears! How could she be so stupid, when it was so obvious! They could all hear extremely well, these elves. Hadn't she noticed how enhanced her own hearing was when she first woke up?
Elvenking, Elvenking, the willow tree sang to her, echoed by the others in the little glade. Keeper of the Green.
Hermione giggled, and then shushed herself, cursing the impulses of her childish body.
The elves were all looking at her tree now, and the one wearing a crown much like her own - woven of branches accented with budding flowers, which obviously meant he was the Elvenking - stepped forward to stand at the base of her tree.
"We will not hurt you, little dove," he called softly. His voice was surprisingly deep and smooth, making Hermione think of the phrase 'a voice like chocolate.' "Won't you come down?"
He was speaking that musical language. Hermione could tell if she concentrated hard, though it sounded like English otherwise.
The Elvenking looked up at her with icy blue eyes. His face was set in a gentle expression. His hair was a fine white that hung straight down to the middle of his back, and his features were as perfect as her own. His shoulders were wide and strong, his figure trim, and his legs long. He wore finely embroidered robes with flowing sleeves and an exquisite cut. He was every inch what an Elvenking should look like, and he reminded her strongly of Lucius Malfoy. Unconsciously, she ran her fingers over her arm, where she had once had 'Mudblood' carved into her flesh.
But the scarred word was not there anymore. Her new body was soft and unblemished, and lest she forget, naked save for the delicate crown of willow branches she wore on her head.
There were ten more elves in the glade. All were male. One looked very like the Elvenking, though his hair was a shade more golden and his cheeks a touch fuller, his eyes warmer. He had a coltish, unfinished look about him as if he were not quite grown, and Hermione deduced that he must be the king's son or nephew or perhaps younger brother. They were so similar, and yet different all at the same time. If the Elvenking made her think of moonlight, then the younger elf - Elvenprince? - reminded her of the sun.
The other elves were variations on the same theme - perfect, angelic beings with either blonde, light brown, or red hair, and eyes that ranged from brown to blue to green. All of them glowed just as Hermione did, though not as brightly as her. Aside from the Elvenking they were all dressed in tunics and the sort of leather armor that Hermione associated with childhood tales of Robin Hood. Perhaps they were the king's guard. Or perhaps the king had gone into the forest unexpectedly, unless he always dressed so… regally, in flowing robes and capes as finely woven as any tapestry to be found in Hogwarts.
"Won't you come down?" the Elvenking said again, reclaiming her attention.
Hermione looked at him, and thought to herself yes, he did look like Lucius Malfoy, but there was something else about him, a feel to him like he was one of the singing trees, a great tall redwood that would protect her from harm. Perhaps it was part of being an elf, that she could sense this about him. Perhaps it was because her willow was still whispering, Elvenking, Elvenking, Keeper of the Green.
Perhaps, a new thought surfaced, becoming an elf had twisted her magic to align with the abilities of her new body, and that was why she, who had always operated on logic and reason, was being swayed so much by a feeling and singing trees.
Well, there was nothing else for it. By all appearances she was a baby elf, and she wasn't going to get anything accomplished hiding in a tree, so even if she was naked she was going to climb down. Hopefully the Elvenking was a gentleman and would give her his cape.
It wouldn't be until years later, when Hermione had learned the history of the elves and how rare and wondrous children are to them and how advanced her connection to the wood was compared to other elves, that she would appreciate how she must have seemed to them in that moment.
For as soon as Hermione decided that she would climb down, the branches of the willow reached into her little hollow and gently wrapped around her, lifting her out and placing her on her feet before the Elvenking. All the while, all the trees around them sang,
Princess, Princess,
Born from the Green.
Sorceress, Healer,
Destined to be Queen.
It wasn't a prophecy. The trees just liked to make up rhymes. And even if it was a prophecy, prophecies were nonsense. Hermione certainly had enough experience with that. They were all self-fulfilling tripe. But the elves, who had seen an elfling seemingly be born from a tree already wearing a crown, thoroughly disagreed with her.
They all knelt, even the Elvenking, though he seemed to be doing it so he could more easily wrap his cape around her. So he was a gentleman then. That was a point in his favor.
"What is your name, little dove?" he asked, tilting his head to examine her.
She curtsied, because he was a king after all, and answered, "Hermione, your majesty" in her lilting little girl voice.
"Hermione," the Elvenking repeated, putting a fluting accent on the vowels that made the name sound exotic. "I do not recognize it. What does it mean?"
Hermione's question-answering reflex kicked in before she could stop herself. "Earthly messenger."
Murmuring broke out among the elves, Hermione's ears picking up the phrases 'Hall of Mandos' and 'glows in the way of Glorfindel.' The Elvenking's eyes sparked with some emotion that Hermione could not name. He seemed almost reverent… and perhaps a bit greedy. A few seconds later she realized the meaning of her name, the silly poem the trees had made up, the crown the willow tree had given her, and the fact that she glowed a bit more than elf-standard made her seem like some sort of demigod and honestly, this had Harry Potter stamped all over it. He'd somehow found a way to transfer his penchant for the ridiculous onto her.
Hermione opened her mouth to straighten everything out, but before she could utter a word, the Elvenking motioned his son/nephew/younger brother forward and had the younger elf kneel next to Hermione. Hermione turned her head to peer up at the youth, and he smiled, revealing two dimples that made Hermione smile back.
"Take her hand, Legolas," the Elvenking instructed.
Legolas reached down for her hand, which Hermione allowed because she was a toddler, so maybe the king was worried about her wandering off, but the instant their hands were joined she felt some kind of spark go through her, making her jerk in surprise. It was like a static shock. Legolas had obviously felt it too, because he was looking at her with wide eyes and a dopey smile.
Hermione just stared back at him, everything else around her fading into the background. Like the answer to a puzzle that had been just out of her reach, Hermione suddenly knew that Legolas was important and she must learn everything there was to know about him, effective immediately. She would follow him around for the rest of her life if she had to.
The Elvenking gave a rare blinding grin, but Hermione did not notice. She was too busy memorizing Legolas' face, deducing things about him based on what she could see. She did, however, notice when the Elvenking rose and spun to face the other elves, his robes swirling dramatically around him. In a commanding voice he announced to the gathered elves, "Behold your prince and his destined wife, sent to us by the Valar!"
And, wait, what?
Before she could process the fact that she'd just been declared engaged by the Elvenking or stop to wonder who the Valar were, Legolas was picking her up and holding her securely against his chest.
"Do not worry, little dove," he said to her, his expression earnest. His voice was not as deep as the Elvenking's, nor as smooth, but it was still a nice voice. Like honey instead of chocolate. "I will protect you and love you always. This I swear."
Ah well. That wasn't so bad then. He was handsome and she was planning on staying with him anyway, though she wasn't quite sure why - No, no, no, no one had asked her! And she was a child, sort of! And she'd be damned if she was going to be parented by her future husband, even if she did go through with this farce!
Swiftly coming to the conclusion that throwing a temper tantrum would just get her put in time out, she attempted to come up with an alternate plan. And she had something… but it was a bit mad. Not as mad as jumping on a dragon's back, but...
Wriggling around in Legolas' hold, Hermione stuck out her arms in the direction of the Elvenking, and very firmly called out, "Daddy!"
Of course, it came out as, "Ada!"
The king looked at her, his brows arched in surprise, and Hermione made her bottom lip wobble (which wasn't hard, she was about a hair away from a major meltdown) and called out again, "I want Ada!"
Legolas laughed and passed her into the stunned Elvenking's arms. Hermione latched on, wrapping her legs as far as they would go around the king's waist, and fisting her hands in his robes. They would have to pry her off!
The king was equal parts bemused and delighted, his lips quirking up at the corners. Just to cement her place, Hermione pressed a kiss to his cheek and called him 'Ada' again, then buried her face in his shoulder. The king rubbed her back.
She'd feel bad for the manipulation, but he had just unilaterally decided that she was marrying Legolas so. Serves him right.
