I do not own, neither did I create Estel/Aragorn, Erestor, Elrond, Middle Earth, Imladris/The Hidden Valley, Green Wood the Great, The Lay of Luthien," "The Tragedy of Turin Tarambar" or Gondolin. J. R. R. Tolkien did, and I am extremely grateful to him for doing so.
I did create Mellolaes the Silvan nurse.
This piece has been written for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained.
"Erestor sounds so sad, Melly. Won't you go and cheer him up like you do me?"
Mellolaes paused in her painting. She raised her gaze from the parchment resting between her and Estel. Then she cocked her head at the boy. "Are you sure I could cheer him up the way I cheer you up mellon nin?"
The manling nodded his eyes looking straight into hers and his mouth set in a firm line. "Oh yes, Melly, you can cheer anyone up."
The elleth chuckled. Then she looked back to the banner lying between them. Her mind wondered back over the hours since Imladris' steward landed hard on an ice-covered porch.
The bone in one of Erector's hips had been broken by the fall. A human would have sustained even greater injury. The Noldo was sure to mend faster than any mortal would from a similar accident. However, his damaged bone, muscles, and skin pained him unless he took the medicine Lord Elrond commanded he consume daily. The steward would have to lie abed for too long a period of time from his own perspective in order to heal properly too.
Mellolaes had walked by the ellon's room only yesterday. Melancholy notes had floated out of it. The flute music had sounded like anger and frustration and crying to her. Apparently Estel had heard it too. His voice broke through her thoughts again. "Won't you help him cheer up Melly? Please?"
The elleth almost flinched. Her charge was much nearer now. She sat up straighter and looked into the boy's eyes. They were moist and pleading. Paint-stained fingers had wrapped around a sleeve of her gown. The manling's knees rested in their painting as he now knelt right in front of her. The elleth smiled sadly at him, swallowed, and finally nodded. "I will … attempt … to cheer him, mellon nin."
. . .
"Good morning, Erestor!"
The Noldo raised his eyes from his book and blinked. Estel's Silvan nurse had slipped into his room carrying his tray. The articles sitting upon it were arranged just so, indicating to him she had not arranged them. She must have relieved the servant who had been carrying it to him of her duty. When Erestor realized this, he blinked at the Silvan again. "I cannot agree with that statement until I know where my student is. Why are you here serving me instead of staying with him?"
Mellolaes set his tray on a table near Erestor's bed wearing the same smile she'd come in with. Then she sat on a nearby stool and smoothed her skirts before looking at him and replying. "Well, my charge charged me with your care."
She gave Erestor an even brighter smile as she continued. "He is also currently with his adda. Your injury has built higher Estel's desire to become a healer himself. He has captured the promise of lessons with his ada for the whole morning and perhaps into the afternoon as well." Her lips went silent and then spread into a huge smile again aimed at him.
The dark-haired elf lifted an eyebrow at the Silvan. "Could not you be giving him those lessons yourself?"
Mellolaes shrugged her shoulders and reached for the teapot on the tray. "I could, but I hate separating those two when their heads are bent over bandages and healing pastes."
Erestor watched her pour the tea into a cup. "Could you not inform Estel I'm satisfied with my usual care?"
Mellolaes lifted the spout of the teapot and her gaze. As she fixed the latter on the Noldo's face, she raised her eyebrows at him as well. "Are you?"
Erestor frowned and looked away. "I am as pleased and comfortable as I can be at such a time."
Mellolaes pursed her lips. She began studying the room while thinking of a reply. A stack of books rested by the ellon's elbow. His flute lay at his other side beside the uninjured hip. The sight of the instrument hardened her resolve.
Mellolaes took a deep breath and crossed her arms. "Your friend and mine sent me to make you feel better." She raised her chin and looked down at him. "And I plan to."
Erestor looked back to the pages of the book he held. "My hip will not be fully healed for some days. If an emergency occurs that needs Lord Elrond and his captain's attention, someone else will need to watch Estel … and not just his brothers. 'I' obviously cannot do so for some time obviously."
Mellolaes' fists clenched in her lap. The burn of challenge pulsed through her veins. The more the ancient elf pushed her away, the more firmly she planted her roots. The more he insisted on being miserable, the more she itched to make him smile.
You will not dissuade me infuriating one.
Her gaze fell upon his books as her brows knit together in consternation. Then her eyes flew wide open. "What are all these?" She picked up the book on top of the pile, "The Lay of Luthien?"
Then she caught sight of the title of the book "The Lay of Luthien" had rested upon. "The Tragedy of Turin Tarambar" lay so that the title of the book beneath it was readable also, "The Battle of Unnumbered Tears." With a slight shove Mellolaes uncovered the title of the book beneath both of these. She revealed, "The Fall of Gondalin." The elleth's jaw dropped. Her mouth hung wide open. "No wonder you're so melancholy!"
Eresror scowled up at the elleth. "All these are works of art, in calligraphy, in poetry, in meaning. They are also recordings of my people's history, of the actions of our heroes."
"And their failures, deaths, and follies," Mellolaes added. She studied the book of her hand. Even this tale, the cheeriest of all these, really, ended with a sorrow that had touched her own people, which ended up giving birth to even more sorrow for them later. Her eyes remained wide as all this buzzed in her brain. "How long has it been since you've heard a cheerful tale Erestor?"
The Steward sighed through gritted teeth before he replied. "Mellolaes Merilvadian. I have no desire to hear of how a fox outwitted a wolf, a bird built her nest, or a bear made off with the hive of honey. I find such simplistic stories annoying."
Mellolaes let the book she held fall a short distance atop the others before looking at him. Her hands snapped to her hips. "You think those the only tales I know, or my people tell?"
Erestor shook his head and looked back to his own book again. "Whatever other tales your people know worth hearing, I have already heard them and overseen their copying as with my own people's stories and those of the Sindar."
"Perhaps you might like to hear one of my people's tales that has not yet been written down."
"Such a tale would hardly be worth hearing."
"Oh?"
"All the great stories remembered have already been written down, as well as put into verses and then music long ago. There is no worthy tale already lived left to record now unless it just occurred. We only rerecord worthy tales endlessly as the paper they are written upon turns to dust."
The elleth stared at him for a dozen heat-beats. "What if it were not so?"
He looked up to stare at her. She grinned at him, or perhaps it was a smirk. "What if I told you a tale, not yet recorded, though widely known among my people. Would a new tale cheer you now?"
"No 'cheery' tale is truly worth immortalizing in verse."
Mellolaes jaw tightened. "Is that a challenge?"
Erestor stared back, he also did not blink for two dozen heartbeats. "Will you leave if I find it unmoving?"
A Silvan smirk spread over Mellolaes' face. "You must give me one hour at least."
Erestor nodded, closed his book, and set it aside without taking his eyes off the elleth. "Then you have a challenge."
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ScribeofHeroes
