I do not own the following creations of J.R.R. Tolkien, Arda/Middle Earth, Imladris, Green Wood the Great/Mirkwood, Noldor elves, Sindar elves, Silvan elves, Legolas, Elrond, Thranduil, Erestor, Glorfindel, or Lindir. I did create Mellolaes, Rhovamil, Nithrestil, Collas, and Tirven.
There is one line in this chapter that references my oneshot "Evening Things," which is about Legolas, Collas, and Mellolaes in their youth.
This story is strictly for entertainment purposes only, so please read and be entertained. :)
Legolas stuffed another bite of salad into his mouth. A giggle caused him to glance up. Rhovamil was staring at him with a wide grin.
He blushed and looked back into his bowl. An elbow stabbed into his side. His gaze jerked to the elf beside him. Collas was smirking at him. The red-haired elf tilted his head toward the two elleth sitting across from them.
Legolas bowed his head and sighed. Then a corner of his mouth quirked up. Might as well get it over with. He looked up at their hosts.
"Gentle elleth, skilled healers of our Kingdom . . ."
Mellolaes and Nithrestil turned to him. Legolas set his bowl down in the grass, clasped his hands in front of himself, and raised his gaze to meet theirs.
"I must apologize to you both for my words and actions earlier. This day, the two of you did as all warriors and healers of Green Wood the Great should. You guarded life. The kindness you have shown to us makes my own foolishness all the more clear. I beg your forgiveness."
Mellolaes cocked her head to the side. The laughter within escaped from her eyes rather than her lips.
"You have mine, your highness."
Nithrestil nodded with a soft smile.
"You also have mine."
The son of their king smiled and nodded back. Then he picked up his salad again. His sister was chuckling to herself and his childhood friend was joining her. Yet, Legolas could not quite stop the smirk in his mind from spreading to his face.
The elves of Rivendell may have doubts about a wood elleths' ability to serve. The thought of Silvan defiance disquieted them. And the famous Silvan temper might have frightened their tamer kin off. Legolas almost laughed aloud as he imagined Erestor handling a refusal such as he had faced that day.
But the elves of Imladris discounted how a Silvan's protectiveness quelled not, even beneath orders. Silvan fury often proved too much for a servant of the enemy to overcome. The wood elf's ability to plan and do without royal input gave that royalty respite. And the Green elf generosity caused them to give beyond what was asked of them. Some of their kin would have perished without it. No, no servants in Imladris nor any elsewhere were better than those of his Father's own household. Legolas was sure of it. Mellolaes' voice broke into these thoughts.
"What are you smirking at Thranduilion?"
Legolas swallowed. Of course, Silvan eyes often caught more than you wanted them to. He took a gulp of his wine to give himself time to think. He could not relay Elrond's small opinion of her, especially not if the elven Lord ended up asking for her aid anyway.
He lowered his glass more quickly than he meant to and a splash of wine landed in the grass. As the Silvan elleth's eyes laughed at him he smiled back without answering. Then he gazed into the contents of his goblet as he swirled them slowly. Behind the hand holding up his chin, a smirk came to Legolas' face. He schooled his features into a grave expression, lifted his head, straightened his back, and deepened his voice.
"I was thinking how Morgoth's cruelty was thwarted by generosity like yours."
Mellolaes sat up and blinked twice. Then her eyes squinted at him in suspicion.
"How did such thoughts enter your mind?"
Legolas shrugged.
"They are worth remembering are they not? Those who endured the visage of the Dark Lord, slaved in his mines, and escaped only to wander in the wilderness when they were turned away from their homes, before finding one among our people."
"Elves like my grandfather, you mean."
The elves and elleth of the picnic turned their heads. A slight figure stood on the South edge of the meadow. Nithrestil sprang up from her place and raced towards it.
"Tirven!"
The elf opened his arms. The healer flew into them and they folded around her. Tirven smiled into the hair gracing the crown of his beloved's head.
The others in the meadow smiled at both of them. It was a shame, they thought, that these two had not met sooner. She had been in the south of the Great Wood and he in the north. The few times they had been near each other he had likely been too shy and perhaps too sure his place was in the King's palace to pursue her. Perhaps he had been so unassuming she had not even noticed him in those days.
He had come under her care as a healer soon after she had taken up residence in the Palace. Whether or not they would dare a marriage in these dark times, they shared with none. Neither wore a silver ring.
Collas grinned up at the new-comer.
"Welcome, Half-Silvan! Join us!"
Tirven did. As soon as he sat down in their circle, he looked to Legolas.
"Before you ask, no. As far as I know, your father did not notice your absence," he looked to Rhovamil,"nor yours," and finally locking gazes with Collas,"nor yours, and yes, the practice fields were as crowded as usual today."
Collas chuckled.
"I am sure you pressed on, and all thought you perfectly content with it so."
Tirven filled a free glass with a sigh.
"I did find myself wishing I had come with you at times."
Legolas laughed.
"You would have been more miserable if you had."
"Not if we had simply asked for the king's blessing."
Collas' eyebrows rose in mock disapproval.
"The king is always occupied with more important things these years. Should we truly have troubled him with our small request?"
Tirven shook his head. His smile was almost Silvan, yet had something grimmer about it as well. Gray eyes laughed gently as he raised his wine glass to his lips.
"You are never without an excuse, mellon nin."
Legolas watched and listened to Collas and Tirven banter for the ten-thousandth time. Rhovamil put in a sharp comment now and then. Mellolaes whispered something into Nithrestil's ear that made the Half-Silvan glance at the dark-haired elf and blush.
Legolas let his earlier comment echo in his mind. It occurred to him that both Mellolaes and Nithrestil were healers. Without such healers none of the exiles that found their way to the forests filled with light and song could have survived. One of his friends would have never been born. Silvan healers often seemed to be workers of miracles. Legolas smiled to himself. He should know. His own mother was one.
. . .
Lindir packed his trunks with the expression of a martyr. He should have been quite delighted to spend time in The Grey Havens. The location was The Western Shore, the departure point to immortal lands. The company was distinguished kin.
The minstrel sighed. He paused in walking to his trunk long enough to sip wine from the cup resting on the table in the center of the room. The elf laid it back down with a thud of resignation. He knew too well what would happen upon his arrival.
At first his presence and songs would be welcomed. He would sit by fires, chat, play, and converse in companionship. Then he would have to bring up the reason for his coming.
Within days all would gently avoid him. No one would wish to say "no" to him, and, therefore, to Elrond vicariously. All would do so anyway. Then he would have to return and relay their denials to his lord.
Of course it was a well deserved punishment. He knew he'd gotten off to easily for losing track of the child. If only one among all the free races would give his lord peace by taking on the task of watching over the manling.
. . .
The archers had decided to stay and sleep in the meadow after their day of practice. So tired were the warriors after training and traveling, they slept beneath the stars with their eyes closed. The elleth healers had also been tired from preparing the feast for their return, so they decided to sleep as well.
In the name of proprieties, the two sibling lay in the middle separating the elleth and elves who were not close kin. Legolas slept a few paces from his sister who had her back turned to him. Her old nurse smiled at that. Ever did the youngest Thranduilion show her independence. Legolas slept on his side facing her. Perhaps the better to awaken and defend his sister and the other elleth should anything foul approach.
Rhovamil asked her to sleep on her other side. Mellolaes had lowered herself to the grass laid down on her back, and fixed her gaze on the sky. Over the hours her face turned to rest on its side. She almost chuckled. The younger elleth did not sleep much differently than she used to as a child. The same grin of musing mischief graced her face. Slowly the Silvan's gaze traveled over her old charge. Her stare paused upon a pale face smooth with youth and yet wise with ages of seeing both the fair and the foul. She snapped her eyes back upward, turned over, and froze. Brown eyes twinkled sadly into her own.
Mellolaes' face flamed. She rose to her feet, brushed off her skirt, and turned to the woods.
"I'm not really that tired. I think I'll walk through the beauty of the night."
Nithrestil said nothing, but her friend felt herself followed by a pitying gaze. Mellolaes' wrapped her arms around herself. The air was not cold.
The elleth grit her teeth. She made it to the trees and walked among them. Their shade did nothing to cool the heat of her face. Branches swayed and whispered above The Silvan.
"What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong?"
She did not answer them. Not one word. They could not understand, and they might tell. Dread twisted her stomach. What if Rhovamil learned of it?
She knew the younger elleth well enough to guess what would come of that. The near elfling might become so excited her eyes would shine, her throat chuckle, and her feet bounce the younger elleth up and down like a leaf on choppy water. Then the young elleth would do all in her power to leave them alone together, even play pranks to orchestrate it. And she would say things to him, and wink at her and . . .
Or Rhovamil's eyes might spark, her hands grab her weapons, her feet stride over to him, and her bow and arrow demand the elf see what he had spent so many years missing. Either possibility was humiliation.
Mellolaes sat on a log and hugged herself. Come now. Would discovery really be so bad? Was she that proud? Surely it had happened before. She wasn't alone. She couldn't be. There were centuries before her. Did she want to live them all in fear? It might be better to have it over with and let the shame fade over time.
Mellolaes shook her head. She knew she should have told them to go on after they finished eating, or gone somewhere else herself. They wouldn't have suspected if she had only had some excuse. But if she took the basket back, which would have been the perfect excuse, he might have offered to come with her. That would have been much, much worse.
A groan escaped her. Suddenly, Mellolaes back shivered with the sensation of eyes boring into it. She turned, and froze. An elf stood behind her.
His form towered over hers. Green eyes glinted down in understanding. Yet, a wide grin graced his face. She smiled sheepishly back. He stepped over the log with his long legs, and sat down a few feet from her side.
"You never lost control of your cousins that day, did you?"
She didn't trust herself to speak. So, Mellolaes just shook her head while biting her lower lip. Collas chuckled.
"If it helps, he has never appreciated any other elleth in that way."
Mellolaes un-clenched her jaw.
"It does not help."
Half of the elf's grin fell.
"Ah . . . I am sorry to hear that."
The elleth glared into the distance. Her voice reached a quarrelsome pitch she was sorry for the moment it echoed in her ears.
"Nithrestil did not pity me so much until she and Tirven fell for each other. They are too afraid to marry during such a dark time. So, they just stare and sigh every time they see one another. And she pities me."
The elleth stilled and looked down into her lap. Collass chuckled.
"Legolas and I have been badgering Tirven to get it over with since we caught him carrying a flower to her."
Mellolaes shrugged. "And I've been doing the same with her. Can regret be worse than grief?"
One of Collas' eyebrows rose.
"You could be asked the same."
Mellolaes made a face and crossed her arms.
"I would only regret if I spoke. Now he knows nothing. That is torment. If he finds out, he will hide from me, look away from me when I enter a room, and then stare at me with pity when I look away from him. That would be worse torment."
"I see."
She sighed and turned to gaze at the elf by her side.
"What about you?"
Both of Collas' brows shot up.
"Get caught up in something like this? Ignorance is bliss. I will hold onto it until an elleth smacks me in the back of the head with something in frustration. Then I will wed, because doing otherwise would be too dangerous."
The healer rolled her eyes up at the sky. But she did so with an honest smile, so the elf was pleased. A fine elleth was she. Why fate treated her so, he could not comprehend. He ought to belt his friend in the mouth for not seeing. But that would be telling. His whole grin returned.
"Would playing a prank upon him help?"
The healer looked to him with interest. Collas lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. The elf they spoke of turned over to face the sky and opened his eyes in his sleep without suspecting a thing.
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God Bless
ScribeofHeroes