Chapter Eleven: Calm Before the Storm

A week passed since the day of the race and tournament. The Galadhrim busied themselves before parting their separate ways. The prince gloried in the work to be done, grateful for any task to divert his mind from the events that had transpired in the garden. He sat sprawled in a desk chair near the window of his room, sifting through lists of supplies, stock, weaponry, and names of elves journeying with him to Ithilien.

His mind hardly met the job at hand; instead he dreamed of the open road before him, the new challenges ahead, and the bittersweet reality of leaving his family behind in Mirkwood. His father had not wished him to go, yet Thranduil recognized the same independent streak in Legolas as his own. He remembered in vivid detail the heated discussions he had endured with the king on the point of Ithilien.

"You are my son," Thranduil had raged, "and it is your position, no—duty, to stay and serve Mirkwood."

Legolas knew to be adamant. "My brother had already taken over most of your duties, Ada. I am not needed in court, as my absence has well proved. Mirkwood still stands, does it not?"

"I do not understand why you would openly embrace leadership in Gondor when such things are so tiresome to you here," Thranduil argued.

Legolas could tell his father grew angry. He lowered his voice. "I do not wish do dwell in Oromer's shadow, Ada."

"Nor have you since the War, my son. You have won great fame for yourself among men and the Eldar," Thranduil said proudly.

"I do not wish to settle for second place, my father. I cannot. I will not," Legolas said firmly.

"So this is my beloved Legolas' future? To live among men?" Thranduil mused sadly, "and leave his family behind?"

Legolas silently begged, 'Please do not make me feel guilty, Ada,' and then spoke up, "Please understand, my father. I beg leave, not because of less love for my family, but I desire to build a new life…"

Thranduil interrupted, "Was your old one so horrible to you, son?"

"No…but I had grown too complacent in these woods, easy in my position, letting Middle Earth roll by…" Legolas paused and remembered the day he had left Rivendell with the Fellowship. "When Lord Elrond chose me for the Fellowship, I felt needed, depended on—and not just for my title. I saw more of the world than I ever had before… I will not stay in Mirkwood and be an object for the people here, doing nothing, changing nothing, helping no one—I want so much more." Legolas took a deep breath. Never had he been so candid or persistent with his father.

"You have changed, my son. You stand before me, and I see myself in your eyes. I rejoice in your strength and will, even though this joy will be dearly bought." Thranduil rose from his throne to embrace his son. "When you are lord over Ithilien, kindly remember that your Ada loves you very much."

Legolas stood there, stunned by the words and deeds of his father. He would make his Ada proud once more.

So much come to pass since that fateful day. Legolas peered thoughtfully through his window to the golden mallorn leaves fluttering in the breeze. In a few days' time he would see his king, his father, once more. They were to meet on the edge of Mirkwood before his departed with both his Mirkwood and Lothlorien parties for Ithilien. Saying goodbye would not prove easy, especially with his younger sisters, Celeril and Idrian. He had cherished them since the day of their births, especially Celeril.

When she was an elfling, she had looked to her older brother to make everything right. She confided in him, and he, in her. If Thranduil had been too strict, Oromer too bossy, or she had fought with Idrian, she knew Legolas would understand. When she had her first kiss, he was the first she told, and when dark dreams plagued his nights after his return, she alone knew and brought him comfort. He would miss her dearly, but perhaps it was for the best. She was still very young. His time with the Fellowship had forced him to face reality, and he knew that he could no longer join her in silly pranks or wild escapades. Still, saying goodbye would not come easy.

Legolas traced the fading shadows on his desk as the sun met the treetops. There would be no elaborate dinners tonight, only quiet thoughtful meals with family, supping on simple fares and the promise of farewell. He had no family here and had graciously refused several invitations from families, including the Lord and Lady as well as Eledhel. He would have enjoyed mulling things over with his friend, but did not relish the thought of making pleasantries with Miredhel, each pretending as if nothing had happened. He abhorred pretense. He had gently refused, making no excuses to his friend.

Legolas arose from his desk, and stretching his long legs, left his flet in direction of the kitchens, fully knowing that he could have had a servant bring him something. He preferred to get out for a while and enjoy the fading sun's last light. Legolas reached the kitchens and secured a loaf and a skin of wine. He stuffed them both into his pack and made his way through the city paths.

Somehow inexplicably, or perhaps fate intervened, Legolas found himself near the 'Lovers' Ring' garden. He swore no particular allegiance to this place and only felt embarrassment when he looked upon it. The garden was one of the loveliest in the Golden Wood, and the prince had yet to enjoy it on his own. He peered around the gate and upon seeing that it was in fact empty, he entered the garden, deliberately choosing not to sit on Miredhel's favorite bench. Legolas pulled out his supper and feeling very hungry, devoured it. He desperately wished for another loaf and perhaps some cheese as well and then chided himself for picking up hobbit-like habits.

In the fading light, Legolas could not help but think of the night of the race…and her. He was still not sure what went wrong. Certainly she could not find fault with his end of the kiss. He had done exactly so many times and without complaint, usually quite the contrary. It was not her refusal, but the uncertainty of her reasons, that bothered him the most. She offered no explanation for her actions, and then denied that she had felt anything at all, when he was so sure she had… In times like this, Legolas wished for a confidante—Aragorn, Gimli, or Celeril. Many times had he depended on her insight and frankness to set him straight. Perhaps he could speak with her when they reached Mirkwood. It would be the last time, he thought glumly. His father insisted that the twins stay in Mirkwood.

Legolas nearly lost himself in his thoughts when he felt someone draw near. He snapped his head toward the gate, only to see a retreating figure. It was her, Miredhel. He inwardly groaned.

Feeling very foolish, he called after her. "You do not have to go, Lady Miredhel. I would not rob you of visiting your garden one last time in such a witching hour as this."

She stopped and turned.

"I was only just leaving," he declared.

"You were here first, Prince Legolas. I only wished to look upon it one last time."

"Please do so," he said and made ready to leave, picking up his things.

She crossed the garden before him, diverting her eyes to the trees, the sky, anything but his eyes. A breeze picked up through the forest, and the flowers nodded on their stems toward the two very uncomfortable elves. Legolas sensed a change in the air.

"It is going to rain," he announced blandly.

"When?" Miredhel turned her head to him and then the sky, checking for tell-tale signs. "How can you be so sure? I see no evidence."

"The air grows heavier, and the wind has picked up. I am positive a storm rolls in."

"Caras Galadhon rarely has storms. Her ladyship's magic protects this wood," Miredhel pointed out.

"Miredhel, do you not understand?" Legolas pointed at the sky. "That power fades even as we speak. Lady Galadriel can no longer bind the woods in her protection. Look now to the sky." Dark clouds began to blanket the treetops, choking thin the last vestiges of sunset.

Miredhel scowled at him as if this had been his doing somehow. Fat raindrops began to streak down from the sky.

"Come, we must make for shelter, " Legolas said, tilting his head toward the garden gate.

"I will just head home, sir," said Miredhel, and she walked briskly toward the gate.

"Please allow me to escort you." Legolas silently cursed his gallantry. All he had wanted was to avoid her, and now he offered to walk her home.

"If it pleases you, your highness," she agreed.

Together they hurried toward Miredhel and Eledhel's flet. The rain began to fall in sheets.

"We might do better to wait out the storm," Legolas shouted to her. When she refused to stop, he grabbed her arm and pulled her under a sheltered outcropping of tree roots, barely large enough to keep one elf dry.

"Unhand me, you…you…elf!" she protested and wriggled free from his grip, and lunged in the direction of her path.

"Do not be foolish." Legolas pulled her back into the shelter. "It is beginning to hail. Do you wish to be struck upside the head by a hailstone?"

"No, of course not," she bristled. "I suppose this is the best we could manage?" she asked in reference to the pitifully small shelter. His nose was less than an inch from her forehead, and his lips were practically all she could see.

"Believe me when I say I would rather be anywhere but here, Lady Miredhel." Legolas said sardonically. Here he was toe to toe cramped against a wet, lovely elf, and all he could wish for was to get away. 'How times have changed,' he thought miserably and shook his head in disgust.

"Ugh, you are getting me wet," said Miredhel, and she wiped off the beads of water fallen from his hair and face.

"More wet than you already are?" Legolas laughed and then shook his hair some more.

"Stop it!" She held up her arm to deflect the water and smacked him in the nose.

"Ai!" said Legolas, rubbing his nose. "I would have stopped. Violence was a little unnecessary."

"I am sorry. I did not mean it." Miredhel decided to change the subject. "What were you shaking your head for in the first place?"

"I was thinking about how awkward of a situation this could be, the two of us here, stranded in the rain," Legolas said truthfully.

"I suppose in such situations, one must make small talk about the pleasantries of the day," Miredhel observed.

"Such as the weather we are having," agreed Legolas.

"Which is exceedingly bad," Miredhel finished.

"I hate being right," said Legolas.

"But you were," agreed Miredhel. "Such an occurrence has not been seen here in a hundred lives of men. Why can we not simply free ourselves from the worries of Middle Earth?" She sighed and looked at him expectantly.

"Even the Lady Galadriel did not have power enough for such a feat. Many times in my own land had I wished for seclusion from the darkness of this world…" Legolas' voice trailed off in the midst of a large thunderclap.

"Like goblins or dragons?"

"Or the spiders that haunted my realm," Legolas shuddered.

"Spiders?" Miredhel asked.

"Big ones, I hated them… fat furry bodies and round globular eyes…" Legolas added and glanced at the storm. Miredhel did the same. Rain and hail poured steadily from the lightning cracked sky.

"Looks like we will be here for a while," she said.

"Perhaps the rain will lighten up," Legolas said hopefully, "and then we could at least get you home. Eledhel might be worried."

"He might be…" Miredhel looked concerned, "but then again, he was very busy making sure everything was ready to go for tomorrow." Miredhel looked out into the inky shadows of the woods. She had run out of anything to say to Prince Legolas. She would dearly love to ask him about his adventures in the war, but since the garden catastrophe, she did not want to give the appearance of being overly interested or encouraging his affection. Besides, she often felt intimidated in his presence, despite her brother's close friendship with him. He was everything she was not—a warrior, a hero, a leader. He made her feel inadequate, and she hated the feeling.

The storm raged on, and both elves stood stiffly beneath the giant mallorn root, careful not to touch one another, make eye contact, or show any sign of discomfort. Finally, Miredhel broke the silence.

"My brother thinks very highly of you, you know."

"Eledhel's friendship is of great worth. He is the best sort of friend to have in one's possession," Legolas said.

"How so?"

"In two words—honesty and loyalty. Both are traits I value and expect from my friends." Legolas thought about saying more, but checked himself. He would not allow himself to be too open with this maiden.

Miredhel, however, noticed his reserve and wished he would be candid with her. He lifted his head toward the sky, tracking the movement of the storm clouds. She took this opportunity to study him openly—his posture, the strong line of his jaw, and high cheekbones. Even sopping wet, he struck her as noble, and she could not help but admire him. His eyes reflected grace and quiet strength…and sorrow. He did not seem so arrogant to her now. She colored at the thought of her behavior toward him and the hasty words she had spoken in anger. 'He must despise me for them,' she thought to herself with shame.

"Once our journey begins I may not have an opportunity to say this," Miredhel said and twisted the ring on her finger.

"Yes?" Legolas prompted her, tearing his eyes away from the storm and focusing them on Miredhel's. She looked away and twisted the ring on her finger again, pulled the ring off, and rolled it between her thumb and forefinger before placing it back on her hand.

"Right," she said, "you will have all of the worries of the journey to occupy you, and I wanted you to know…" Miredhel said and stopped. She began twisting the ring again. This time, Legolas reached out and took her hands in his.

The warmth of his touch startled and comforted her. She looked down at their hands and then into his eyes.

When her eyes wide met his, he released her hands. "My apologies, lady," Legolas said. "You merely seemed upset, that is all…I meant no harm by it. The other night, in the garden, I gave you my word that I would not renew any advances toward you. You have nothing to fear from me." Legolas finished and folded his arms behind his back. He peered out. Only rain fell now, softly. "I believe we can take you home now," he said and stepped out from the shelter of the mallorn.

"Wait," Miredhel said, and reached for his arm to stop him. "I never said what I wanted to tell you…"

He looked at her quizzically. What else could possibly be said?

"I wanted to apologize." At last, she had said it!

"For what, my lady?" Legolas was intrigued.

"For what happened in the garden after the race. It was all wrong. I never wanted things to happen the way they did."

"What do you mean? What things?" Legolas' hopes soared.

"Specifically? My actions, my words to you were beyond reproach. I did not mean to lead you on. It was never my intent…" She looked at him and bit her lip, "…to tease."

"Of course not." Legolas shrugged. He was not sure what to make of this new development. He was at a loss for words. Did she expect him to apologize to her as well? He blinked.

"Please spare yourself from any form of worry on my account," Legolas carefully said. "I am made of sterner stuff than you might think. One ill kiss will not ruin me forever."

"I am sure it will not, but I do not want you to have formed the wrong impression of my character."

"You would be so bold as to tell me what my opinions should be?" The prince within Legolas took offense at her words.

"That is not what I meant!" Miredhel exclaimed.

"Is it not?" Miredhel was indignant, and Legolas was beginning to look very haughty.

"No, it is not. I would not have you thinking that I am some degree of a tease, or flirt, or that I should regularly make habit of kissing elves for bets in moonlit gardens, for that matter," she hissed.

He looked impassive. Her words had splintered against stone. He was proud, she decided, and certainly none too interested in anything she might say. Such elves hear only what they want to hear. She could read nothing but disdain in his eyes as he looked down upon her.

In truth, Legolas felt pained by her words. As he looked at her, she seemed completely foreign from the maiden who was usually so capable of infuriating him. This Miredhel was different—she looked small and vulnerable. At length, Legolas spoke. "I do not believe you to be any of those things," he said gently. "The evening grows late, come." He motioned toward the path.

She warily eyed the prince and then took her place at his side, cutting through the trees.

"Something still bothers you," Legolas observed. What did she want him to do? He did not know what else to say. Legolas desperately wished that they would reach Eledhel's flet soon.

"You, my lord." Miredhel said bluntly.

"I?" Legolas asked, amused. He did not expect her to say that. "What have I done now?" He wanted to know. Legolas' brows furrowed. This line of conversation could only lead to trouble.

Her eyes were defiant. The old Miredhel had returned. "Exactly," she said.

"Exactly what? I have said nothing that could possibly offend you!"

"I know you said nothing," she retorted. "I offered you my sincerest apologies, and you stood there staring at me. At least I endeavored to make things right between us."

"What? What would you have me say?" Legolas demanded. "Tell me so I can say it already."

Miredhel glared at him. "I would not presume to tell you anything, your highness," she said, bitterly emphasizing 'highness.'

Legolas threw up his hands in frustration. "What about my rank offends you so?"

"I never…" Miredhel began, but Legolas cut her off.

"No, from the very first hour upon our meeting, I could tell that my position rankled you." Legolas' eyes flashed. "Admit it!"

"I will admit nothing to you, prince or no," Miredhel said coolly. "Almost everything I ever believed of you is true. You are proud and arrogant, expecting everyone to meet your every whim."

"Only almost everything?" Legolas said sarcastically, taking a step toward her.

"I admired you. I thought you noble, a lord among elves, a hero. I had hoped we might be friends…" Miredhel stopped and turned away from him. She brought her hands to her face for the briefest moment and then pulled them back to her side, turning round to face him once more. "I was wrong. Goodnight, Prince Legolas."

Her face and eyes were colder than the winter's dawn. Legolas, despite his elven nature, shivered under the dark canopy of trees as he watched her walk away from him.