Chapter 17 - I Stop and Smell the Roses
Miredhel had clearly twisted her ankle in her plummet to the ground from the dragon's grip. She dismounted from Arod and about crumpled to the ground as soon as she put any weight on it. I offered to carry her to a fallen log near the grove of trees where we planned on setting up camp tonight, but she outright refused.
Instead, she hobbled and limped her way over until Eledhel made her lean against him for support.
Stubborn, stubborn, stubborn.
"Do you need some bandages?" I heard myself asking, noting the deep looking scratches across her arms. "I have some in my bag."
"We have some," Eledhel said and helped her settle down onto the log, handing her his pack. "Funny when you packed those, sis. I bet you never thought you'd be using them on yourself."
Miredhel neatly wrapped her twisted ankle in cloth. It was clear she knew how to do it.
"Well done, my lady," I told her. "Here I was ready to offer assistance but clearly none is needed."
"Miredhel trained as a healer years ago," Eledhel said, taking back his bag and tying it shut.
"I had no idea," I said. "She is full of surprises."
"Aye," agreed her brother, "she could not have done it without me because I provided her with much opportunity for practice."
Miredhel softly laughed at her brother's assertion. "Without Eledhel and Belegil, I would never have mastered the art of bandages," she agreed, good-naturedly. She picked up another s
Her seemingly improved spirits cheered me. I was not happy with myself for my behavior toward her during our ride. She was wrong, and I was right, of course, but I did not have to rub her face in it. Such is beneath me. The way I addressed the issue completely lacked my usual finesse. I knew I could do better.
Meanwhile, Eledhel offered to build a fire and fetch some water so Miredhel might clean the scrapes on her arms. He quickly went to work collecting fallen timber and kindling, leaving Miredhel and me to each other's company. I knelt beside her and asked for permission to check her ankle.
"I am sure I only twisted it when I fell off Thorontal," she said and winced.
I understood. "He deserved a better fate."
I carefully placed my hand on her ankle and tendon, carefully rotating her foot. "Does this hurt?"
"Do you even know what you are doing?" Miredhel asked. It was the first time she had directly met my eyes since our argument earlier.
"I admit to having a slim knowledge of healing," I said, "but I have had my fair share of injuries while on patrol. I know how to check for broken bones." I gently placed her foot on the ground. "I have long admired the ability to heal, like my friend Aragorn—he could patch up anything."
Miredhel recognized the name. "Is this a man you speak of, my lord?"
I nodded. "I know he spent time in Lorien. Did you know him?"
"I know of him," she revealed, "he often spent time with the healers when I was there. Eledhel knew him much better."
"Yes, I know, for it was Aragorn who first introduced me to your brother."
"He is truly gifted, for a mortal," Miredhel said, "much more so, than I."
"Your brother thinks very highly of your skills, Lady Miredhel."
"Well, of course he would. Eledhel persuaded me to study with the healers. He hoped I would enjoy it."
Miredhel moved on to gently cleaning the cuts on her arms from the dragon's claws, and I moved to sit next to her on the log. Look at us, I marveled, actually talking; pity it took an attack from a dragon to move us toward civil discourse. "Do you enjoy healing?" I asked, hoping to understand her better.
She did not answer my question right away, her hand delicately applying some sort of salve to the cut on her arm. "My lord, healing is such a safe profession. I had long hoped to join the forest guard, but…" Her voice trailed off.
"Eledhel did not want you to join?" I guessed softly.
She shook her head. "No, so I joined the healers instead, but I wish that I might have followed my heart."
"Whether you would fight or mend, Ithilien could use your skills, Lady Miredhel."
She finally lifted her eyes to look into mine with an amused expression. "I must confess to you that I always feel like I will somehow make an injured person worse."
"I sincerely doubt that," I said and ran a hand through my hair, nervously working out the tangles. I studied her as we sat side by side, noting that she had not mentioned our argument. Except for the way she had avoided looking me in the eyes, she did not seem to harbor ill feelings toward me because of my angry words to her earlier that day. I knew that my words had stung, had hurt her. Perhaps I had been overly hard on Miredhel, or perhaps she was not as strong as she pretended to be.
"Miredhel," I began, my eyes skirting around for Eledhel's busy silhouette among the trees, "about this afternoon..."
She silenced me with a wave of her hand. "I do not wish to speak of it, prince."
Well, so much for open communication.
I tried again. I like to think persistence is one of my better qualities. Gimli would call it being a damn stubborn elf.
"No, please hear me out," I said and waited until she looked at me. "I want to apologize for my behavior. I was angry about what had happened, and I took my frustration out on you," I said sincerely and watched her closely, hoping for an amiable reaction. Blinking, she looked down at her hands folded in her lap, and her lips formed a single line. She reminded me of a child, who wandering deep into the woods, finds that she has lost the way home.
When she spoke she lifted her eyes, searching my own for answers, perhaps for proof that I could be trusted. "My lord, I own that I did not expect an apology from you."
"I am not afraid to admit when I am wrong," I said.
"Nor I," Miredhel replied steadily, "for I know that we have been at odds with each other since our first meeting." She smiled sheepishly at this understatement and lowered her voice to whisper, "I have much that needs telling, Prince of Mirkwood." She raised her finger to her lips and tilted her head toward the sound of light footsteps. "Softly now on these words! My brother returns."
Understanding, I nodded my head, though full it was with wonder at what this maiden could wish to reveal. Obviously, she did not want Eledhel to hear. She seemed to accept my apology, but perhaps she wished to discuss our argument further. She might want to question me about her brother, possibly his bout of dragon sickness; yet as Eledhel returned to the camp, he seemed hale and not in the least bit of danger.
"How fares my sister?' he heartily called to us, dragging a small pile of sticks and brush for the fire he planned to build.
"I feel fine, Eledhel. You need not worry over me. Sit and rest," she said. Her brother stopped where she sat and put his arm around her. "I nearly lost you today, Miredhel," he said. "Never again will I allow you to fall in harm's way."
She leaned her head on his shoulder, saying: "We all nearly lost each other today, my brother. This land is fraught with danger. We cannot expect to avoid harm, nor should we hide from it."
Eledhel pulled away from his sister and countered, "True as that might be, I can make sure that my sister is better protected than most!"
Miredhel frowned a little and changed the subject. "So, do we want to burn the cloths I used to clean my wounds?"
Eledhel looked at her critically, and I wondered at the curious dynamic between them. From what I knew of her, she must feel quite weary to let the conversation drop as she did. I have had enough of my fair share of scrapes, cuts, and scratches to know the cut on her arm must be hurting her. She'd bled all over her skirt during our quick retreat, which she must have used as a makeshift bandage. Probably while I was telling her off for not following my orders. What a prince I was.
Eledhel decided that the dress along with the bandages must be burnt, much to Miredhel's displeasure. "The scent would prove irresistible to any orc or beast," he explained.
"I understand your reasoning, but what shall I wear? My other gowns were in the bags that went with Belegil and Sulindal. All I have in this small pack is some food and healer's things—you know, herbs, medicines, bandages, " Miredhel said.
"Hmm. My personal effects went along with the company as well, not that anything of mine would have fit you anyways," Eledhel concluded.
I had enjoyed watching the exchange between the two siblings but now felt the full thrust of their combined gaze. "Eledhel? Lady Miredhel?" I asked and then instantly realized what they wanted.
I felt the evening breeze stir behind the tips of my ears as Eledhel and I returned to the campsite where Miredhel had changed into my old tunic, a green one that I had worn during the War and only had kept for sentimental reasons. She had left the top two toggles unfastened, and her creamy neck shone soft like moonbeams.
I swallowed hard. My throat suddenly felt dry and raspy; I was not entirely sure why seeing her in my shirt had this effect on me, when at best we could barely stand to be civil with each other. Yet all I could think of at the moment was the way she would feel in my arms, the way she had felt when I had caught her fall. I had to put a stop to this line of thinking. It simply would not do to dwell on something that could never be. After all, she made it abundantly clear how she felt about me. I tore my eyes away from her.
Instead, I rifled through my pack to distract myself, pulling out a wide range of random items: string, small knife, comb, dried venison, whetting stone, tinderbox— a gift from Gimli, and another gift which was from his sisters, rose cordial. I snorted when I saw it—rose cordial, indeed. The twins had delighted in compounding the potion, and Celeril had slyly slipped the small vial into my bag. "You never know when the occasion might call for it," she had said with an impish smile.
More often than not, the mixture would seep from its confinement into my bag, and I would smell like a rose for the next three days. I would need a lot more than rose cordial to charm Miredhel.
"Legolas?" Eledhel interrupted my thoughts. "Did you not hear me?"
My head jerked up. "What?" I asked, my throat still painfully dry.
"I was warning my sister to be more careful." Eledhel said and turned to face his sister. "Careful now, sister. The prince will not like it if you look prettier than he does in his own tunic."
"Eledhel, really," Miredhel said annoyed and glared at her brother.
"She would anyways," I rasped. I then began organizing my pack once more, not wanting to be drawn into the conversation again.
Eledhel would have none of it. He plopped down next to me and feigned great interest in every item that I produced, passing little judgements on the usefulness of the contents, punctuated by the occasional yawn. "Hmm, hunting knife, a little dull... Ooh, venison, that is odd, smells like roses… Ahh, a tinderbox, very nice indeed, it is dwarvish, yes?"
"Yes," I confirmed, "my friend, Gimli, carved the metal work."
Now Miredhel was interested as well. Taking the box from her brother, she held it lightly in her fingertips to study the carvings of waves, gulls, and the setting sun. "I have never seen the sea, but its beauty must be great. Will you tell us about it?"
"No," I said quickly and retrieved the box from her, stuffing it back into the pack. "I do not wish to speak of it." Both siblings shared an uncomfortable look, but even then I did not elaborate. I would not-could not speak of the sea right now.
"Well…" said Eledhel uncomfortably, "if you do not mind, I wish to rest. I feel spent, and my head and jaw ache for some reason." He rubbed the side of his face where I had punched him during our fight. Miredhel raised her eyebrows at me.
I winked at her, and then looked at my friend carefully. "It could be the lingering effects of the dragon sickness," I speculated.
"Or that I stayed up the entire night before, searching the shadows for a particular friend of mine," Eledhel grumbled and then pulled himself onto a branch of the nearest tree. "Do not forget to burn those bandages, sister. I do not wish to have every orc within five leagues disturbing my slumber because they caught the scent of elven blood." With that said, he folded his arms behind his head, leaned into the trunk of the tree, and promptly began to doze.
"He is right, I suppose," Miredhel said to me and rolled the bloody linen strips up in her dress.
Retrieving my tinderbox to light the fire, I then stowed it in my bag once more with one longing look at the carvings. Gimli's workmanship was beautiful, but I desperately wished that my friend had carved trees instead. I began humming to take my mind off the sea and tossed some more kindling onto the small fire. "If you are going to burn those, best to throw them in now," I advised her.
Miredhel wistfully tossed in her dress. "Do orcs really have such a keen sense of smell?" she asked me, watching the fabric curl and blacken in the orange flames.
"Some more than others, but when I am on the trail, I prefer not to take chances." I told her and stirred the fire with a forked stick.
She nodded thoughtfully and then inquired about my tunic from the night before. "If I remember correctly," she said, "your shirt was drenched in blood when you returned from the river last night. Should we burn it as well?"
"Good thinking," I agreed and fetched it from my bag. There was no point in trying to save it—the tunic was a mess with mottled stains.
The gruesome sight shocked her. "Surely that is not all your blood, " she wondered. "How did you ever... Well, you are not hurt, are you?"
"No, my lady," I protested, "most of this blood came from something the dragon had killed," and I explained to her what had come to pass in the river.
"Most of the blood? A fine healer I am," she said. "Letting you fuss over my silly ankle and arm when you have far more serious injuries."
I shook my head. "See?" I said and rolled up one sleeve to show her my arm. "A little burned is all."
"Burned? Come over here and let me see," she demanded.
With a sigh, I meekly obeyed, oddly feeling like I was on a journey with Aragorn again. Only I would have undoubtedly protested much more against Aragorn's request. Somehow letting Miredhel look at my injuries did not seem as much of a hardship. I rolled up my other sleeve and showed both arms to Miredhel. She placed one of her hands on the top of my arm and then withdrew it almost instantaneously.
"Your skin is burning up," she informed me.
"Really?" I said with mock surprise.
"Well, at least your sense of humor seems to be perfectly intact, my lord," Miredhel said with a little smile.
"You wished to speak of something earlier, Lady Miredhel. Please tell me," I said, noting Eledhel's even breathing from over by the tree.
Miredhel glanced toward her brother and kept working. "I know these burns must give you pain. I might have some herbs that could soothe the inflammation." She looked into her pack and produced some thick succulent leaves, which she promptly crushed in her palms and worked into a gooey salve. "This is helialid. I want you to smooth it onto your skin where it hurts the most," she said and transferred the substance into my hands.
I might need some of that rose cordial after all. This noxious plant smelled horrid. Wrinkling my nose, I gingerly rubbed the concoction across the tops of his arms. The salve felt cool like winter's ice, and I pushed my sleeves up even more so that I could cover the entire length of my arm. Despite its pungent odor, the plant goo was effective.
"Thank you, Lady Miredhel," I said enthusiastically. Miredhel smiled knowingly at me, and I thought of my back, which had received the brunt of the dragon's flame. "You…you would not happen to have anymore of that helialid, would you? If I should find any other areas that burn, I would not wish to bother you," I said.
"Any other areas that burn?" Miredhel asked incredulously. "You elven warriors are all the same, always pretending to be perfectly well even unto death. I would know, for I have Eledhel as a brother."
I sighed and shifted uncomfortably on the fallen log where I sat next to her. "I may have a few more burns on my back, but I did not want to bother you with those," I confessed.
"Bother me? You did only break my fall today and probably saved my life," she scoffed.
"Lady Miredhel…it might be unpleasant for you to see…" I explained. Now it's one thing for a healer to rub a salve on your arms, but to ask Miredhel to rub medicine on my back? I could not quite bring myself to ask such a thing from Eledhel's sister. Don't get me wrong—the idea of Miredhel lovingly rubbing my back sounded wonderful...if she didn't dislike me so much.
"I assure you, between Eledhel, Belegil, and Sulindal, I have seen much worse injuries than burns, if that is what worries you."
"It is not that," I insisted. "Only our recent history does not allow for such. I thought it might prove awkward."
For whom, you or I?" she asked after considering my suggestion.
"Both." My voice was quiet.
"If I feel embarrassed, I will let you know. I do want to help you."
"Even after the way I spoke to you today?" I asked.
"Yours were not the only words spoken in haste and anger," she reminded me. "I would still help you."
"Even though I am dragging you off to, in your own delightful words, 'some Valar-forsaken forest?'"
She groaned and shook her head. "Please do not remind me. The dreadful things I have said!"
I smiled. At the moment, Miredhel seemed so different from that frosty maiden I had first encountered in Lothlorien. She spoke to me now as she might with her brother or friends, not as a stranger, not as an enemy. I leaned toward her and lowered my voice to ask: "You would help me even though I hail from the shadowed forests of Eryn Lasgalen, from Mirkwood, that I am the king's son?"
She drew back as though my words were poison, the rosy flush of her cheeks drained to chalk, and the night air around them became very still.
I spoke again, my voice steeped in regret, "I am sorry, my lady. I did not mean to…"
"No," Miredhel stopped me, "even so, I would still help." She took a deep breath before looking steadily into my eyes. "I would still serve you, my lord," she said. "I would, and I shall, for the world changes and I must change with it." She hesitated but then shakily reached for my hand, and I wondered at her unease. Her eyes had never left mine, and I took comfort in the honesty of her gaze. I placed my other hand on top of her own. Miredhel stole a glance up toward her brother. Eledhel still slept.
"There is much I must tell you," she began…
Author's note:
Well, well. Legolas is making some headway. BUT he still needs a volunteer to put medicine on his back. Any takers?
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