Restoration II: The Story Continues ...

by Fianna

Hugs to all who follow me, thank you so much.

Fianna

Chapter Two

The scroll rolled off Thranduil's desk, landed with a soft plop on the stone floor and then rolled up neatly at the feet of the chair near the fire. It sat there ignored while the elven king stared into the crackling fire, the flames flaring, lighting the shadows behind it with flickering shapes that danced merrily even as the elf scowled, fingers braced under his chin, eyes cast to a distant scene.

The fingers twitched at his thoughts, curled into a fist for a moment before stretching out beneath his chin as he rubbed it absently. How many days had it been now?

Not enough, clearly, for his thoughts continued to stray back to Lorien.

Thranduil stood, noting finally the scroll at his feet and bent to retrieve it, a missive needing reply, but one he had not yet felt willing to do. He glanced at the growing pile of coorespondence, too much for an elf supposedly reclusive and withdrawn, too many things that needed attention he was not yet ready to give.

It was completely unlike him to disregard necessary things, to be so distracted. He rubbed a hand into his hair in wry amusement. What was wrong with him?

And what, pray tell, to do with Sweeney?

The idea that had come to him in Lorien still held sway. The half-elven ranger was perfect for what he needed, yet he had not sent him on as he should, that decision too delayed and pending. Sweeney had weathered the mute storm of censure well enough so far, most of the Mirkwood elves had given the man, nee elf, surprising distance. None had been brave enough to complain – yet.

But someone would, after the surprise and shock had worn off, when something happened that Sweeney could not prevent, questions to his worth, his ability, his place. Things Thranduil did not necessarily care about, for he had his reasons for taking on the ranger.

And truthfully, the man amused him.

Elf. Man. Thranduil waved a hand to dismiss the question of Sweeney's blood. He was a tool, one soon to be sent on his way. But not far, no, Thranduil paced in front of the fire, no sent only to Laketown for answers. A place a half-elven ranger would fit in far better than any of the Mirkwood elves, a man able to disquise just what he was.

How well, Thranduil was very curious to see.

He dropped the scroll to his desk, touched the sleek carved wood with a finger, trailed it along the edge only to stop at the end of the desk, eyes once more distant. A frown creased his brow then he shook his head, clenching his fingers into a fist. He had to put away those thoughts, must return to what must be done.

For Mirkwood. For his elves. There were rumbles of discontent, anger that he could feel coming. Their return to Mirkwood's cavern city was not going to stay peaceful.

No, and he needed Sweeney to find out just how bad things might get.

XxX

Haldir walked swiftly, eyes cast to the shadows of the forest, the path before him faint in the waving fronds of ferns and bushes, plants growing fast in the open sunshine of the meadow, yet shadowed already by one of the new Mallryn, already as tall as some of the younger oaks and hickories near it. It made him smile, the tree, its low hum of pleasure a balm to a slowly healing soul, a soothing greeting as he passed, returned and felt likewise.

Rowen would know he was coming, even without the intimacy of being bonded, the trees would tell her of his steps, how far and how he was. Their relationship had evolved so far into a comfortable companionship, intimate yet not commited. Not yet.

Perhaps some day soon.

But for now, there was too much to do, too many things that kept him from making that final step.

Rowen did not complain and for that he was grateful.

Too much, too soon. His place now was different, his forest still his to protect, but now in a different way. It was unsettling to think of what he must consider, perhaps had always done, but never really thought about. Now everyone looked to him for answers, for hope, for peace, for – well everything.

Being on the border was no longer a luxury, but there were days he just had to walk the forest, to make his way among the trees, to hear their murmurs, the moan of the wind, to feel alone yet not alone. Today he had left at dawn and would return just as the sun slid behind the horizon. The long rays were already casting long shadows across his path. The air warm with late summer haze, bees buzzing, the river a faint but constant echo in the background.

Lorien was now his as it had never been. He was still not quite sure he belonged in this place as Galadriel had, but who else?

A flutter of wings as a bird rose out of the tree drew his gaze and he stopped to watch the bird take flight. Frowned when a doe burst out of the thicket of bushes in front of him to leap gracefully over his path and then disappear just as quickly into the shadows beyond.

Touched a hand to the dagger at his hip as an arrow hissed past him, close enough to stir his hair, embedding with a twang into a tree. Haldir turned to look at the arrow, crossed to pull it from the tree as its owner struggled though a patch of raspberries.

"Haldir, really, I did not mean to send it so close."

He forced the smile back, keeping his expression bland as he turned to look at Rowen. "I was not so distracted I would not have noted it coming, Rowen-min."

She smiled and settled the quiver she held back onto her shoulder. "Of course not. You were clearly paying attention, expecting orcs and wizards of ill repute to jump out at you from the bushes."

"Perhaps not the wizards, for they are generally elderly and not able to jump so high," Haldir corrected as he caught Rowen by the waist and kissed her. "The trees told you I was close."

She wrapped her arms around his shoulders. "Aye, a good league or so back. I've been waiting. You were distracted, though, March Warden."

"Perhaps, but the arrow did not come that close."

She caught a strand of his hair, lifting it to show him the shorn edge, just past his shoulder. "No, as usual calm as a rock, but what if I had been a bit off?"

He glanced at the strand and then smiled. "I would have been greatly disappointed."

Rowen kissed him, her lips soft beneath his, fingers clasped tightly to the leather strap across his chest. "Well, anyhoos, March Warden, I hoped to gain your attention before all those who are waiting for you in the village, for once they gain hold of you I shall not see you until next week."

He laughed, drawing her slim body against his. "Nay, not that long."

She traced a finger over his lips, frowned as he looked at her. "Do you dislike it, Haldir? This position you now gain? I feel you are happy, but yet..."

"It is all new as yet, Rowen. But I am happy, with you, with all that I have now."

She tucked a hand under his arm, drawing him into the trees. "Oh good then. Now that you've admitted that, perhaps you can tell me how much you missed me."

Haldir grinned. "I have not been gone for that long."

Rowen's gaze twinkled with mischief. "No, but I know I must take advantage, for I know that Orophin waits for you at home. I want you alone for at least an hour."

"Is that all I get?" He chuckled as he followed her deeper into the shadows. "Or perhaps less than that?"

"Oh I get an hour at least, March Warden, I assure you the trees will not let you pass until at least that long."

xXx

Esteri stared over the stone railing to the steps below, her long hair braided behind her head, a bow strapped neatly to her back. Soft leather boots made no sound as she moved slowly, following the ranger below her, eyes narrowed as she studied him.

He moved gracefully as might an elf, yet his steps held a sense of impatience, his gaze moving over the shadows steps as a warrior would gaze, even within the safe confines of Mirkwoods impregnable city.

When guarded by elves, at least. But here was man, even with half elven blood, he was still human in many ways. What would that mean for them? Who was sure that his loyalties would lie with the elves? How could Thranduil trust such a creature when he was always one who spoke freely of his dislike?

She stopped when he stopped, moved when Sweeney moved, until the path separated, hers leading into the sleeping chambers while his lead to the corridors outside. A place he seemed to frequent more than the halls inside.

He did not belong.

Couldn't everyone see that?

With an annoyed grunt, Esteri moved away, glancing back once to scowl at the now distant ranger.

XxX

Smoke wafted from the windows of the bakery, dark and pungent as the door flew open and two elves stepped out, coughing. Miriel sat down, waving a hand to her nose to dispell the burnt smell, the bread left unattended lying as she had tossed it quickly on her stone counter, one of four today.

She shook her head, coughed again to clear her throat and found a pair of boots in front of her, drawing her gaze up from the soft leather to the elf wearing them, long silver-blond hair a cascade over one shoulder, dressed as wardens did in the grey greens of the forest. She pressed a hand to her chest as dismay flared, standing quickly to face the elf.

"Rumil, I thought you were on the fences, erm... I mean."

He lifted a hand to his lips, blue eyes bright with laughter. "I had heard rumors that our baker had seemed to have lost her touch, but," he sniffed, sneezed then smiled wryly. "I smell the truth. Are you all right?"

She stared at him, looked down at her friend who shrugged and then looked back at the warden before her. "I am fine, really."

Rumil looked skeptical. "How many loaves this week?"

Miriel frowned, fingers clasped behind her back. "Not so many, Rumil."

"Alera?" He looked to the elleth still sitting on the steps.

Alera rose to her feet brushing off her skirts. "I'll not say, you will only tell Haldir."

Rumil smiled. "I assure you Haldir is well aware of how many. I was just curious. Miriel seems distracted of late."

Alera touched Miriel's hand and then grinned at Rumil. "It is not my place to say. I shall leave you to discuss the matter with Miriel." She fled, hurrying away as Miriel held out a hand to stop her.

Reluctantly she faced Rumil again. "It is not so many."

"Are you worried about something? Is there a problem with your ovens? We are here to help." Rumil shifted, moving a step closer.

Miriel clamped her hands to her skirts, met the warden's gaze sternly. "My ovens are fine, warden. You need not worry. I shall prepare more."

"Supplies are hard to get some days," Rumil said. "But I am sure you are aware of this?"

She frowned, turned back to her bakery. "I am well aware of what I use, warden. You can tell Haldir things are fine."

A hand caught her arm, fingers gentle but full of authority. The grip made her shiver, well aware of the strength behind it, the bloodline, the ability of the elf holding her. "I only ask as I am concerned, Miriel."

She melted abit, smiled at him for a brief moment. "Truly, Rumil. I am fine."

He nodded, a handsome elf, usually light hearted, carefree, but things had changed them all. "If you need someone to talk to..."

She pressed a hand to his shoulder. "I am fine. Go now."

He waited a moment longer and then touched his brow, a salute of respect that surprised her. "I am sure he feels much the same. Good day, Miriel."

She watched him walk away, brows lifted in surprise, a faint tingling welling deep inside. Would he? Or had he forgotten her as soon as Lorien fell from sight? She hoped not, but how to know?

Miriel sighed and opened the door to the bakery, coughing as she went back inside.