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A frown drew dark brows together, knitting them together over washed-out grey eyes. The corner of Mirimir's lower lip was drawn between her teeth, being nibbled absently. Concerned eyes turned to him, making him smile slightly as he moved to stand behind her place on the bench in the small garden he'd taken her to earlier in the year. Since then, she had found a way to get him to take her at least once every few days.
He rested his hands on her shoulders, wondering a little why she still kept her hair so short. There had been time enough for it to be nearly normal length, but she still managed to keep it just at her chin. When Leherim had tried to let her hair grow, Mirimir had gotten a hold of scissors herself and chopped it raggedly off in such a way it had wound up nearly at her ears by the time Leherim had finished straightening it. He didn't mind. It was different, sure, but he'd gotten used to watching her tilt her hair across her face to hide her emotions. Besides, it was great fun watching Leherim argue through pantomimes about whether or not Mirimir's hair would be cut or not. Mirimir always won, though she more or less ignored Leherim's gestures.
Mirimir frowned and turned slightly to face him, reaching up to tug at his sleeve.
He smiled at her and shook his head. "She'll be fine soon," he promised, moving around to sit beside her on the bench. "Think you can keep those eyes of yours from giving away a secret?" he asked, turning to face her.
Her eyes darkened slightly, but remained fastened on his, before she nodded once.
He leaned in conspiratorially, putting his mouth near her ear so no one else could overhear him. "Father has arranged for Elrohir and Elladan to arrive shortly. The hunting parties are keeping an eye out for them."
A faint smile curved her lips, and her eyes sparkled with hints of silver for an instant, before some commotion in the hall drew their attention. The other elves in the small garden paused and turned with a collective frown.
"What could possibly…?" Legolas got up and moved to a side entrance, half-aware of Mirimir slinking off, her steps quick and muted as she sped down the hall to her room, her ungainly half crouch keeping her low to the ground. "What is this?" he asked of a guard who had been rushing down the corridor towards the gate.
"Dwarves have been spotted, my lord," he answered, bowing his head.
"Dwarves?" Legolas scowled. "Where?"
"Umm… in the forest. We captured one and brought him here. He shall be in court in a few moments…"
"Then my father has sent for me, has he not?"
"Umm… yes, I believe. Though, of course, it's not my—"
"Thank you anyway," Legolas bowed his head slightly, dismissing the elf with a mental shake of his head. Though the elf knew him, he didn't recall the elf's name. He should know, considering how close in age he was to both Legolas and Leherim, but he simply did not. He was, after all, a prince, which seemed to put fear into the hearts of almost all around him. Almost. Mirimir's original fear, which seemed to have vanished entirely, was from a completely different source, and had nothing to do with his rank. The ladies who hung around the halls and gardens where they expected he would be didn't fear him in the least.
While he didn't mind not being feared, the way they perceived him utterly annoyed him. To them he was nothing more than an animal to be hunted. So far, he had found no trap clever enough to keep him ensnared, even when he did go for the bait. Unless one should see him differently, he'd like to keep it that way.
With a sigh he strode quickly to the throne room, just as a servant came out. "Oh, your highness, the King—"
"I'm on my way," he answered, shouldering his way past without bothering to pause.
"Actually, my lord," the elf hesitated. "He wanted you to find the princess."
Legolas halted, frowning as he considered this new development. "I will speak with him, then," he stated, heading into the throne room, changing his steps to lose the confidence he knew he walked with to the more hesitant ones of a servant. There was a loud spluttering from the back, along with dwarfish curses he winced to hear. It was at such times he wished he'd never learned the blasted tongue. It had certainly never done him any good. "Father," he whispered so he wouldn't be overheard, bending to his father's side, making himself as unobtrusive as possible.
"Quiet, Legolas. I wish you to find and remain with your sister until this is resolved." Thranduil didn't look up from their prisoner, who was being pulled forward. "Understood?"
"Of course, your highness," Legolas bowed slightly more than usual and left the hall, ignoring the glaring dwarf there as any studious servant would have. Once beyond the confused room, he leaned against the wall with a frown. Leherim, where are you?
I've brought our dinner to Mirimir's room, of course. Where are you?
Long story. I'll be there in a moment. With a shake of his head he cut through the halls until he was at the door to Mirimir's room. "Evening," he called.
"What kept you?"
He hesitated for a moment, then decided. "Dwarves have been spotted in the Woods. One is in the throne room now."
"Shouldn't you be with Father?"
"Apparently he's in one of his childless moods."
Mirimir frowned and looked up at him.
He grinned at her obvious curiosity. "He doesn't want the dwarves to know of us, since a plot could be formed around us. Most, except for other elves, do not even know we exist." He reached for his wine with another smile. "He feels safer that way… feels we are safer."
She frowned and shook her head, looking down at her tray to find something else she could eat. She still wouldn't eat with silverware, no matter how often he and Leherim brought in meals that would normally require them. She would either avoid the food or eat it messily with her fingers, not even bothering with her silverware.
With a matching frown he caught her chin in his hand, lifting her head so he could see her eyes. "I don't understand you." He shook his head and released her chin, since she had already defeated his intent by tilting her hair into her face. "I rather suspect you enjoy it."
Her washed-out grey eyes peeked through the dark slashes, slight amusement there with her confusion.
"If you would just communicate a little better, maybe I could clear up some of your perpetual confusion."
A faint smile touched her lips before she looked down at her plate. She reached for the bread again.
He sighed and shook his head. He picked up her knife and cut the food, before taking her hand and putting the fork in it. "You should eat more than bread," he insisted softly, demonstrating with his own food.
Hesitantly she looked at the fork in her hand, then turned it so she held it as Leherim had held the dagger the first time he tried to teach her to defend herself. As if she was going to use it to kill a mouse running across the floor. Mirimir stabbed downwards with the utensil, making Legolas wince as the metal scratched across the plate.
With as much hesitation as she had shown at first, he reached out and corrected her grip, helping her spear her first bite of food. She frowned at him, but he'd already studiously turned back to his own meal, taking another bite.
An audible sigh escaped her, and she carefully lifted the laden fork to her mouth, messily taking the morsel into her mouth. She glared at the plate, then the fork, then the plate again, before throwing him in for good measure, daring any one of them to give her any trouble.
Hiding a smile he went back to his food again, before glancing at Leherim.
Her eyes were staring uncomprehendingly at her plate, unaware either of the food or the fact she had eaten little more than a bite. It had been much like that for most of the past decades. She would have happy bursts—when Elrohir's letters came—but otherwise a cloud of misery had surrounded her, one he could not penetrate for more than a few moments. All he could do was share her misery.
Well, that and convince Father to ask Elrohir and Elladan to visit.
A hand lightly touched his arm, and he glanced down at it. Close-clipped nails with dirt beneath them, on hands that still showed some wear from whatever she had been through in the past. He lifted his gaze over arms that were still a bit too scrawny, to her eyes, in which he found a gentle pleading as she looked back to Leherim.
With a sigh he shrugged, leaned over and kissed her temple, using the moment to whisper into her ear. "I don't know when, exactly, but soon. Very soon, I hope."
She looked back at Leherim and nodded slowly. Then she walked in her partially-crouched way to get herself some water, the remainder of which was spread about the room, moistening the earth that held a few dozen different plants before she sat down on the bed again and picked up the fork once more.
The plant they had had in the room before moving her there was still in its place, a beautifully flamboyant plant that had responded to Mirimir's careful care as if she was the sun itself, putting out leaves and flowers anew so rapidly Legolas had begun to fancy he could hear it growing when she went near it. Every few years he and Leherim brought her a new plant, so she now had around fifteen from them. Seeing her fascination with plants, he had shown her the small garden, and she had taken to it, tending and cultivating as if she had been born to tend the plants that emerged from the soil. Small plants that had been choking in their places had been brought to her room, where either he or Leherim eventually found them sitting in something that had a different original purpose, and ended up finding her a more normal pot for such uses.
The last years had increased her reading ability until she no longer asked for help with words on a regular basis, though he occasionally came in to find her reading one book, with another marked and open, awaiting him. She never spoke, and never murmured in any way that could have been construed as speech. The only thing that kept him from determining she was incapable of speech was knowing no elf had ever before been born incapable of anything so fundamental. Their senses were always intact, and he had no cause to think it would be any different for her speech.
He had no idea what to do about it, though, except to encourage her however he could to become more and more like an elf… although really, he was still aiming for human level, in some things… like table manners. With a mental sigh he corrected her grip on her fork once more.
She glared at him and gave it up with a sigh, reaching over to relieve his plate of it's finger-foods. Looking at Leherim was enough to keep him from smiling. She was down again, sad about missing the one elf she couldn't see on a regular basis. With a shake of his head, he gave her a mental nudge.
Come on, Leherim. Join us for food.
I'm not hungry any more.
You haven't eaten anything.
But I'm not hungry.
She got up and left the room without a word.
Mirimir bit her lip and frowned, looking up at him questioningly.
"I would love to help her, Mirimir, but I don't know what to do beyond what I've done. How can I even presume to fill his place? I'm her brother, and a friend, but I can never be anything more for her." He sighed and bowed his head, feeling tension nagging behind his eyes and along his neck and shoulders. "If he doesn't come soon, I'll have to ride out and find him myself. If he's not in the same way…" he let off the growl, knowing there was nothing he could really do except keep Elrohir away from Leherim in the future, and that only if she allowed it. He sighed again and closed his eyes.
A light touch on his cheek brought him back to the room he was sitting in, back to the conflicting scent of musty books and blooming flowers. Silver-glinted eyes peered at him for a moment, before her hair slashed in front of her face.
Tenderly he smiled at her and tucked her hair behind an ear, glad she had let it grow long enough he could do that much with it. He caught her chin in his palm again, and kissed her forehead as he rose. "Father should be done interrogating the dwarf by now. He'll probably want me to do something or other. I'll see you at breakfast. Shall I close the door?"
Mirimir's ear tips glowed rosy, but she shook her head.
"We gave you a tour for a reason. You are welcome wherever you like, with the exception of guarded rooms, of course."
Mirimir had been sneaking out of her room at night for nearly fifteen years. He had only once caught her at it, and she had been slipping quietly back into the library after having apparently locked the door to her room that opened from the hall. No one else had ever seen her at it, but he had been to her room at times when she wasn't in it—late night good nights, when she'd already gone exploring.
"Since you can read, perhaps you should learn to write. I'm sure there's a lot you could write down."
She sent him a look he couldn't quite interpret, and he backed out with not a word more on the subject.
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