I know the romance here is very slow in coming and will likely be very subtle when it does come. But at the moment, he will tell people she is like a friend or a sister to him. His feelings may not be so perfectly clear… that's for you to decide. I haven't thought up anything to do with the nightgown… I actually was going to let it slide, but if anyone has great ideas, let me know. It is really, really cold in here. I think it's warmer outside. My fingers don't want to hit the right keys—too stiff… must write…
LJP: If you want to shoot out some ideas, feel free. Give me names and meanings—unless the meaning is better than the one I found for her, I'm sticking with mine… but you may well find one more fitting. Kudos to you if you do.
Princess Myra: The twerp thing will be part of the story eventually. It's thought with all fondness, even if ruefully.
Iluvien: Glad to know. I didn't see anything when I went back, but I went through all of my stories currently up for one mistake of mine that was farely frequent—I had to upload over thirty chapters again to fix it. So, in other words, I may have missed it.
Tara6: It happened to me, too, and I have no idea why. I saw the chapter was there, checked my author's note, then left and when I came back, it wouldn't let me get to the chapter anymore. Weird.
Farflung: Yeah, you get the feeling he was about to give up and go to her anyway. Her thoughts of Elrohir are those of rueful affection, which I will explain eventually… like when they meet up once more. Legolas's deer-in-headlights reaction was a subtle nudge towards the 'she's-not-really-my-sister' feelings that we're supposed to be getting around to.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Legolas let out a deep breath and almost smiled, but forced his expression to remain neutral as was befitting at such a solemn time.
"Dismissed." Thranduil waved all away, and shook his head when the room finally cleared. "I cannot believe she thought to pull that with me."
Legolas did smile, now that he was allowed, and ran a hand through his hair, undoing the braids. "It was obvious she had to have found a way to warn him—how else would he have known?"
"Precisely," Thranduil agreed. "And how is she?"
"She is fine. I did not tell her of Eiectorm's petition, though."
"Even though it was brought to your attention yesterday, and I saw your eyes glaze a few times?"
"How are you to know for sure if it was in speech or rest?" Legolas sent his father a sly smile.
Thranduil chuckled softly and entered his study, motioning for Legolas to shut the door. "You wouldn't have gone to sleep at such a time, no matter how ridiculous the pleas."
"No," Legolas agreed after a moment. He sighed. "And it will be her right to ask again in the future."
"And she will again be turned down. Her plots in one scheme attempted to damage your reputation, and to in fact secure a title for herself that you had already found she was unworthy of. Her lies and deceit alone, without considering the times she drugged you, would be more than enough for her to be banished from Greenwood for the rest of time. Add those in, and regardless of her help in the near fatal wound dealt to Mirimir, she would never be granted return here. With that assistance, she is lucky I did not send riders to warn the other realms of the reason for her exile."
Legolas smiled faintly. "Not, of course, that you had any qualms against telling anyone who wrote to ask."
"Of course," Thranduil agreed, shaking his head as his faint smile faded. "You should tell her."
"Why? It is done. What matters it if she finds out today or in a hundred years, when Eiectorm again petitions to return to Greenwood?"
Thranduil's brows drew together, and he considered a spot on his desk. "You should tell her, so she is forewarned next time. Knowing now that she has no chance to be granted return, the asking will be a matter of pride for Eiectorm. As she has shown an odd amount of cunning, considering her general lack of intelligence in practical matters, we do not know that Eiectorm has not plotted anything else."
Legolas's heart stopped for an instant, only to kick back in at an increased rate a moment later, but not before he had gone cold all over. "You think she may try to finish what he started?"
"I think you should warn her, so she can be careful in case such was planned," Thranduil stated carefully.
Legolas let out a shaky breath. Mirimir, where are you?
In my room. Why?
Stay there. "Father?"
Thranduil chuckled. "If you so wish," he agreed.
Legolas nodded shortly and strode quickly from the room, scanning every shadow for so much as a hair out of place as he hurried to Mirimir's room. He found the door unlocked, to his chagrin. Pushing it open rapidly, he apparently startled Mirimir, who jumped up, her eyes wide and pale grey until she closed her eyes, seeing him.
"What are you doing? Were you trying to scare me?"
He shook his head and grabbed her wrist, pulling her along behind him. "I was not trying to scare you… though you've succeeded in worrying me!"
"Why would I be—" she cut off as they entered the hall. Worrying you? She finished in silence, seeing other elves along the halls, feeling what felt like every pair of eyes on her and Legolas as he forced her to continue. What is going on, Legolas? Why are you—and where are you—dragging me?
I shall explain in a moment, he promised softly, ushering her into his father's study before him.
She turned on him the instant the door closed, crossing her arms over her chest in pure irritation, which sparkled in her grey eyes. Well?
Legolas sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The former Lady Eiectorm petitioned to return to Greenwood.
She paled, her eyes darkening a little. What?
He nodded, eyes downcast. She was refused, of course, he soothed, tucking a piece of her once again chin length hair behind her ear.
She frowned at him, and bit her lip. Why was I not told?
I did not think it would do to worry you.
And how was that your decision?
Legolas stiffened slightly, his eyes narrowing. I have been responsible for you since the day you arrived, Mirimir. Jointly with my father and Leherim, but Father has many duties, and Leherim is no longer on these shores, so that duty falls to me now. I thought it wise at the time to let you remain in blissful ignorance of the pleadings.
Oh, she nodded her head slightly, blissful ignorance. She motioned with her hands, her eyes narrowed to slits, her hair slashing over her face. Blissful ignorance! Legolas, by the Valar! What is wrong with you? I am not a child, nor am I anything near ignorant. I have read through the entire library—and nearly all of the others, as well! Perhaps I do not interact with other elves as often as I could—you know well why—but ignorant is something I cannot recall ever being.
Not when you were unable to read? To speak? To walk, for crying out loud? You have been such a child for so long—
She pulled back and lashed her arm out, making contact with his cheek in a split instant, stopping the words. She glared at him in anger, finding some satisfaction first in his silence, then in his wide-eyed look as he lifted a few fingers to his cheek. When the red mark from her hand showed up, though, her anger flooded from her in a rush. She clapped one hand over her mouth and backed up, horrified by what she had done.
She started to race out of the room, but Legolas's hand darted out and caught her. You shall not leave this room until things are safe.
He wouldn't let her leave. That was the only thing she understood as she looked at the door, stared at it in terrible certainty. He wouldn't let her run from what had happened, what she had done. She backed away from him in slow steps, and cast about the room for anything. By the wall there was a table, slightly smaller than the one in her room. She ducked down, curled up, and laid her head against her knees, all her movements slow and controlled. Once she was there, the strength seeped out of her, and numbness settled in.
Legolas looked at her still form, wincing internally as he recalled what he had been saying.
"Son?"
He blinked and looked up, seeing his father looking between them in confusion. He sighed softly and ran a hand through his hair, before absently rubbing his neck. "I put my foot in my mouth," he confessed. He looked at Mirimir, found he could see her glazed eyes through her dark slashes of hair. "No!" He dropped to his knees in front of her, shaking her shoulders. Her head lolled to the side, but she didn't return from the defensive semi-sleep state she had not used in many years to avoid him. "Mirimir, wake up."
"How has she—"
"I don't know," Legolas snapped, before taking a deep breath in an attempt to calm down. He wasn't wholly successful. "She used to do this a lot, to avoid my presence."
"Has she done it recently?"
"No." Legolas shook her once more, but that did nothing except cover her eyes with her hair. Wincing for her, he carefully removed the dark strands from her eyes as gently as he could. Mirimir? With a moment's hesitation, he reached out to the semi-real space between minds that he and Leherim had sometimes used to meet and play together when she had been sent to Imladris when they were children.
He could feel her, but it was as if there was a large, thick, fuzzy cloud between them.
Mirimir, please answer me.
Slowly, he felt a stronger flicker from her, felt her draw nearer, but he could not see her through the filmy substance that pressed on him, against him.
Mirimir, please!
She came closer, almost reached out as if to touch him, but then dropped away from his eyes again, leaving only the echo of a whisper which chilled him. ...no better than him.
Mirimir, I'm sorry. I lost my temper. I didn't mean to say you were still a child. I am so sorry. Please come back.
She came closer, and for an instant he could see her through the fog. Her head was tilted to the side, dark slashes of hair across her face. It was a painfully unnatural angle, and reminded him of a rag doll… and at the same time of an orc who's neck he had broken once when he was young and foolish enough to be disarmed. The orc's head had hung so like that now he winced, hating having made the comparison, and that it was an apt one. Why should you be sorry? Her voice came back to him as she wandered off again.
He pressed on in the fuzz between them, tried to follow her while keeping in mind how he had come so he could find his way back. I yelled at you.
And I struck you. No better than him. After all I promised myself, after all of it… I'm no better than him.
Legolas closed his eyes and shuddered, shaking his head. That's not true, little one. You were well within your right to strike me.
No one should hurt another.
But my words were hurtful. You lashed back. It is natural, understandable.
Then he was within his rights? Doing what came naturally to him? She came closer, so he could see a flicker of her again. She had straightened slightly, her eyes darker than usual as she watched him through the obscuring mist. He got the impression she could always see him, though he had trouble getting so much as a glimpse of her.
I cannot say anything on that with a definite assurance, since you have told me next to nothing of what happened, and are allowing yourself to forget.
You are wrong, she whispered, coming closer. Finally he could see her fully, and found it a struggle to look at her. She was covered in cuts and bruises, with swelling and discoloration marring all of her skin except the few inches she had allowed him to see before. Her hair swung back to show a very ugly mark on her cheek, even when compared to the rest of her battered body. I will never truly forget the horror, the pain, even if details escape me.
But you should not forget anything, because perhaps if you recall it you can begin putting it truly behind you. He was floundering for something to say, and he was well aware of that fact. Mirimir, you have to share it with me before I can help you get over it.
It can never be gotten over, Prince. What I remember has marked me for the rest of time. My body has healed, my mind expanded, but as you now see me, so I always have been.
He closed his eyes as he remembered Arwen's words. An injured heart. Battered and broken, more like. All injuries, all scars can heal in time, little one. He watched her, and took a chance, removing from his own image all hiding wraps he had ever covered his own heart with. Look at me, Mirimir. What do you see?
She frowned slightly, and shook her head. Just you. Nothing else.
Don't you see where I was hurt by orcs? Injured in sparring matches with friends? Wounded in word fights?
No, she murmured softly, her frown deepening, half-dead grey eyes searching his skin in confusion.
He walked closer, watched as her ears tipped slightly back as she found a large mark over his heart. But you see the pain of Leherim's move, of my mother's death.
I do now, she agreed softly, lifting her fingers to lay over the wound.
He covered her hand with his, holding it flat to his chest. Everyone has scars, has wounds that are healing. Some are greater than others, some will need more time. All will fade, if given the time needed, and plenty of loving care.
She looked up at him, frowned faintly for an instant and returned her gaze to his mark. Why is there no bruise on your cheek?
Because you did not hurt me. Not badly enough for it to last longer than the initial sting of skin. You were justified in your small injury, yet you still reached out to try and soothe the wounds I do carry. He brushed her hair back, tucking it behind her ear, drawing his fingers down along the small expanse of uninjured skin. Let me help you, he whispered, holding tightly to her hand when she began moving back, keeping it pressed against his chest. In the last years has nothing helped? Not learning to be an elf? Not speaking with others, not reading and having your plants, eating full meals and being clean when you want to be clean?
She shook her head and backed up slightly. No! If it had, then I wouldn't be covered in bruises and slashes, burns and scars!
He smiled faintly, pressing his palm to her smooth cheek. You aren't, Mirimir.
Her eyes widened in surprise, and she jerked back so suddenly he was unable to stop her from gaining her freedom. The hand that had rested over his heart lifted to her cheek, where she probed the skin in incredulous silence. Once she had done so to her satisfaction, she looked up at him, her eyes large and beginning to glint silver as she slowly smiled, before she reached out and touched his cheek. I have healed.
A little, he agreed softly, cautious about being too enthusiastic about the tiny progress she had made. In time, you shall heal entirely. He brushed her hair back once more. But you must come to terms with the past, as well as the present before you are truly well.
She sighed, closing her eyes as she gazed at something near his foot. I don't want to remember it.
I know, he sighed as well, before drawing her into his arms. But I promise to help you however I can.
She took a deep breath and slowly relaxed against him. Yeah?
Yeah. He smiled as she wrapped her arms loosely over his shoulders, laying her head against one, her nose against his throat. What do you say?
How do we get home?
He laughed softly and withdrew, blinking a few times to clear the soft fog from his vision. Mirimir was blinking much the same when he was able to focus, a slight smile curving her lips when she saw him. He arched onto his heels, standing with a few twinges from muscles that didn't like having been stuck kneeling for so long. She accepted his hand up, allowed him to pull her closer after he sat on the edge of his father's desk, and closed her eyes with a sigh, laying her head against his shoulder as he drew her against him.
Thranduil lifted a brow, but a messenger knocked on the door before he could figure out how to formulate the questions he had for his son. "Yes?" he asked once Mirimir had stepped somewhat back, though Legolas's hand remained, stroking lightly up and down her arm.
"The banished parties have all left the realm, sire."
"All?" Legolas asked sharply, his hand stilling for an instant.
"Yes, my lord. Every last one is accounted for."
"Very good," Thranduil stated, dismissing the lad with a quick flip of his hand. "Legolas?"
Legolas smiled and nodded slightly, turning Mirimir slightly so she faced him. You can return to your room now.
And if I don't wish to?
Then you can go elsewhere.
Getting rid of me?
Father has many questions he wishes to ask of me. If you do not soon go, he will command it.
Command. I can't get over that.
What?
Your father is the king. He commands people.
Yes, he agreed, amused.
Well, it seems rather overwhelming when I think about it. Doesn't it ever stun you?
It irritates me more. Since he's the King, I'm the Prince.
I wonder what people would think if they truly knew how much you loathe that title.
They would undoubtedly think me insane, since so many would love to trade me places. For a few centuries I've no doubt any could find it quite enjoyable, but no one could love it forever. Not among the elves, anyway.
Perhaps not, she agreed after a moment. I suppose I shall be leaving then.
Hmm.
She laughed softly and shook her head at him, before a thought darkened her eyes and stilled her laughter. She reached up and laid her palm against his cheek, moving her thumb lightly, a small frown pulling at her brows.
He smiled faintly, turning his head slightly to kiss her palm. It is fine, little one.
Truly?
Truly, he agreed quietly with a smile. Now you had best be off.
Hmm.
He chuckled softly and tucked the dark slashes of hair behind her ears before she left. He couldn't help another grin when she didn't bother with any deference to his father on her way out. "Yes, Father?" he asked when she was down the hall a ways.
Thranduil shook his head slightly and closed the door before sitting in a chair so he could face his son, who still sat on the edge of his desk. "The argument was about what?"
"It was originally about me not telling her about Eiectorm's plea. It evolved a bit after that."
"Hardly surprising. You were the one at fault?"
"I was the one to misspeak, yes."
Thranduil lifted a brow, wondering why Legolas chose to word that so carefully. "And things are well once more?"
"Between her and me, yes. Between her and her past… not so much. She has at least agreed to attempt facing it."
"That is good…" Thranduil hesitated for a moment longer, and then leaned back in his chair. "What do you think of her?"
Legolas blinked. Then he frowned. Looked down at his hands. Finally he opened his mouth and wet his lips. "I don't really know. At first she was just a poor creature we took in. Then she was a mistreated elf, who needed all the gentle care she could get. After that she needed a teacher more than anything, to help her read and eventually, to speak. But now… I don't know. I don't know what to think of her, what to call her. I don't know how old she is, but I cannot truly call her a child, merely for the way she conducts herself. Yet at the same time… in some ways she is like a child, timid in her dealings with other elves." He shrugged and looked up at his father. "I don't really know."
"And her nightmares? She has begun sharing them?"
"The last two nights, only."
"And how does she share them?"
"She tells me of them, though I suppose she could just show me."
"In your minds she tells you, or in true speech?"
"True speech," he stated with a frown.
"Then you sleep with her?"
Legolas's frown deepened. "I sleep beside her, Father. When I am able to take rest at all after hearing what she sees, what she remembers."
Thranduil watched him silently for a long moment.
Even though he knew his father was trying to gauge the situation, his silence made Legolas rather nervous, so he continued, attempting to get himself off the hook he felt being dangled a little closer with every muted moment. "She is not one to be thought of in such a way, Father. She needs a friend, one she can trust not to hurt her—" he winced, recalling the snap of her hand, "—and she would understandably rather run than be anything more than a friend to anyone. Much less me. I have become her comforting blanket, her security against the trials of the past."
"You are linked to her, as you were to Leherim," Thranduil finished for him. "But do you see her as your sister?"
Legolas scowled. "No. I have one sister. Mirimir is a friend."
After a moment, Thranduil nodded. "Very well."
~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~