CHAPTER V

Lassiel wiped her hands on her already filthy clothing, and wrinkled her nose. She was covered in blood, straw, and hay; thankfully she had changed out of that lovely green dress in mid-afternoon. Pretty as it was, it was not practical, and not at all what she was used to wearing, and she had been greatly relieved when she saw that women also wore pants and tunics.

The birth had been extremely difficult for the little mare; she had unexpectedly been carrying twins. The first was big and sturdy, and a rich brown color that seemed likely to become gray as she got older. She already stood at her dam's side, suckling eagerly. The second, however, was scrawny and undersized; the unfortunate weaker twin. He was bay like his dam, and he lay exhausted in the straw. His mother had shown no interest in him so far, and Lassiel was worried. He needed to nurse; he was weak enough already.

She sat down beside him, and he lifted his head to look her, making his ears wobble.

"I worry for this one," Faronel said quietly.

"I do too." Lassiel ran a hand down the colt's damp neck. "We should rub him dry; his dam is not going to do it."

They fluffed the colt's soft coat, rubbing it vigorously until he was thoroughly dried. Suddenly, he threw his forefeet out in front of him.

"He is going to try to stand," said Faronel, sounding surprised. After a few unsuccessful tries, the skinny colt staggered to his feet, swaying like a drunken man. Lassiel moved to his side and steadied him, pointing him the direction of his dam.

The bay mare swung around and pinned her ears, flashing her teeth savagely.

"Meril!" cried Faronel sharply.

"She will not have him," Lassiel said sadly. "This often happens with twins. She knows that the filly is hers, but she cannot fathom where this other thing had come from. A colt who never tastes at least his mother's first milk will never survive."

Faronel went to Meril's head and pulled her away from her rejected son. "Lead him up and let him drink, then, and I shall hold her for as long as I can."

Lassiel and the colt wobbled up to Meril, and he latched on to her teat eagerly and began to nurse hard for such a little thing, his short tail swishing all the while. Meril stood for this patiently for a few minutes.

"Let her go," suggested Lassiel. "Perhaps she will let him nurse now."

Faronel released Meril's head. She snorted, and slowly craned her head to look at her side. Then she lunged at the little colt viciously, and Lassiel snatched him quickly out of range of his mother's teeth.

Faronel smiled sadly. "Well, little one, what are we to do with you?"

"Are there no other nursing mares who might take him?" Lassiel fondled the colt's floppy ears gently.

"No, I am afraid there are not." Faronel sighed.

"Are there any cows or goats here?" It was not as good as mare's milk, but it was better than nothing.

"No," said Faronel slowly, "but there is cows' milk. It is shipped in from Laketown every other day. But someone must feed him, then, day and night."

"I will do it," Lassiel said instantly.

"What, and live out in the stables? Lassiel, you cannot."

"I—I shall—I shall keep him in my bedroom if I must!" she declared. She was not going to let this colt die without a fight.

"Think you that your father will approve?"

"Think you that I care?" she retorted. Then she looked abashed. "I—he is your colt, but I will beg leave of the king to keep him with me inside and raise him, if you will let me."

"I will let you," said Faronel gravely. "And if he lives he is yours to keep."

"Thank you," she stammered.

"If you can save him, you deserve to keep him. But before your hopes rise, you must ask leave of the king."

"Oh, yes…" She felt uneasy, but would not allow herself to be dissuaded. She bent over and scooped up the little foal, his legs dangling loosely. He was far too light. "Will you come with me?" she asked, and then blushed girlishly.

"Of course," he said coolly.

"What is 'luck' in your tongue?" she asked suddenly.

"Luck?" he echoed. "As in fortune? Manadh, I suppose."

"Manadh," murmured Lassiel. "A good name."

"He shall need a fair share of it, that much is certain."

It was late at night and the halls were quiet, for which Lassiel was grateful. The king's butler looked at the horse in Lassiel's arms dubiously but said simply that he would see if the king was willing to see them. Faronel translated this for Lassiel.

Thranduil appeared a moment later and Lassiel bowed hastily, which made Manadh squirm and kick out slightly. The king stared incredulously at the colt she was carrying, and Lassiel did not know whether he was angry or amused. Please let him be amused, she pleaded.

"I—my king—I've come to ask…" She drew a deep and began again. "His mare gave birth to twins," she said, gesturing toward Faronel. "And this one, well, he was second out, and his mother will not have him, and I want to try and raise him on cows' milk, but then I must keep him with me all the time…" she trailed off, and looked toward Faronel helplessly, but damn him, he was playing aloof again. "I came to ask if you would allow me to keep this colt in my bedroom so that I may care for him."

Thranduil watched her intently. "A horse is not meant to be kept inside," he began at length.

"I know, sire," she whispered, staring at the floor.

"And some sort of pen would have to be built in corner for him; you cannot take him into your bed with you, child."

She nodded without lifting her gaze.

"And I have never allowed anyone to do anything like this before, and I have ruled these woods for a very long time in your eyes." He frowned pensively. "But I have never had anyone like you in my realm before. I will let you do this, but you are to be responsible for the colt's every step…and misstep."

"Thank you! Eh.... hannad?" She hoped that was not actually an obscenity.

Thranduil only shook his head. "I hope," he said carefully, "that I shall not come to regret this."

"You shall not, I promise!"

"This is madness!"

Legolas was not pleased the next morning, seeing a small foal curled up in her bed. She had brought him into her bed, contrary to Thranduil's word, because he would not stay on the blankets in the corner. He kept staggering up to the bedside and nuzzling at her face, until finally she had given in.

"The king said gave me permission," said Lassiel in defense. And you cannot go against his word. She rubbed her eyes tiredly. Every few hours through out the night, Manadh would start pushing his nose at her, usually attempting to draw milk out of her fingers. So she would fetch the pail of milk (warmed by hot coals in the fireplace) and soak a cloth rag in it, and then he would drink, perhaps two or three ragfuls before he fell asleep again.

"Lassiel…horses do not always survive; that is the way of things. He is very thin and weak; look, he barely stands!" She had taken Manadh off the bed, and he stood tottering in the middle of the room.

"But he wants to live! He drinks readily, and he is not so weak that he has given up!"

"I will not have you exhaust yourself for a foal with very little chance of survival," said Legolas firmly.

"I will do as I please," she replied coldly. "I shall see a score of years only a month; I am no child."

"True as that maybe, when you are here you will respect my wishes." His voice had risen slightly.

"These are not your halls; I was given permission by the king!" She crossed her arms.

"He is not your father," Legolas said quietly.

"And you are?" she said loudly. "I had not even known you existed until three days ago! Where were you when my mother died, Elf? What good did you ever do me, when I was teased and taunted and had no friends? You are no father." People coming in and out of the hall were staring at them now.

"I have apologized a thousand times, Lassiel! What in Eru's name would you have me do? I cannot change what has already happened!" He clenched his fists in frustration. She was a mere mortal girl; why should he let her claw at him like this?

"No, but you could have the courtesy to let me have a will of my own. You do not own me because you planted me in my mother's womb; I share your blood and that is all!"

Legolas drew a deep breath. "Nonetheless," he said levelly, "that is enough bring us together under these circumstances."

How he could he pretend to be so unaffected? Lassiel looked at him disgust. "Leave me alone." She turned to shut the door.

"I expect you to be at dining hall in half an hour's time," came Legolas' muffled voice through the wood of the door.

"I am too tired."

"You insist on dedicating your life to this foal; you will attend meals."

Lassiel swung around and kicked the bedpost hard. There was no arguing with that logic. Manadh jumped a little at the sound and then stumbled, landing in a heap of tangled legs. Lassiel hurried to his side and helped him to his feet again.

"What am I going to do with you while I am eating?" she asked him in dismay. He looked at her blankly, flicking his short tail once. A pen had not yet been built for him, though she had cleared him corner, but she could not let him have run of her room while she was away. Manadh had a lopsided lightning bolt on his forehead; she traced this thoughtfully.

After a moment she went to find someone who could give what she needed to build Manadh a pen. A few long boards, some posts, and some rope; that would do. With the help of a shy woman she managed to throw together a perfectly decent little stall for the colt. Her helper had conveyed that she worked in the stables, and she seemed to understand perfectly what Lassiel had in mind. In a few minutes they had thrown together a small post-and-rope pen in the corner, with a few baseboards to help keep in straw.

After thanking her helper profusely in every tongue she knew, Lassiel collapsed on the bed, exhausted. She had been late to bed and early to wake for the past two days; that and the stress of the entire situation were really beginning to set in.

I am not attending breakfast, she thought with a sudden flash of defiance. My father would do well to recall that I am mortal, and require sleep.

She pulled the lightest blanket up to her chin. The bed smelled faintly; of clean straw and a baby horse, making Lassiel smile. Manadh was flopped lazily in his pen, watching her.

"Pleasant dreams, Manadh," she murmured sleepily.

The little foal did not die. He required almost all of Lassiel's time and attention, but he lived, and so it was worthwhile. And, he proved a welcome distraction during her first month at Mirkwood.

He was now old enough and strong enough that she probably should have taken him out of her bedroom. But the thought of being alone at night, without the comfort of his little sighs as he settled into his straw, made her feel almost teary-eyed.

She would take him running through the halls, when no one was around. Today, she glanced out her door, Manadh peeking out from behind her leg.

"All right, let's go!" she laughed, bolting out the door. Manadh skittered along behind her, tiny hooves clacking on the stone floor. Lassiel turned to see him leap and strike out with one miniature foreleg at some invisible enemy.

One should never face any direction other than the one she is running in, reflected Lassiel later. She collided, full speed, with some innocent bystander. He, however, remained standing, while she landing flat on her back, looking at up at him.

In the worst possible situation, it would have been Legolas. No, no, it would have been the Elvenking himself.

This was nearly as bad.

"Faronel…" Lassiel felt herself blush from head to toe. "I…Manadh likes to…and I…"

"Do you think that might be better done outside?" He raised a dark brow; a habit of his.

"Well, doubtlessly!" she laughed in response. Please, gracious Eru, take me now and spare me this. She looked up at him ruefully from her most ungracious position.

He offered her his hand, and the long fingers curled around hers. "You might at least watch where you run." His voice was gentler now, teasing, as he helped her to her feet.

"I usually do…" She felt her blush deepen. Of course I usually do...

"You have gained a rather fetching rosy color, I must say," he said, looking amused.

"Yes, well…" She hid her face, feeling her emotions run wild. Stop blushing! called one half her. He called me 'fetching'! giggled the other. Why am I twittering all of the sudden?

Lassiel was not unused to male attention. She knew how to kiss, and she knew … other things…and she had once…I should have never, she thought ruefully. Well, she had once let a certain boy, with very nice blue eyes and a straight nose, and a mouthful of sweet words, go much too far. It had been a rather disappointing experience, on the whole. And when she had heard him glibly recounting this story to his friends, she burst into the middle of them and informed them all that he was rather lacking in a particular area (though she had no idea whether or not this was true, having no experience), and they had teased him unmercifully.

"I see he is faring well," observed Faronel, reaching out towards Manadh, who darted away, tossing his head in a comic mimicry of a full-grown stallion. "You should take him outside."

"I know…" She shifted guilty. "I do not want to, though."

"Take him outside," urged Faronel, "if even for only an hour's time."

"Come with me, then," she said much too quickly. "If you would like…" she trailed off.

He only nodded. "Come this way; it is much faster." He led her through a part of the halls she had never even seen before. I have been here for a month, and still I could easily be lost.

"Have you lived in Mirkwood all your life?" she asked suddenly.

He nodded again. "My mother and father followed King Oropher from the ruin of Doriath into the Greenwood to live amongst the Silvan folk."

Lassiel struggled to recall what her mother had taught her about the Elves of Mirkwood. 'The king is a Sinda, a Gray Elf, but he married a Silvan woman, and the prince is both Sindarin and Silvan…' The prince, she realized with a jolt, was Legolas. 'Oropher, you see, led his small house of Sindar and a large following of Silvan folk off into the Greenwood, to live lives free from the magic and subtle craft of the High Elves.' Lassiel frowned, deep in thought.

"You are a Sinda, then?" she said slowly.

Faronel nodded again. "Are you learned in lore?"

"Hardly! I know only the tales concerning Doriath that my mother told me."

"You are probably as learned as any of the folk here. That would explain the choice of name for your gray mare."

Manadh chose that moment to feel neglected, and bit Lassiel's leg with his nonexistent teeth. "Manadh!" She swatted at him.

Faronel smiled faintly. "Fortune and Star-spray; such apt names."

Lassiel gave Manadh a dark look, and he stared at her innocently. "Ill-fortune might have been better."

They lapsed into an awkward silence, and Lassiel watched Faronel furtively. Bright gray eyes, fine nose, high cheekbones, full lips, strong jaw; Lassiel felt the tell-tale fluttering of the heart that forebode infatuation.

Why? He certainly wasn't over-friendly, or charming. She frowned at herself. Besides…he is an Elf!

"Are you getting along with your father?"

Lassiel started. "No…not particularly," she admitted. "We argued again, yesterday."

"You should be glad you have been given this opportunity to know him," Faronel informed her wisely.

"I suppose I should be grateful to him for tearing me away from everything I have ever known." You will not preach to me. What do you know?

"My father and mother are dead. My father was killed before the Black Gates in the Last Alliance, while I watched, and my mother wasted away from grief not long after. Be glad your father is alive."

Lassiel stared at him, trying to speak but finding no words. Manadh butted his muzzle into her palm, and she scratched him behind the ears automatically.

Faronel turned to her sharply. "You are a very strong, intelligent woman; do not waste this opportunity."

"I was not aware it mattered so much to you. It is my opportunity and not yours."

"Well then I shall say this: Your father is my friend, and he does not deserve the treatment you give him."

"So you are his emissary, then!" Lassiel felt a hot sense of betrayal course through her.

"Actually," he said wryly, "he has asked me to teach you Sindarin."

"Why?"

"Because you are a sullen and uncooperative pupil, and he seems to think that I will fare better."

"Why would he think that?" she asked, mortification welling up inside her.

"Perhaps I should ask you the same thing."

"Well, I would not know!"

"Would you not?" He was smiling slightly. "I am glad to do it, understand. Perhaps we might start while Manadh enjoys his time outside."

"Fine."

Later that day, Manadh seemed yearn for the name ill fortune.

Lassiel was bickering in undertones with Legolas at the dinner table; it was one of the times she was required to see him

"You have graced us with your presence, I see." Lassiel had skipped breakfast that morning.

"You do not need to pretend you enjoy me," she snapped. "I know you would just as soon I not come."

"That is not true."

Suddenly, all the talk at the table stopped abruptly, and Lassiel felt eyes focus in on her. Surely they had not heard what she was saying! Most of them did not even know the language she was speaking.

Something prodded her gently in the back. Oh no, she groaned mentally. Please, no.

Manadh looked utterly pleased with himself, having found his foster-mother. He reached up to nuzzle her face.

Thranduil was staring at her. "I am so sorry…" Her voice finally broke the taught silence. The king did not respond immediately.

Manadh extended his head towards Lassiel's plate curiously. With great care, he selected a piece of honeyed apple and nibbled it daintily.

Softly at first, then with more force, the sound of laughter swept through the room. The laughter of Elves was as the rippling of water down a stream, and Lassiel was carried with sound. They laughed genially, and she could not help but join them, and feel some of her embarrassment fade.

She turned to Legolas apprehensively, waiting to be rebuked. Instead he smiled; a swift, true smile that lit his features. Lassiel returned the favor with relief.

She would never forget the look on his face, as if she had just given him all the gold beneath the earth. It means that much to him, that I smiled?

Suddenly, she felt very poorly about herself.

Manadh's name is explained; Meril means rose.

The information as to the history of the Elves of Mirkwood comes from Unfinnished Tales.

My statement that Legolas is half Sindarin and half Silvan is my own conclusion founded by canonical fact. Thranduil is Sindarin, and yet in the Lord of the Rings, Legolas consistently refers to himself as a Wood-elf. Thranduil's marriage to a Silvan woman also lends itself toward his attempt to immerse himself in the simpler Silvan culture.