Author's note: Please read the first chapter to get a feel for this story. If you start here, you probably won't get it. Also, lots of foreshadowing.
Chapter 3 - The Meeting
"Would you like something to eat?"
When the words finally managed to penetrate Mortimir's deep slumber, the man awoke with an odd-sounding groan; light-colored long lashes fluttering open. He immediately felt a stab of pain; he hurt all over his entire body. But he was surprised to find that he was not in his own Gondorian sleeping bag/tent, but in a large bed covered in fancy silk sheets and blankets with embossed leaf designs and an allover forest motif. It was almost nicer than his Prince-sized bed back home.
After a moment of thinking, Mortimir rolled onto his side, to see whose voice had awoken him. His eyes opened wide when he saw the person who sat next to the bed.
It was a young elf, very blond, and very good-looking. He sat on a chair near to the bed, dressed in what looked like an archer's uniform, earth-toned and also with a forest motif. He was also wearing a bow and a long-sword in a long-sword sheath, which was how Mortimir knew he was an archer. His hair was golden-blond and shone with the light of a hundred million suns as it cascaded down his back. He had a few tiny and delicate braids holding the gorgeous hair away from a more-gorgeous face. They were so small and tastefully placed that they must have been professionally done. The young elf had incredible blue sapphire sparkling eyes, deep and azure as a pool of tropical water.
"Would you like something to eat?" the elf asked again, smiling. The smile stirred something in Mortimir that he had never felt before. "I'm glad you've finally rejoined us."
"Where am I?" Mortimir asked, very confused. He looked around the room quickly. The bedroom was simply and elegantly furnished, with large, wood carved furniture embellished with fine elven antiques that might go for thousands of gold pieces at auction. There was a great big wardrobe that could fit a hundred different outfits, and a huge mirror and vanity covered in brushes and shampoos. The room itself was decorated mostly in greens and browns, but there were stylish traces of warm colors scattered here and there, almost as if there had been an interior decorator. The curtains were heavily embroidered and looked like they might have taken hundreds of years to complete. Mortimir could see tree tops through two large, open windows to the right of his bed.
"You are in King Thranduil's Canopy Palace," the elf replied heartily. "You were rescued from a ferocious band of orcs last night, and were brought here to recover."
Mortimir gasped, running a hand through his normally immaculate flame red hair. It was now dirty and tangled, soiled by the last night's escapades. He felt ashamed to look so unkempt while an Angel sat by his bedside.
"I am grateful to be alive." Mortimir said quietly. "I must thank the King at once!"
"The King knows of your situation, and requires you to recuperate. Shall I have something brought to you?"
At this point, Mortimir tried to sit up, and realized that he was naked.
"Where is my clothing?" he asked. He quickly slid the covers back over him, lounging in their sleekness.
The elf smiled, and Mortimir wanted to cry. The elf was so outrageously indescribably extraordinarily handsome that it made tears come to his eyes. He shook his head, trying to remain calm, but his heart was beating a little faster than usual.
"Unfortunately, your clothes were badly ruined during the attack. They were burnt immediately. However, you are free to dress yourself in whatever you might find in the wardrobe." The elf pointed. "You seem to be about my size."
Mortimer's heart skipped a beat. This elf must be an important archer to have his own room in the palace, he thought. Mortimir's heart skipped about three more beats when he realized that he was lying completely nude in the elf's bed. He turned as red as a sunburn. He looked around, trying to hide his obvious discomfort.
"Where is my satchel?" he queried. His satchel contained all of his pens and pencils and markers and watercolors and paints quills and paper and erasers and inks and perfume and pressed daisies that he would need in order to start a new life as a true poet and artist.
"We did manage to rescue your knapsack. It has been put in a safe place."
Mortimir couldn't help but stare at the stunning elf. He was tall, poised, thin, and had a perfect waist-shoulder ratio. Mortimir was sure he had a lean, toned body underneath all that heavy clothing.
All of a sudden, there came a knock on the door, and a female elf entered dressed almost like a nurse, carrying a tray of steaming hot delights, including eggs, bacon, French toast, Earl Gray tea, and a waffle emblazoned with the Mirkwood Royal crest.
"Breakfast!" she said cheerfully, placing the tray on a wicker night table. The archer cut a piece of French toast and put it forward towards Mortimir.
"Have something to eat. You must be famished."
Mortimir had butterflies in his stomach. He submissively bent forward and took the French toast. He swallowed it quickly, savoring the sweet syrup. It tasted good in his mouth.
"I am so glad you are awake. But I now must go and finish my daily training." The handsome elf said, standing. Mortimir had a good eye-level view. "Perhaps when you are well, we might converse more."
"Where will you stay, if I am to remain here?" Mortimir inquired.
"My father has an extra chamber I might have for a while. Do not let it worry you. For now, I bid you farewell."
With that the elf left, leaving Mortimir to watch. The nurse elf remained, watching Mortimir eat.
"You are so lucky," she pointed out to him, "that Prince Legolas rescued you."
The Prince? Mortimir thought.
"The Prince?" Mortimir said.
"Yes," the nurse replied, "that was Prince Legolas, son and heir of King Thranduil of Mirkwood."