Disclaimer: Refer to Chapter 1
Chapter 14: Facing the King
When Moraelin found them, Legolas was reciting a colorful string of curses at Rock. The horse had not run out of wind until they were well beyond the rocky ford across the river and nearly to the far edge of the expansive river valley. He had then slowed to a trot, and delivered the prince to the edge of the forest, just as Moraelin would have wanted. Legolas had dismounted and tried to lead the horse back, to look for Moraelin. But, the animal planted his feet stubbornly, his head down and his nostrils flared. Legolas had begun to walk by himself, planning to just leave the brute behind, but weakness soon overtook him and he dropped down on a fallen tree. He swore at the horse again, but Rock just tossed his head in defiance, shooting Legolas a look that said, "See? You go in the direction *I* want to go, or you don't go at all."
When Legolas's dizziness and blind anger had subsided enough for him to regain his feet, he took the reins again. Rock seemed to sneer at him, entirely confident that he would get his way. In frustration, Legolas cursed violently.
"Don't cuss at my horse," Moraelin called as she caught up, "He saved your life."
"Moraelin," Legolas breathed, dropping the reins and going to her, "Moraelin, are you-"
"I'm fine, Legolas," she said, holding up her hand, "But, I lost two of your arrows. I'm sorry."
Legolas waved a hand, dismissing her apology with a quick scowl. "Don't worry about that. Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded, but he saw her eyes were troubled and anxious. She kept stealing glances at the treetops, looking around her from the edges of her black eyes.
The trunks of ancient trees stood tall and proud, and fiddleheads dotted the shady floor, soon to become lacy green ferns. Fresh deer tracks could be seen in the black mud, and the air smelled of decaying leaves and thaw—a welcome smell. Stillness hung in the air, as if the forest itself was breathing a deep sigh of contentment, a long sigh that had begun years before when Dol Guldur fell. Legolas felt his shoulders relax, felt the renewal of the spring air. But, he was sure Moraelin had been more calm when facing down half a regiment of orcs. Now, her eyes were moving erratically about her and she seemed ready to bolt.
"What is it?" he asked carefully.
Moraelin shrugged, saying with feigned disregard, "This has grown back very well. This side of the wood burned. . .burned when I was born. Don't you remember?"
Legolas frowned, thinking of the terrible fire that had seared onto Moraelin the brand of a cursed being. It had been a coincidence that her birth synchronized with the tragedy, it had not been retaliation by nature and the Valar for the mingling of dwarf and elf blood. But, unfortunately, most elves didn't believe in coincidences.
"Look at how beautiful it is now," Legolas said, "Not even the forest remembers that night. Why would anyone in the city remember?"
A bitter laugh burst from Moraelin's mouth, "You are so naive. Homes were lost, elves died in that fire, no one forgets things like that. Lady Calinar, her entire family died that night. And I can still remember from when I was a little girl how she used to look at me. I have never, in all my years, seen a look to match it. It was a look that said, 'If only you weren't the Captain's daughter, if only you weren't in the queen's favor, if only I could get you alone out there in the woods I would kill you with my bare hands.' She was the worst, but there were others, lots of them. How could a child possibly understand such things? I used to try and figure out what I had done to anger everyone so, I swore that if I knew what it was I would stop doing it and be a perfect elfling. I just wanted the looks to stop, I wanted them to smile at me, like they did to my brother, like they did to all the other children. . ."
Moraelin clamped her mouth shut, turning away. She had never spoken to anyone about these feelings, but he kept watching her with those blasted blue eyes that made her want to tell him things. She grunted in frustration, going to Rock and replacing Legolas's bow on the saddlebags.
When Legolas's voice broke into the uncomfortable quiet, she expected him to try and comfort her, offer her hollow words of support that would do nothing to change how terrible it had once been. But, instead, his voice was dark, detached as he said, "I do remember. I remember the night of the fire. I could smell the smoke even in the palace and one of the maidservants took me into the deepest caverns where it was cold. I wanted to see my mother, but they told me she was helping someone who was sick. And, there was this sound, it was the strangest sound I'd ever heard, a high pitched wailing off somewhere in the palace. I asked the maid what on Arda it was. She said it was a baby crying. I had never heard the sound before. . .I was the youngest child in Mirkwood. I wanted to see this baby and see my mother, but I was kept away. I was locked away from you both."
Legolas watched Moraelin's back. She had gone very still, facing away from him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"The next day," Legolas continued, "I remember standing next to my father and Eregos as two elves buried a wooden box," Moraelin gasped, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth, "Eregos was chanting words in a language I didn't understand and everyone seemed so solemn. I didn't know what was happening. When they threw the last shovel-full of dirt on top of it, I remember Eregos dropped to his knees. He dropped hard, like someone had kicked him in the back. And, he just stayed there. He didn't weep, he just sat there, with his arms limp, staring at the dirt. Father picked me up and took me back to the palace. Eregos didn't come with us."
Moraelin was shaking her head and turned to him with a scowl. "Well, now that we've had this touching exchange of childhood memories, I suggest we get going. We are running out of time."
Disbelief filled Legolas's eyes, "I just told you I saw your mother buried, and that is how you respond? I never could have imagined you would have grown so cold. Never."
Moraelin's face changed then, and she looked down in shame. "I'm sorry that I have disappointed you. But, it is done."
"No," Legolas whispered, stepping closer to her, "The forest healed. So can you."
He pulled her into his arms, and was surprised when she did not fight him. She went to him almost eagerly, wrapping her good arm around his waist. He placed a kiss on her hair and said, "When this nonsense with Talendil is taken care of. . . when this is all over, you and I are going to put this old pain behind us and never look back with sadness again."
"When this is all over," Moraelin agreed, her words muffled against his shirt.
"Now," Legolas said with an unsteady smile, "You'd better help me back up on that horse because I think I'm about to pass out."
A chuckle slipped from Moraelin's mouth and she kept her arm around him, steering the weakened elf toward his mount. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to think of a future beyond drinking ale she could barely afford and eating whatever she could snare. But, she dared not hope too strongly for it. Maybe it was just a foolish dream.
* * *
The journey through Mirkwood was uneventful, to Moraelin's relief and surprise. What was even more surprising was the change that had occurred in the forest. In her centuries away, she had heard the stories of how dangerous it had become here. All traces of that were now gone, it was a vibrant place that seemed to pulsate with life. The green was so intense it nearly burned the eyes, and all manner of furred and winged creatures could be seen, their glittering black eyes watching the two elves with curiosity as they passed.
They traveled much in silence now, resting when Legolas needed to, camping when the night grew too deep for travel. Legolas's strength was returning to him slowly, but he still looked too gaunt and pale for Moraelin's liking. Soon, what Moraelin had most dreaded, what chilled her heart, came into view. The bridge.
Once she crossed it, she would be in the city again, be sucked back into the world of elves and their rules and traditions. . .and prejudices.
Legolas could see the side of her face and the dull, bottomless terror in her eyes. He had seen that look before, that hopeless surrender. It had been in the eyes of all who stood at the Black Gates of Mordor in the Last Battle.
Moraelin shook off her foreboding and pulled steadily at Rock's reins. The looks began almost immediately, with the first passerby they encountered. Moraelin was used to the looks, she got them in every village she rode into. They followed a predictable pattern: the first quick glance, followed by a second, more searching look. Then, when they still could not figure out *what* she was, a perplexed frown would cross their face and they would stare openly. They might even lean over, whisper to someone near them, ". . .looks like an elf, but ain't like no elf I've ever seen." "Part orc, you s'pose?" "Odd creatures wandering down from the hills, what is becoming of this city. . ."
Among elves, the looks were more subtle, the whispered comments of more advanced wording, but the sequence had not changed. Moraelin's response was just as formulaic. Shoulders back, head up, harden your eyes and look straight ahead. When the whispers began, she would recite in her mind a childhood song Queen Myallore had taught her about frogs in a pond, or count backwards from seven hundred and seventy-six, or try to remember what color the curtains had been in her old bedroom. Anything so that she wouldn't listen.
Once she had survived the gauntlet of hushed voices and disbelieving looks, she found herself at the palace gates.
"Four hundred and fifty-two," she murmured, tipping her head back to gaze up at the forbidding stone of Thranduil's fortress.
"Four hundred and fifty-one," she stopped, realizing the whispers were silenced. Only the eyes of the guards now rested on her.
Legolas dismounted, a little stiffly, but with more grace than he would have a couple of days earlier. The guards quickly opened the gates for them and Legolas said, "I will stable Rock. You should go to my father. Can you remember where the throne room is?"
Moraelin nodded mutely. As Legolas turned away, she said, "Legolas. . . go see your mother too. You are still not fully healed."
He nodded and was gone. She stood for an anxious moment, biting her lip. She wanted him to come back, she didn't want him to leave her alone like this. She frowned. For years she had taken care of herself, why should she need Legolas now? It was pathetic! But, she did.
Moraelin caught the eye of one of the guards and he quietly asked, "Milady, would you like me to help you find the throne room?"
"No—no, I can find it," she mumbled. The elf smiled at her. A genuine smile. Moraelin turned quickly away and entered the palace. Maybe it was true, maybe they had changed.
After a few wrong turns, Moraelin neared the most ornately decorated corridor. Well-placed torches highlighted colorful tapestries and old weapons of magnificent design graced the walls. She could hear the demanding rumble of Thranduil's voice in his throne room and took a deep breath. When she entered, several sets of shining blue eyes turned to her, but the gaze that drew hers was the King's. His penetrating eyes passed over her as he unfolded his tall body from his throne. His advisors looked on with nervous expressions as he stalked over to the girl. Looking her up and down slowly, he finally lifted one arched eyebrow and grinned. "Moraelin. Still alive?"
Moraelin's lip curled into a smile, a cold, soulless smile. Legolas was a fool. Nothing had changed. Slowly, she replied, "Yes. No thanks to you."
Chapter 14: Facing the King
When Moraelin found them, Legolas was reciting a colorful string of curses at Rock. The horse had not run out of wind until they were well beyond the rocky ford across the river and nearly to the far edge of the expansive river valley. He had then slowed to a trot, and delivered the prince to the edge of the forest, just as Moraelin would have wanted. Legolas had dismounted and tried to lead the horse back, to look for Moraelin. But, the animal planted his feet stubbornly, his head down and his nostrils flared. Legolas had begun to walk by himself, planning to just leave the brute behind, but weakness soon overtook him and he dropped down on a fallen tree. He swore at the horse again, but Rock just tossed his head in defiance, shooting Legolas a look that said, "See? You go in the direction *I* want to go, or you don't go at all."
When Legolas's dizziness and blind anger had subsided enough for him to regain his feet, he took the reins again. Rock seemed to sneer at him, entirely confident that he would get his way. In frustration, Legolas cursed violently.
"Don't cuss at my horse," Moraelin called as she caught up, "He saved your life."
"Moraelin," Legolas breathed, dropping the reins and going to her, "Moraelin, are you-"
"I'm fine, Legolas," she said, holding up her hand, "But, I lost two of your arrows. I'm sorry."
Legolas waved a hand, dismissing her apology with a quick scowl. "Don't worry about that. Are you sure you're all right?"
She nodded, but he saw her eyes were troubled and anxious. She kept stealing glances at the treetops, looking around her from the edges of her black eyes.
The trunks of ancient trees stood tall and proud, and fiddleheads dotted the shady floor, soon to become lacy green ferns. Fresh deer tracks could be seen in the black mud, and the air smelled of decaying leaves and thaw—a welcome smell. Stillness hung in the air, as if the forest itself was breathing a deep sigh of contentment, a long sigh that had begun years before when Dol Guldur fell. Legolas felt his shoulders relax, felt the renewal of the spring air. But, he was sure Moraelin had been more calm when facing down half a regiment of orcs. Now, her eyes were moving erratically about her and she seemed ready to bolt.
"What is it?" he asked carefully.
Moraelin shrugged, saying with feigned disregard, "This has grown back very well. This side of the wood burned. . .burned when I was born. Don't you remember?"
Legolas frowned, thinking of the terrible fire that had seared onto Moraelin the brand of a cursed being. It had been a coincidence that her birth synchronized with the tragedy, it had not been retaliation by nature and the Valar for the mingling of dwarf and elf blood. But, unfortunately, most elves didn't believe in coincidences.
"Look at how beautiful it is now," Legolas said, "Not even the forest remembers that night. Why would anyone in the city remember?"
A bitter laugh burst from Moraelin's mouth, "You are so naive. Homes were lost, elves died in that fire, no one forgets things like that. Lady Calinar, her entire family died that night. And I can still remember from when I was a little girl how she used to look at me. I have never, in all my years, seen a look to match it. It was a look that said, 'If only you weren't the Captain's daughter, if only you weren't in the queen's favor, if only I could get you alone out there in the woods I would kill you with my bare hands.' She was the worst, but there were others, lots of them. How could a child possibly understand such things? I used to try and figure out what I had done to anger everyone so, I swore that if I knew what it was I would stop doing it and be a perfect elfling. I just wanted the looks to stop, I wanted them to smile at me, like they did to my brother, like they did to all the other children. . ."
Moraelin clamped her mouth shut, turning away. She had never spoken to anyone about these feelings, but he kept watching her with those blasted blue eyes that made her want to tell him things. She grunted in frustration, going to Rock and replacing Legolas's bow on the saddlebags.
When Legolas's voice broke into the uncomfortable quiet, she expected him to try and comfort her, offer her hollow words of support that would do nothing to change how terrible it had once been. But, instead, his voice was dark, detached as he said, "I do remember. I remember the night of the fire. I could smell the smoke even in the palace and one of the maidservants took me into the deepest caverns where it was cold. I wanted to see my mother, but they told me she was helping someone who was sick. And, there was this sound, it was the strangest sound I'd ever heard, a high pitched wailing off somewhere in the palace. I asked the maid what on Arda it was. She said it was a baby crying. I had never heard the sound before. . .I was the youngest child in Mirkwood. I wanted to see this baby and see my mother, but I was kept away. I was locked away from you both."
Legolas watched Moraelin's back. She had gone very still, facing away from him with her arms crossed tightly over her chest.
"The next day," Legolas continued, "I remember standing next to my father and Eregos as two elves buried a wooden box," Moraelin gasped, bringing a shaking hand to her mouth, "Eregos was chanting words in a language I didn't understand and everyone seemed so solemn. I didn't know what was happening. When they threw the last shovel-full of dirt on top of it, I remember Eregos dropped to his knees. He dropped hard, like someone had kicked him in the back. And, he just stayed there. He didn't weep, he just sat there, with his arms limp, staring at the dirt. Father picked me up and took me back to the palace. Eregos didn't come with us."
Moraelin was shaking her head and turned to him with a scowl. "Well, now that we've had this touching exchange of childhood memories, I suggest we get going. We are running out of time."
Disbelief filled Legolas's eyes, "I just told you I saw your mother buried, and that is how you respond? I never could have imagined you would have grown so cold. Never."
Moraelin's face changed then, and she looked down in shame. "I'm sorry that I have disappointed you. But, it is done."
"No," Legolas whispered, stepping closer to her, "The forest healed. So can you."
He pulled her into his arms, and was surprised when she did not fight him. She went to him almost eagerly, wrapping her good arm around his waist. He placed a kiss on her hair and said, "When this nonsense with Talendil is taken care of. . . when this is all over, you and I are going to put this old pain behind us and never look back with sadness again."
"When this is all over," Moraelin agreed, her words muffled against his shirt.
"Now," Legolas said with an unsteady smile, "You'd better help me back up on that horse because I think I'm about to pass out."
A chuckle slipped from Moraelin's mouth and she kept her arm around him, steering the weakened elf toward his mount. It felt good to laugh. It felt good to think of a future beyond drinking ale she could barely afford and eating whatever she could snare. But, she dared not hope too strongly for it. Maybe it was just a foolish dream.
* * *
The journey through Mirkwood was uneventful, to Moraelin's relief and surprise. What was even more surprising was the change that had occurred in the forest. In her centuries away, she had heard the stories of how dangerous it had become here. All traces of that were now gone, it was a vibrant place that seemed to pulsate with life. The green was so intense it nearly burned the eyes, and all manner of furred and winged creatures could be seen, their glittering black eyes watching the two elves with curiosity as they passed.
They traveled much in silence now, resting when Legolas needed to, camping when the night grew too deep for travel. Legolas's strength was returning to him slowly, but he still looked too gaunt and pale for Moraelin's liking. Soon, what Moraelin had most dreaded, what chilled her heart, came into view. The bridge.
Once she crossed it, she would be in the city again, be sucked back into the world of elves and their rules and traditions. . .and prejudices.
Legolas could see the side of her face and the dull, bottomless terror in her eyes. He had seen that look before, that hopeless surrender. It had been in the eyes of all who stood at the Black Gates of Mordor in the Last Battle.
Moraelin shook off her foreboding and pulled steadily at Rock's reins. The looks began almost immediately, with the first passerby they encountered. Moraelin was used to the looks, she got them in every village she rode into. They followed a predictable pattern: the first quick glance, followed by a second, more searching look. Then, when they still could not figure out *what* she was, a perplexed frown would cross their face and they would stare openly. They might even lean over, whisper to someone near them, ". . .looks like an elf, but ain't like no elf I've ever seen." "Part orc, you s'pose?" "Odd creatures wandering down from the hills, what is becoming of this city. . ."
Among elves, the looks were more subtle, the whispered comments of more advanced wording, but the sequence had not changed. Moraelin's response was just as formulaic. Shoulders back, head up, harden your eyes and look straight ahead. When the whispers began, she would recite in her mind a childhood song Queen Myallore had taught her about frogs in a pond, or count backwards from seven hundred and seventy-six, or try to remember what color the curtains had been in her old bedroom. Anything so that she wouldn't listen.
Once she had survived the gauntlet of hushed voices and disbelieving looks, she found herself at the palace gates.
"Four hundred and fifty-two," she murmured, tipping her head back to gaze up at the forbidding stone of Thranduil's fortress.
"Four hundred and fifty-one," she stopped, realizing the whispers were silenced. Only the eyes of the guards now rested on her.
Legolas dismounted, a little stiffly, but with more grace than he would have a couple of days earlier. The guards quickly opened the gates for them and Legolas said, "I will stable Rock. You should go to my father. Can you remember where the throne room is?"
Moraelin nodded mutely. As Legolas turned away, she said, "Legolas. . . go see your mother too. You are still not fully healed."
He nodded and was gone. She stood for an anxious moment, biting her lip. She wanted him to come back, she didn't want him to leave her alone like this. She frowned. For years she had taken care of herself, why should she need Legolas now? It was pathetic! But, she did.
Moraelin caught the eye of one of the guards and he quietly asked, "Milady, would you like me to help you find the throne room?"
"No—no, I can find it," she mumbled. The elf smiled at her. A genuine smile. Moraelin turned quickly away and entered the palace. Maybe it was true, maybe they had changed.
After a few wrong turns, Moraelin neared the most ornately decorated corridor. Well-placed torches highlighted colorful tapestries and old weapons of magnificent design graced the walls. She could hear the demanding rumble of Thranduil's voice in his throne room and took a deep breath. When she entered, several sets of shining blue eyes turned to her, but the gaze that drew hers was the King's. His penetrating eyes passed over her as he unfolded his tall body from his throne. His advisors looked on with nervous expressions as he stalked over to the girl. Looking her up and down slowly, he finally lifted one arched eyebrow and grinned. "Moraelin. Still alive?"
Moraelin's lip curled into a smile, a cold, soulless smile. Legolas was a fool. Nothing had changed. Slowly, she replied, "Yes. No thanks to you."
