Hi all, sorry this has been so delayed. I've lost count of how long it's been... too many hours of working. I, of course, work the hours the computer lab is open, save my day off, when I'm not sap enough to accept someone else's hours.
Anyway, thanks for still reading, and I promise I'll try to do a bit better about updating!
brownie24: They didn't realize it was her for a few reasons. Her physical appearance is a bit different--she's older, and her face has lost some of its youth. She doesn't dress the same, and certainly doesn't act the same. Ellerionly sees her when she's closer to what she used to be--dressed properly, hair unbound, face softened by worry and fatigue. Legolas only noticed her in passing, before-- as Elleri's friend, as the daughter of one of his father's advisors.
madrone: You're my kind of reader. I generally figure after all this reading I want it to feel worth the effort and time. ;-) All shall be explained eventually, though if you have questions that you think should have been cleared up by now, do let me know (and ask).
emrys: the tongue will be explained eventually. I'm not going to spoil it by explaining... though I don't know if there's been enough, yet, for you to get it by re-reading unless you're like a few of my readers who can aparently read my mind and jump to improbable but perfectly correct conclusions based on small hints.
Iluvenis: You're close, as ever. Glorfindel is clueless, though.
LJP: No, Ashes isn't bound to Elleri, save as an old friend.
Animir: Yeah, but it's still fun to confuse him. Thanks for waiting... you want to go to school for me? I hate getting up so blasted early for a class I'm not getting credit for...
Aglarendis: Thank you for the vote of confidence! I got a lot of flack when I first started posting this one. I can honestly see their point in certain aspects of the story, but I'm glad the telling of it is interesting enough to keep your attention. I'm glad you like my OCs-- I've come across what you mentioned on occassion, and I find it rather confusing, then quite annoying. Legolas has been a bit harder, really, as he's rather set in my mind and becomes clearer with every story. I can change his age, experience, family... but he stays essentially the same. I don't know if that makes it easier or harder to read, but he's easier to write.
Chapter 17 Make her return
He glanced over his shoulder when the door opened without a knock. He lifted a brow in question, and she shrugged. He glanced over her attire. "Not wearing your usual black?"
"As if this shade of green is so far from it," she countered tartly, crossing her arms over her chest. "Did he send for you?" she asked abruptly after a few minutes spent in silence.
"Yes."
She nodded and waited quietly for a few minutes more, then swore rather darkly under her breath and strode straight into the office behind the study.
Legolas's brow lifted, but he followed, feeling rather like a child in those moments—stepping into forbidden territory, and not so soothed by following one who was apparently comfortable there as perhaps he should have been. Of course, it was familiar to her. She had followed her father everywhere after her mother had died, and he had been the king's best friend and most trusted advisor. She no doubt knew more of the secrets to the 'royal' quarters of the halls than he did.
"I wondered how long you would wait, child," his father murmured, looking up from a document on his desk.
"Enough of the games, Thranduil," she muttered sharply, crossing her arms over her chest as she paced up to the desk, stopping only when her thighs pressed against the edge. "Why did you call us here?"
"We need to discuss this now, Silrinil."
Legolas got the feeling that he was missing something… which wasn't really all that helpful. He knew he was missing a lot, but neither one before him seemed to really even remember he was there.
Her eyes flashed in anger.
Thranduil noted it with a lifted brow and set the document down, taking a moment to dry his quill before resting it lightly beside the paper so the tip wouldn't be ruined by some random accident. "It is your name. I will not spend centuries calling you by a name you were not given."
"I may not have been given the name Ashes, but I took it." Her response was short, and quite acidic. He hadn't heard anyone speak like that to his Ada since… well, since her father. He had looked up to the other elf, even though he was often shocked at his words or tone when addressing the King.
"You like it?"
Her jaw tightened, and she suddenly jerked away, pacing over to the side. "It is mine." Her voice sunk on the last word, a furious possessiveness that seemed rather out of place, in his opinion, considering they were discussing her wandering name over her given one.
"Surely with what Glorfindel has told you of your parents you would honor them by keeping the name they gave you?"
"You know not what he has told me," she harshly replied, all but spitting the cutting words.
"No. I don't," he agreed quietly.
"You know nothing of them." She shifted uncomfortably, as if she couldn't remain immobile while so furious.
"I know enough. Your father was just as silent as you have become, which is why I find the name he gave you a matter of such importance."
"They are dead, Thranduil. Neither you nor I can change that. What should it bother them if I choose to be forgotten?"
He sighed, and leaned back in his chair. After a moment he shook his head and let out a snort of laughter. "I didn't know your mother well, but you always used to remind me of her."
She didn't stir.
"You are more like him, now, than you could ever know. While he was recovering from losing your mother," the second part he added softly, watching her carefully for any sign he'd touched her.
Still nothing.
"If you remain here, you will do so as Silrinil, Lady of the court."
"Ada!" Legolas interjected before he knew he was intending to.
She glanced at him before Thranduil could open his mouth for any response. "You object?"
He didn't look at her. "I object to such an ultimatum, knowing how stubborn you are. I would prefer having you here, as Ashes, than gone as the Lady Silrinil."
"But you don't object to forcing me to take my old title?" she asked, bitterness dripping from the words.
"It is your title, whether you want it or not," he snapped, glancing over at her. He stilled, realizing only now why she had reminded him of someone else. He sank into a chair, the move incidentally creating a much better angle for comparison. "I'd forgotten," he murmured. Now standing over her shoulder was an elf with her hair, her eyes, the same strong, stubborn jaw… with a sword he hadn't seen since she left. Silrinil looked almost as a female version of her father, distinguished only by the slight inheritance of her mother in her looks—her features weren't as close to being nearly squared off, and her eyes were tilted just slightly, giving her an ever softer look, no matter the expression. "You even have his expression," he mused, making her look over her shoulder. He'd remembered her father, of course, but simply hadn't realized how much she resembled him. He should have figured it out sooner.
She smiled fondly, reaching up to the painting to trace the line of her father's jaw, her fingers hovering just over the material of his painted cloak. He too, had usually worn dark colors.
He really should have figured it out much sooner. He mentally snorted. He hadn't even figured it out. Elleri, mostly out of it and pained, had been the one to place her as the one of his memories.
With a colossal sigh she dropped into the other chair that faced his father's desk, and inclined her head. "Very well, Uncle. You win. Lady Silrinil has returned." Her lips were pursed as she snapped her gaze from the portrait behind his desk to him. "But I will remain as I have been."
"I wouldn't dream of forcing you from Service. You seem to enjoy it… and I hear I have you to thank for my son's life."
"Thank your queen for that, Sire," she murmured, getting to her feet once more. "Is that quite all?"
"No. I would like you to dine with us when not required to do so with the others of the patrol."
Eyes closed, head slightly bowed, her hands fisted tightly as she fought to control either her voice or her tongue. "And I suppose you would have me wear a dress and return to my old room?"
"You may dress as you desire… but I would like to see you returned to your place with us, my girl."
"Thranduil… I…" she shook her head. "I… I can't… or I…" Legolas, from his seat, could see a moment of fear, of panic flicker in her eyes.
For being such a strong, independent elf, she certainly had her difficulties with certain issues, and they had, unfortunately, somehow all coalesced into a brief time of torment he wouldn't wish on anyone.
"If you can't, Silrinil, then you do not belong here."
Legolas looked from her defeated posture to Thranduil's impassive face. "Ada? Are you—"
"Enough, Legolas."
Clenching his jaw so tightly his teeth squeaked in protest, Legolas managed not to respond, but it was a very close thing. He stared at the portrait behind the desk, stared into his mother's eyes, and heard her gentle words in his head. She had often advised him to hold his tongue around his father, especially when he had this particular look in his eyes. It said, to any who knew the dangers of it, that he would get his way, no matter anyone's objections, and would most certainly not appreciate them if they in any way expressed those objections… especially should the expressing of them interfere with or delay him in getting his way.
Silrinil whirled around, staring up at the portrait of her father once more. As he had done for more than two thousand years, he stared sternly from the portrait, so much ancient knowledge and pain in his eyes as he studied the workings of a kingdom of wood-elves. She murmured a few words in her unknown tongue under her breath, then straightened, head up, shoulders squared. She turned to face Thranduil with cold eyes. "Very well. I will be making some changes in my room, and you have naught to do with any suitors who might be interested in the 'mysterious lady'." She glanced at Legolas. "Do I have your support to remain in your patrol?"
He nodded quickly. "Of course. You're the strongest with weapons." Anyone who could defeat Glorfindel—repeatedly—when sparring was an asset. Of course, neither played to win, not truly, though they certainly didn't play to lose, either. Glorfindel's sense of style and art of movement simply couldn't compete with her savage flair, her ability to compile centuries of learning into a style all her own which changed to best meet any opponent. When she tried to meet him with his own style, she soon fell.
"But not as knowing in other areas," she reminded him. He hadn't given her a group of her own, and hadn't set her upon one of his other leaders. All the elves in the Service knew or quickly learned what that meant—she was too wild, too undisciplined to unthinkingly follow or to sedately lead.
"You know the wood well," he offered softly.
"I should," she replied a bit cryptically, a bit sarcastically. After a glare to Thranduil that should have melted mithril she swept from the room, missing her cape to complete the dramatic exit.
"Ada?" Legolas asked when the doors closed behind her. "Were you trying to make her leave?"
"No, son," Thranduil answered quietly. "I was trying to make her return."
Legolas paused, stilling as a pair of grey eyes looked at him from over Thranduil's shoulder. There she was, more or less kneeling beside Elleri. Verine was sitting on the floor beside him, Morsallien on their mother's lap. He was standing at her shoulder, behind Elleri and Silrinil. The two dear friends were smiling broadly, ears flushed with whatever mischief they had been up to before the portrait's sitting had begun. His expression was somewhat bland… after all, there are far more interesting things to do when not even five hundred, yet old enough to be allowed some more freedom than those under two hundred were allowed. "And if she didn't want to?"
"She must, Legolas. Or we lose her for good."