Chapter 3

Fyi this is also being posted on AO3! Thanks for reading!

...

She told him stories of the moon and sea, of waves and boats and calling gulls. Her first fifty years had been spent on the coast, before being sent to Lothlórien, before becoming a ward of Cala's family. The notion of an endless expanse of water was almost unfathomable to Legolas, which lead to a visit to the family library to find a map and images of the oceans of the world.

"Can we visit the sea?" he asked abruptly one day as her fingers traced white-crested waves along the pages of a book.

Miriel considered. Would Thranduil allow his only heir to venture outside of the forest while he was still an elfling? Thranduil himself loathed to leave the Greenwood unless absolutely necessary. State events or battles seemed to be the threshold for him.

"Maybe," she finally said. "Your father might allow it someday. But the sea is so far away, Legolas. The distance looks small on the page, but it takes weeks, sometimes even months to travel such a ways. Could you go so long without seeing your adar?"

He frowned. "Why would he not join us?"

"Your father has a duty to his people. Caring for the Greenwood requires the presence of the king. He's bound to the wood. That does not mean he can never leave, but it is always a risk to leave one's home."

Legolas's small fair brow furrowed. "Will I be able to travel?"

Miriel pressed a kiss to the wrinkles that marred his forehead. "Yes, my Little Leaf. It's just a little complicated. But you'll get to see everything of this world someday, I'm sure."

Legolas regaled his father with what he'd learned of the sea the evening over dinner. He was particularly enamored with the notion of ships, relaying what Miriel had explained regarding buoyancy. Thranduil listened intently, his lips curved into a small smile as his son went on about the creatures found in the briny waters — "Creatures like spiders, with eight legs that are covered in suckers!" — no doubt amused by the elfling's enthusiasm.

"I want to go to the sea," he told his adar seriously. "Miriel says there are long stretches by the water covered in soft sand, that you can even go swimming —"

"Beaches," Miriel supplied gently.

"— and the water moves according to the moon!"

Thranduil lowered his goblet, eyes crinkled at the edges. "The sea is a long way off, ion nin."

The small elf deflated slightly. "That's what Miri said, too."

The king spared Miriel a short glance before continuing. "You shall see the ocean someday, but for now there is still much you need to learn of home. A prince's duty is first to his lands and his people."

Legolas nodded intently. For all of his curiosity and energy, when his father spoke of duty he seemed to instinctually know that it was time to be serious. But still, his disappointment hung in the air.

Thranduil looked at Miriel again, seeming to do some kind of calculation. "Perhaps tomorrow Miriel can show you some books about the creatures that live here in the Greenwood. And maybe when summer comes, we might venture to Long Lake."

This perked Legolas up. He straightened in his seat, eyes alight once more.

"It is no sea," Thranduil warned. "But it has its own beauty. And we might meet with the Men of Dale, the city near its shores."

This was perhaps even more exciting than a visit to the oceanside. Legolas had never met a non-elven person before. Miriel couldn't help but smile, glad that Thranduil had offered a safer — a considerably closer — alternative rather than just denying the elfling.

"What do you say to that?"

"Yes!" Legolas cried, nearly bursting with joy. "That would be wonderful, ada."

He flung himself at his father, nearly causing Thranduil to spill his wine. After a brief moment of surprise, Thranduil set down his goblet and returned the embrace tentatively, engulfing the elfling with the long brocade sleeves of his robes.

Miriel looked away, granting them a private moment of familial warmth as best she could. After Legolas had slipped from his father's lap, she rose. Offering her hand, she bade him to accompany her to his room.

"It is nearly time for bed," she reminded him. "We'll read another chapter of the Epic of Eä. Come, Little Leaf."

They were on the threshold of the dining room when a hand caught her shoulder. Miriel turned, surprised to see that Thranduil had followed her.

"Galion, see Legolas to his room," he called to the elf standing in the corridor. "Carwegeth ought to be there to attend to him."

Galion dipped his head and then offered his hand to the princeling. "My young lord."

Legolas giggled and accepted the hand. But he looked back at Miriel as he was lead away, confusion in his blue eyes. Thranduil had never held her back before. And it was rare for anyone but Miri to tuck him in. She gave the elfling a reassuring smile as he disappeared down the corridor. Turning back to the king, she regarded him with a guarded expression.

"Join me," was all he said, gesturing back to the table they'd just abandoned.

She lowered herself into her usual chair at his left side, folding her hands in her lap. She grew warier as he poured them both more wine. This was to be a meeting long enough to last a cup of his beloved Dorwinion wine. Despite her proximity and incorporation into his daily routine, she and the king still rarely interacted directly. He preferred to send her messengers whenever he had something to pass along regarding her duties with Legolas. His son was a perfect buffer for them both, allowing each to direct their full focus on the elfling and effectively avoid one another. In fact, Miriel had not been alone with the king in years.

"You've done well with him," he began as he sat, eyes on the dark liquid in his cup. "He's curious and kind. Friendly to all, regardless of status. His naneth would be proud."

Miri closed her eyes briefly. Yes, Cala would be proud of her sweet son. Her heartache at the ever-present reminder that her friend was not here to see her child grow. Legolas was the best parts of her and his father. Eager to do his best yet at times stubborn. Compassionate beyond measure, generous with all who crossed his path. Steady, more prone to calculated consideration than displays of emotion. He'd so quickly grown from a babe to an exuberant child.

"And you," she asked lowly after a beat. "Are you proud?"

The king frowned. "Of course. He is all that I could have wished for in a child. I could hope for no greater a gift than Legolas."

With his words, she relaxed marginally. He'd not called her back to simply admire his heir. But it was still a relief to hear.

As though feeling her anxiety, Thranduil cut straight to the matter on his mind. "He's grown much in your time with us. I feel he is ready to begin his formal education."

Oh.

Miriel blinked. This was not what she'd expected. Truth be told, she had not expected anything specific, but Legolas's education hadn't been on the forefront of her mind. A scolding had truly seemed like the most likely option. Thranduil had enough grace to want to berate her in private.

"These last months have confirmed that he's ready to begin working with a tutor," Thranduil went on. "I've lined up an appropriate academic —"

"But he's only twenty," Miriel blurted. "Most elves do not start until they are twenty-five or thirty."

"He's beyond his years," the king said, unperturbed by her interruption. "And clearly eager to learn."

"I can handle the basics," she insisted. "He can learn with me, it's only a few years. I don't want him overwhelmed."

A large hand covered the pair clasped tightly in her lap. "Miriel," he said gently. "I know that this is hard. But he's ready. And while I do not doubt that you would be an able teacher, there are others who are trained in the art. I've prepared not only several tutors, but a few other elflings to act as classmates."

She started to open her mouth to protest, but at the mention of classmates, her jaw snapped shut. Taking the invitation to go on, Thranduil outlined the plan.

"Lord Morcion has a daughter just a few years older than Legolas. Several of my wardens and servants have elflings that have also reached an appropriate age for schooling. I have a room set aside that will serve as a classroom. They will learn together. It will be good for him to interact with others his age on a regular basis."

Thranduil was not wrong. Miriel had made an effort to meet with parents of similarly-aged elflings so that Legolas spent at least some time with others his age. He enjoyed sprinting through meadows and climbing trees with other children. But he still spent the majority of his time around adults. No doubt, lessons with others would be much more appealing than being alone in a stuffy library with a tutor droning on.

"You're right," she said, resigned. "It will be good for him. And he is ready, he spends more than half his waking hours asking me questions I cannot answer without the assistance of a library book."

Thranduil's lips quirked. "You are still a valuable member of our household, my lady. This is by no means a dismissal. I believe he, nor his mother, would ever forgive me for that."

Miriel tilted her head. "Is that why you allowed me to care for him?" she asked softly. "Because you thought it was what Cala would want?"

"Because I know it is what she would have wanted, yes," he corrected. His hand was still on hers, warm and heavy. "And I know that your love for him is the only one that rivals my own."

She turned her topmost hand upwards so that their palms met, interlacing their fingers and squeezing tightly. This gentle Thranduil was unknown to her. Thoughtful, considerate, complimentary of her labor...

"Thank you," she said quietly. "That means so much."

After a beat, she stood and left him to his still-full goblet. Legolas was expecting a story and she needed to make sure her eyes were dry before she came to complete the bedtime ritual.

Legolas's new instructor, Istuion was installed two weeks later. He had a classroom along with one of the outer walls of the mountain fortress, allowing for windows that filtered in the forest light. Miri walked her elfling to his first day with a lump in her throat. Legolas, thankfully, was happily chattering on and on about all he hoped to learn. Once he'd woken up over their breakfast of porridge with spiced honey, he'd become a veritable songbird, eager to share all of his excitement.

Tuigalen chuckled over him, straightening a braid as she moved passed him. "It's a blessing he is so willing to learn," she told Miri as she bustled over to the stove to finish preparing the guardsmen's breakfast. "My little one was far more reluctant."

Miriel knew that Tuigalen's son had ended up a warden for the southern edge of the woods. "Not all are made for book learning," she replied, absently stirring the remains in her bowl. "He turned out alright, in the end."

"As will our princeling." Tuigalen nodded in his direction before swinging her sympathetic gaze back to the elleth on the other side of the table. "I know it's a hard day for you, Miriel, but he will do well. And now you have time for other pursuits."

The question was, what other pursuits? She had only Legolas and the basic management of the royal household. With Legolas mostly occupied, running the Elfking's home wasn't going to be nearly enough of a distraction. Was she to read her way through the library? Beg for the distraction of darning socks? Take up sword fighting?

She didn't have very long to wallow in her anxiety, however. In a moment, Legolas stood and was ready to make his way to class. He was practically vibrating. That her elfling was eager to begin his formal education was her greatest comfort today.

When they stopped outside the door, Miri knelt before him. Taking his small hands into hers, she looked first at his little fingers, then up into his bright blue-grey eyes. "How has he already grown so much?" she wondered. How must the mothers of men feel, to look upon their children after mere days, weeks, years, and see them already grown to maturity?

"I want to hear everything when you get back this evening," she told him, smiling. "Your ada and I want to know all that you are learning. And I want you to be kind to the other children. Respectful of your teacher."

The prince nodded solemnly. His eyes flickered to the door, however, his attention was already in another room. Miriel pursed her lips in amusement, rising. She looked him over once more, smoothed a stray wrinkle on his little blue tunic, and moved back.

"Have a good day," she called as he opened the classroom door and took the first of many steps away from her.

Galion found her in the kitchens, elbows-deep in a bowl of bread dough, a kerchief borrowed from a scullery maid covering her hair. He'd patiently waited for her to wash her hands before leading her to the king's study. Thranduil was seated at his massive desk, looking very at home behind the dark wood bearing intricate carvings of various flora and fauna of the Greenwood. Miri caught sight of a massive stag resembling the king's own before she bowed.

Thranduil eyed her flour-dusted apron in distasted as Galion stepped back after announcing her presence.

"It has come to my attention that you are spending your new abundance of spare time toiling in the kitchens," he drawled almost lazily, fingers steepled.

Nostrils flaring, she replied in a measured tone, "I merely seek to assist the household, your majesty."

"I have enough wenches rolling pie dough. You are hardly of any use there."

Her temper was dangerously rising. Miriel hoped the folds of her skirt sufficiently hid her white-knuckled fists. Legolas had been going to classes with the other elflings daily for the past two months. He'd been having a wonderful time, coming back to the royal apartments at the end of each day rattling on about each new lesson. It had been so good to know he was thriving away from their routine. She, however, had been floundering. But she certainly wasn't going to let Thranduil know that. No reason to give him an excuse to remove her even more from his son's life.

"I have a task in mind for you," he said. "You'll be far more helpful to me there than peeling potatoes. "

The tether on her anger was already taut, but that last comment was enough for it to break entirely.

"It is unbecoming of a king to demean the work of those in his household, no matter what the job," she snapped. "Your kitchen staff work just as hard as any guardsman or advisor."

His eyes, a glistening silver today, were quickly on her. "Peace, my lady," he commanded. "I insult no one more than myself. I've heard from many that while eager, you are no cook. You are a surplus of hands, and your labor is going to waste. It is through no fault but my own that you've not been put to tasks better suited for you."

With that he rose and strode towards the door, leaving Miri frozen in the center of his fine wool rug.

"Come," he said shortly.

Biting her tongue, Miriel followed.

It was not a long journey to the door just down the corridor. Galion followed dutifully, a few steps behind. She glanced back suspiciously when they paused before the unmarked door, but his solemn expression gave nothing away. Thranduil clasped the brass handle and pushed the door open. Without introduction, he gestured for her to go inside.

It was a room not unlike his own study. Smaller, with fewer books on the shelves lining the walls. A less-ornate desk, but similarly large size, rested parallel to the back wall. A winged leather armchair awaited its occupant behind the desk. There was also a window like Thranduil's, this chamber being higher up in the caverns. Damask curtains of a soft blue hung around the glass, their metallic threads glistening against the arched frame. Center to the room sat a rug, patterned with leaves in a myriad of greens. A fire was already merrily roaring in the fireplace to the right of the desk. On the mantle, a vase of lilies shared their springtime fragrance. No doubt a gift from the hothouses.

She turned to the king, who stood patiently on the threshold, arms crossed expectantly. "What is this?"

"Your office," he said simply, as though it were obvious.

Miri shook her head, "What use do I have for this room, sire?"

Thranduil's brows rose. "As the person running the day-to-day goings-on of the royal household, it seems fitting that you might need a proper workspace."

Behind him, standing in the corridor, Galion was grinning. It seems he was in on the plot. Miri's head was spinning.

"I've done this job at a table in the corner of your kitchens for years," she said slowly, crossing the room to stand before him. "Why do I suddenly need a workspace?"

"I assume with Legolas occupied with his studies you find yourself with many more hours free to dedicate to domestic matters," Thranduil spoke calmly, but she could see a glimmer of amusement in his bright gaze. "Unless you'd like to keep working in the hustle and bustle downstairs, of course, you are welcome to it. I would find the scent of roasting fowl and noise of chopping carrots distracting myself, but to each their own."

He'd known, the whole time. He was aware that she'd slowly been taking on the household management that Cala had once overseen and likely had made sure that it wasn't more than she could handle with Legolas's care also on her plate. Now that the prince was spending most of his days in the classroom under his tutor's watchful gaze, the king was formally passing the responsibility of overseeing the running of his home to her. The office was a symbol of status.

Miri crossed the room to face the king. She reached out, placing a hand lightly on his crossed arms. He waited, still as a statue at her touch.

"Thank you," Miri murmured. "For — for everything."

"Your workload will increase," he warned. "Galion has overseen a fair deal in addition to his usual tasks. If you need anything, he is here to assist you. No doubt you will find Carwegeth and Tuigalen helpful as well."

Heart in her throat, Miriel nodded. Unable to speak eloquently from sheer emotion, she opted to remain silent instead as she dropped her hand. Still, something hung in the air between them.

"Majesty, your meeting with the farmers in the southern forest," Galion murmured from beyond the doorway.

Thranduil inclined his head toward her in a farewell and swept from the room, leaving her alone with a great deal to digest.

"Dolithien, it means hidden moon," Legolas translated one afternoon as they wandered along a creek bed, keeping a careful eye out for frogs and other amphibians.

It was a rare afternoon of freedom. Istuion had dismissed lessons after lunch, declaring it was too nice a day to stay indoors.

"Very good, Little Leaf," she praised absentmindedly, picking her way around the more slippery rocks.

"When does the moon hide?"

It struck her that being an elfling, he rarely got to see moonrise due to an early bedtime. And given that his adar's fortress was housed in a great series of caverns, it was even more unlikely. With that, she proceeded to explain the various phases of the moon. "When it starts again, it appears as though the moon is gone from our sky. But it isn't, really. It's merely hidden. This is called a 'new moon.'"

"And it's your mother-name?"

Miriel nodded. "I was born in Grey Havens, which is by the sea. It is a fitting name. The moon needs to hide itself away. Without it, we'd never have a new moon. I have learned time and time again that it is important to let yourself be drawn away from crowds occasionally — to refresh. My mother said it was because I was shy."

"And Miriel is your father-name?"

"My father was not very imaginative," she replied dryly. "He thought of me only as a pretty jewel."

As Legolas processed this, she settled upon a large rock overlooking the spring they had finally reached. The sun was warm on her skin, warm on the rock, so she lay down, closing her eyes and soaking in the early summer heat. The trees had finally burst with tender green leaves only a few weeks ago, late in the season after a long winter. She was grateful for the chance to be outdoors bare of a cloak and boots.

"What does your epessë mean?" the elfling asked suddenly.

She suppressed a groan. In the months since he'd started lessons every day, she'd missed their daily walks and his constant stream of questions. This, however, was not one she was especially eager to address.

"My epessë?" she asked cautiously, opening her eyes and blinking back the sun.

" Avarethil."

"Where did you hear that?" It took a lot to keep a sharp tone from her voice. It wasn't murmured in the corridors nearly as often as it once had been — but that didn't mean it was out of use.

He held a stone in his hand, turning it over and contemplating if it was suitable for skipping. Legolas angled his wrist, just as she'd shown him years ago, and threw it. The rock slid across the water's surface, skimming it three times, before falling beneath the glassy top with a perfect plunk.

"Eirien said it in class," he murmured finally.

She didn't want to imagine where an elfling that young had heard the word — likely her parents, and likelier still not in a positive context. The day was bound to come when he'd hear it. This was simply sooner than she'd anticipated.

Sitting up, Miriel considered her words, carefully. "Before you were born," she began, deciding to avoid mention of his naneth's demise for both their sakes. "My adar was adamant that I find a mate. A partner. To marry. But that was not my desire. So when I was asked, I refused. Two ellon asked me before I finally left the courts to seek my own fate. And I did not return until I came to meet you, little leaf."

"Kings? Kings asked to marry you?" Legolas's eyes were wide. "Like ada?"

This time she couldn't help it — Miri winced. "Yes. Like your ada." She took a breath. "No one was happy about my refusal. So I earned my epessë."

"Do they say it to be mean?"

"No," she reassured him quickly. The lie came easily. "They say it because they do not understand."

Legolas digested this, looking at the sparkling water of the creek. Miri was content to let him ponder, turning her face up to the sun once more.

"I wonder what my epessë will be?" he mused after a few moments.

She leaned over, fingers outstretched. "No doubt you shall be known as the most talkative little elf. Legolas Cerphedir Thranduilion is what they shall call you."

He broke into giggles as she tickled his sides, nearly rolling off the rock if she had not held him in place. Miriel, for her part, was glad in the change of subject.

...

"Avarethil" basically translates to "Unwilling Queen," though it's 100% something I created mashing together root words. Miri's mother-name also has a similar origin. The name Miri jokingly gives Legolas at the end of the chapter, "Cerphedir" just implies he is chatty or talkative (something I am characterizing as an attribute of his youth, bc lord knows he's not chatty as an adult)
Epessë are honorifics or nicknames. In Miri's case it refers to a scandal. We'll dig into that later!

Also I just arbitrarily picked 25 as the age when elves start their education. I've struggled to find any info regarding their aging process so we're going to assume 25 is like 5-7yrs for us.

Reviews and follows are appreciated!