Update December 10th
I added a little more content to THIS chapter, because apparently, it wasn't long enough already. I was editing out some stuff and then realised that Anne might deserve a bit more exploration of her confused emotions. ;) So, please check out her extra ruminations if you are so inclined — it really isn't all that much. There is a little (in-between what you already know) after 'too many untold answers', and then a slightly longer new passage (about five paragraphs) after 'neither option was cause for excitement'. (It all takes place in the little scene where the perspective changes from Legolas' to hers, and ends before Elena's entries begin.) I am sorry for these random add-ons, I will try and contain myself more firmly in the future. -_-
AN: Thank you so much, everybody, for the wonderful feedback last time, and my super special thanks goes to the lovely Ruiniel for slouching through this monster, grooming it, and making it more handsome.
The Calm Before
:::
III III III
Legolas watched as a small, ruby red pearl of liquid dislodged itself from the cup's rim and scurried down the side of the vessel like a fleeing mouse. He caught the drop of wine on a fingertip and brought it to his lips.
The stifled sound of breath escaping lungs wrenched the Elf's attention away from sweet, dull vacancy. He glanced at the young servant girl who was presently bent over the steaming bathtub in his room, doing her best to keep her eyes on the bucket clenched with slightly shaking hands. As soon as his head turned her way, the bony cheeks flushed a vivid shade of scarlet.
The girl ducked her head and drew up her shoulders, as though striving to become invisible. Maybe she hoped that he had missed those furtive glances she had thrown him earlier, while he had removed his overcoat. Legolas sensed her watching again now, from beneath demurely lowered lashes. He raised his free hand to his throat and slowly, deliberately, loosened the hasp on his collar. There was a satisfying clatter as the empty bucket slipped from her hands to the floor.
Leaving the little human to her harmless discomfort, the Elf settled further into his seat. He took a sip of wine and returned to the conundrum proposed to him by yet another mortal female; the one that was stalking his secrets like a small, hapless bird of prey, weaving her way through the nets he had cast with her cold little hands, obstinate frowns, and questions.
Always questions.
I just wanted to ask if you were all right.
Why? Why would she do that?
Had he appeared so undone to her eyes this morning that she now saw the need to pity him? To worry whether he was to be trusted anymore? And then earlier in the stable, the way she had tensed and drawn back after Legolas asked her to step into the stall. When he mentioned her wrist she had looked almost panicked for the briefest instant. Yet, the very next, she had sat on the ground by his side without a second thought, even touched him a moment later.
To ask if he was all right.
Legolas frowned, as thrown by the strange expression of concern as he had been before. It also rankled a bit, the notion that she might doubt his ability to keep control over the situation, to keep them both safe. Leaving aside the fact that there truly had been no danger for her, as such. He had told her so afterwards, had he not? Surely, that should be enough to set her at ease?
He remembered how she had nursed her hand. Had he gripped her arm that hard? His shoulders tensed beneath the familiar, creeping chill of disquiet at how little he remembered of those moments. Had he done more damage than he thought? The look she had given him out there in the field, and then again in the stable for a second. As though she thought he might hurt her. Again.
His jaw hardened at a memory that was thick with the smell of summer rain and fir resin. A dull thud as a frail human body hit the forest ground, the dry whisper of parched grass and withered leaves beneath feebly battling limbs. Dark eyes — something indeterminable between brown and green — wild with a fear that sickened him, along with the sweet, metallic scent of her blood.
A mistake. Another one.
Another set of eyes — not dark, but pale blue like a cloudless winter's sky. A white neck, smeared crimson.
Crimson and slick.
No.
Not back to there.
Brushing the past away like a pestering horsefly, the Elf focused again on his current dilemma. Perhaps he should demand of Anne to show him her wrist, to ascertain he had not caused as much harm as he feared. Inevitably his thoughts returned to the moment when he had seized her arm to stop her fall.
Her cry of pain had cut at his heart like shards of ice. Thus forced to release her, Legolas had briefly lost track of his reflexes in what followed. He had not meant to yank her against him quite so forcefully, and the result had caught him slightly off guard. What had perplexed him even more, however, was how the woman had continued to cling to him, after regaining her balance.
Beyond his initial surge of alarm, Legolas had admittedly allowed himself a brief moment of male complacency. He had lingered and — why bother to deny it? — just for that brief moment savoured the way she rested her head against his chest. The way her body had softened, the way her heart had beaten just a little faster, like the stroke of small birdwings against his stomach.
It was a double-edged blade, he knew, to encourage her innocent desires. She had no skill whatsoever in guarding her feelings. Wrath, anxiety, and pleasure; each raw, ardent emotion revealed itself to him at once, even if Legolas did not always understand the reason behind them. The temptation to watch, to witness, to explore was made all the greater by how novel some of these sensations clearly were for her.
Gently now, the Elf thought wryly. Every indulgence came at a cost. He would not be the first to fall victim to this — the allure of gaining tastes and glimpses of someone else's passions by abusing his own senses. An offering unbeknownst to the giver. May they be harmless or sinister, such glimpses could do strange things to the mind, and one had to be careful not to become intoxicated by them. An Elda would soon discern and, under certain circumstances, possibly not mind what he was doing; Anne, confined by deceptive mortal perception, was most likely oblivious.
Or perhaps not? Her demeanour before he had quit the stable puzzled him, to say the least. There had been signs of embarrassment, yes, but also plain irritation and not for the first time Legolas could not fathom what he might have done to warrant her ire. But no matter. Leaving her mercurial temper aside, her fluster had at least achieved the pleasant effect of thwarting any further inquiries about his well-being.
Seeking a respite from his less than productive musings, the Elf turned his restless glance on the servant girl, who had just reappeared with another bucket of steaming water. As soon as she met his eyes her gaze hit the floor. More to distract himself than anything else, Legolas regarded the girl more closely, vaguely thinking that he had seen her downstairs, serving drinks.
She was young, more child than maid to his untrained eye. Coppery-golden hair drawn into a tight knot; narrow, boyish hips and small breasts, flattened by the tight stay she wore underneath her gown; the skin white as milk, easily revealing the blood that struck her neck and cheeks under his heedless gaze.
He had stared too long; the girl hunched her shoulders and set down her empty bucket, before shuffling around to face him, still not meeting his eyes.
"My lord? Is... is there anything amiss?"
Her voice trembled and she looked dismayed, probably worrying that she had displeased him in some way. Legolas remembered his manners, to some extent.
Words. They usually settled things. Unfortunately, there was precious little he could think of saying to her. He picked the first thing that held some thread of interest to him.
"How old are you?"
It must have been too forward. Her blush deepened if that was possible, and she hunched down even lower.
"F–fourteen, my lord."
A mere fledgeling then. And yet a woman near grown to mortal standards. So curious.
"You are young to work in a place like this," he stated absently, in a vague attempt to rectify his previous, not so delicate inquiry.
She still looked nervous, but now also faintly bemused.
"Not really, my Lord," she piped, her voice an octave higher, as if the mere idea of contradicting him frightened her. "I have been helping out for a few years already. The landlady is my aunt, you see."
"Ah," said Legolas, and left it at that.
The girl fidgeted under his absent-minded scrutiny, reached for the wrist of one hand with the other and started toying with the hem of her sleeve — a fairly regular occurrence if the frayed seams were any indicator. The next moment, she noticed his eyes following the motion and immediately stopped, letting her hands fall to her sides.
When Legolas rose from his chair and crossed the room with a few, purposeful strides, she flinched terribly and then watched him wide-eyed as he reached for the door.
"My lord — I am sorry, is there anything—"
He barely glanced at her. "No, leave everything as it is. I shall return shortly."
"Ah. Yes, but the water will grow cold and—"
The Elf did not listen to the rest of her stuttered objections. Once in the corridor, he sought the door to the room next to his. He would just have to make sure. If he had gripped her harder than he thought, she might be bruised still. He would take care of that if necessary.
At his knock, there was a soft splashing sound, some rustling and scurrying, and the light padding of naked feet on wood. Then Anne's voice could be heard, slightly muffled as though she was in the middle of pulling clothes over her head.
"Maeren? Just a second!"
Legolas hesitated, but just when he opened his mouth to correct her assumption and identify himself, the door was pulled open, releasing a warm waft of fragrant bathwater steam. The Elf tried not to wrinkle his nose at the cloying scent of lavender.
"Thank you for these, I will try not to—Ah…"
The flow of hasty words trickled off.
Anne, who had been smoothing down the crumpled front of her tunic, froze in the process of reaching for the untied fastenings on her woollen leggings and looked up at him in surprise. Among a dark, frizzed mass of half-dried hair, her face was still shimmering with dampness, the slightly sallow, olive skin burnished from the heat of the bath.
Legolas watched with only a twinge of remorse as the woman's expression changed from perplexity to delightfully unpretentious dismay. Her flush deepened, though it was less than the maid's had been, the Elf registered somewhat analytically. She did not have the skin for it. It made the freckles on her cheeks appear more pronounced though and gave a shine to her eyes. Healthier. Good.
"I thought you were Maeren," she now muttered while taking a step back and tugging at the loose waistband of her leggings.
He strove to hide his mirth. "So I heard."
The words were out before he realised his lapse. Judging from how her brows crinkled into a reproachful frown she had noticed as well, but evidently chose not to comment on his unusual blunder.
"Don't worry, I will not go down for supper dressed like this," she said instead. "It was just the first thing I got my hands on."
Bemused, Legolas glanced at her apparel, not truly bothered one way or another. The high-collared tunic was one of his. It was much too long for Anne, who barely reached his shoulder, but he had let her keep it since it was warmer than most of the things she owned herself. She must have donned the garment with a great deal of haste, as she had left most of the upper clasps undone.
On an aberrant impulse, the Elf began counting the open ones, but she folded her arms before he could finish. No confining stay beneath the garment here, he absently noted. In fact, nothing confining at all, as it were. She really had dressed in quite a hurry. He watched as goosebumps erupted on the visible part of her chest and neck.
"You are cold," he stated obviously. "You should fasten that properly."
The protective shield of her folded arms tightened, and her flush spread to her temples, but she also narrowed her eyes into that kitten glare she sometimes aimed at him. The effect, as per usual, was oddly endearing.
"I was about to," Anne said, rather waspishly. "If you don't mind—" she gestured behind her.
Legolas shook his head, and she quickly turned and crossed the room on bare feet. The Elf slowly followed, leaving the door ajar. Stepping around the trails of small, wet footprints that crisscrossed the floorboards, he absently watched as his charge hastily tied the remaining fastenings with her back to him. She started upon turning around and finding him inside the room.
"Let's hope Madam Sigrun does not catch sight of you here," she muttered while attempting to straighten the ill-fitting tunic.
He knit his brow, distracted by the unfamiliar name. "Who?"
"Madam Sigrun," Anne repeated more slowly, as though that would somehow make it clearer for him, raising her eyebrows. "The landlady?"
"Ah." Legolas recalled the woman behind the counter, who had watched him like a suspicious hawk from the moment of their arrival. Then his mind returned to his companion's initial, cryptic comment. "Why should she not catch sight of me? Did I offend her somehow?"
"Oh no, I doubt it." For some reason, his admittance of ignorance served to amuse Anne. Her soft peal of laughter was soon checked, however, and she shook her head. "I am sorry... never mind."
A smile remained though, and Legolas caught himself thinking that it might have been quite winsome, had she not sought to subdue it. He resisted the need to demand clarification, reasoning that he did not care all that much, and decided to humour her unusual bout of good spirits. She rarely had reason to take pride in knowing something he did not, so he could scarcely begrudge her the harmless glee.
At length, she cleared her throat and met his gaze again, while shifting a strand of wet hair behind a small, round, shell-shaped ear.
"So, what did you…" Anne trailed off, hands stilling in the attempt to smooth down her tousled hair, and her eyes widened. "Oh, I have been meaning to ask—" she made a quick gesture in the vague direction of his head, "May I borrow your comb? Or hairbrush?"
His perplexity at the request must have shown because her face fell. "I am sorry, I did not mean to offend—"
"You did not," he interrupted her with a raised hand. "I do not have one, though."
"Oh," she said, looking disappointed. The next moment, her expression turned into one of suspicion as she glanced at his hair, which was still wound in its habitual knot.
"Truly?"
"Truly."
Anne hesitated, eyeing him with the dubious air of someone convinced they were being deliberately deceived. "Then how come your hair always looks so per— I mean, how is it always so neat?"
Legolas raised an eyebrow at the mild ring of accusation. He was about to scoff at the absurd turn their conversation had taken when he found himself reminiscing on the memory of a similar one.
A wintry afternoon in a small dell in Hollin; the soft spitting and crackle of a low fire sheltered by holly bushes, and the ever hovering tobacco smoke of at least three pipes. A cheerful Meriadoc Brandybuck, who was half-heartedly picking bits of grass and leaves from his tangled mop of curls.
"… And I am no swaggering peacock, mind you, but one has to wonder, Legolas. Never one hair out of place? Do you sneak off to groom yourself whilst the rest of us are asleep or does your head always look as trim and proper as that?"
The Elf's own answering laughter, bright and warm, rang clear as silver bells through the glen whence it mingled with other voices of the past. Frodo's choked cough and Gimli's assenting grunt; Sam's disapproving muttering and Boromir's astonished chortle; Mithrandir's low rumble of mirth. Pippin's lingering and poorly stifled snort of giggle was joined by the deep chuckle of Aragorn as the Dúnadan sat down beside them.
"The latter is true, Merry, I daresay, or so it has been in all the years I have known him. Even the fair people of his own kin I have heard remark on this marvel."
The sound of his name called him back across leagues and years, and Legolas focused on the woman before him. Her current frown was a wary one; his brief tumble into memory must have shown. He remembered her pert query and smiled thinly.
"I suppose one might call it the least unruly part of me."
For a moment, Anne merely stared at him, brow furrowed, eyes doubtful, as if waiting for some hint that he was jesting. When nothing came forth, she slowly nodded, looking crestfallen. "I see. That's enviable, then."
Legolas raised his shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "All I have is a brush for the horses."
He almost regretted the remark when she narrowed her eyes, as if trying to determine whether he was being facetious or not. But then, to his surprise, her face brightened into a self-deprecating smile.
"Oh well, I suppose at this point I can't be picky."
Legolas did not manage to quell the short, close-lipped huff of laughter that leapt from his throat at her sardonic remark. Anne started and gave him an odd look, presumably thinking that his mirth was at her expense, so the Elf shook his head.
"As much as I commend your pragmatism, I believe we may afford for you to have your own."
He had expected her to be pleased by the offer, but if anything she looked alarmed. Legolas found these rapid changes of mood increasingly difficult to follow. He had long since learned that women, immortal or not, were prone to a certain degree of capriciousness, but it never ceased to confuse him.
"Oh no, please—" Anne exclaimed, looking dismayed. "You don't have to... In fact, hold on—"
Utterly mystified, Legolas watched as she swiftly crossed the room to where her pack was lying against the wall, bent down and retrieved a small pouch from it.
"This is all I have," she said, turning back to him and holding out her hand. "Do you think it will be enough for a comb and new shoes?"
Puzzled, Legolas glanced at the small assortment of coins in her palm. "Shoes?" he finally thought to ask.
Anne nodded, gesticulating behind him. "To replace those you gave me."
Legolas followed her outstretched finger to where her footwear had been arranged against the wall by the door.
"What is wrong with them?"
"They are pretty worn down." Anne watched somewhat warily as he stepped over and picked up one of the small boots. "Maeren noticed the other day, and she mentioned it might be easier to get new ones here than wait until Edoras."
While examining the boot, Legolas nearly pointed out that Maeren, as any salesman — or woman, would likely find some flaw with a product no matter its condition. He had to concede the point, however. The leather was scratched and dented, the soles were cracked and worn thin, and one of the ties had snapped and been knotted together by way of provisional repair.
"Do these fit properly?" he asked as he turned the shoe over to examine the heel.
"Well, yes," came Anne's slightly apprehensive response. The hand holding the coins slowly sank back to her side. "At least they did until the sole started to become so thin. It's a bit uncomfortable walking on uneven ground now."
"You should have said something sooner," Legolas reprimanded mildly while prodding at the sole and trying to determine what the thickness had been. "I will ask someone from the staff to take care of both." He needed to replenish several of his supplies in any case and did not desire to venture out into this weather for spices or wood oil.
"Ah." She had approached him, her expression dubious. "All right, thank you. But only if I have enough money." She held out the coins for him again. "Do you think it is enough?"
Legolas briefly glanced at her hand. "You need not worry about that." He held up the boot. "May I have this to give to the cobbler for reference? You still have those shoes you wore when I found you, I expect?"
"Yes, but—" Again, she offered him the money, brow furrowed. "If you could just make sure that this is enough."
He shook his head. Did she really believe he would relieve her of her few pennies? "I told you, it is fine. Do you need anything else?"
"What? No—" Anne bit her lip and scowled, closing her fist around her coins. "I need nothing else, and it's kind of you to offer, but I would rather pay for those things myself if I can." She raised and opened her hand again, stubbornly holding out the coins.
Legolas was about to refuse them once more, but something about the way she straightened her spine and tilted her head back — eyes narrowed, lips pouted and attempting to stare him down — caused the words to die on his already parted lips. Meanwhile, Anne was ploughing on.
"I mean, I feel guilty enough already that you had to pay for my stay at The Prancing Pony, but I would really—"
"All right then."
Anne fell silent at his sudden acquiescence but then nodded stiffly, apparently satisfied. She became very still, her fingers wavering ever so slightly when he plucked the coins from her palm and then watched as he reached for the small satchel tied to his belt.
"You need not feel guilty," Legolas said calmly while untying the pouch and storing the coins. "You are—"
"I know," she cut across him. "Your responsibility."
Legolas glanced up at Anne; her brow was furrowed, her eyes still lowered and fixed on some point around his waist. She had not raised her voice, but there had been a resigned bitterness to her tone that gave him pause.
"You are," he agreed pointedly, noting with mild exasperation how her frown deepened, her expression darkened further. "But what I meant to say was that you are hardly at fault for relying on me. Nor would I blame you for owning little money. Or none."
"Perhaps not," she muttered, still refusing to look him in the eyes. "Though I doubt it makes the hassle of dragging me around with you any less tiresome."
Truth be told, Legolas was of the opinion that the frenzied dance of her moods was far more tiresome than having to drag her around, but he knew better than to voice this thought. Female discontent was not something he knew how to deal with and therefore frustrated him immensely. Where had her good spirits from just now, that spark of humour, vanished off to?
"I have endured worse," he quipped drily.
She did not acknowledge his remark aside from a soft huff and continued to stubbornly avoid his gaze. Legolas withstood the unbecoming urge to grab the woman and thoroughly shake her. Instead, he resorted to the less satisfying but gentler form of coercion he might use with an unruly horse that refused a halter. Reaching out, he placed two fingers beneath her chin and tipped her face up.
She flinched and stared.
"Stop pouting," Legolas ordered. Subtlety was clearly wasted on her.
"I was not pouting," Anne protested while eyeing him so warily he might as well have shaken her after all. One hand rose and strayed to the spot where his fingers had been a moment before, stopped halfway and fell back to her side, curled in a fist.
"Yes, you were," Legolas retorted dispassionately while returning his attention to fastening the satchel. "That and pointless stalling, you do both quite frequently."
"I don't st—"
"You do. Like an untrained mare, convinced that avoiding eye contact will spare her from being mounted."
In retrospect, Legolas had to admit that the comparison was perhaps not the best and might indeed sound a little suggestive, but alas — his mind had still been on horses.
He glanced up to verify that Anne had misunderstood him as thoroughly as he assumed. Sure enough, he found her regarding him wide-eyed and gnawing on her bottom lip. She had an odd look on her face, as though uncertain whether to be appalled or impressed, though he was not certain what might justify the latter. Her dark gaze darted towards the door, returned to him, then dipped to the floor. Legolas felt almost sorry for the woman, but at least his unintended salaciousness had distracted her from her sullen arguing.
At length, she looked back up, her eyes strangely shuttered, and for once, Legolas was unable to read her expression. Another rosy tinge had bloomed on her face though. She had stopped worrying the edge of her mouth, and her teeth had left a row of small marks. The accidental innuendo of his own heedless words, combined with the sight of soft, flushed cheeks and a bitten, slightly swollen lip served to evoke a tremendously inappropriate image, which the Elf was swift to banish from his mind.
Inwardly scoffing at himself and his carelessness, he was about to move towards the door, when Anne stirred and stepped in front of him with surprising swiftness.
"Don't forget to use that."
Reluctant, he paused, his mutinous gaze falling briefly on her lips. "Use what?"
With an outstretched finger, Anne indicated his groin area; for a brief, incredulous moment, Legolas thought this to be her attempt at revenge for his ambiguous comment on mares. A second later, he realised that she was pointing at the satchel on his belt.
"My coins," she drawled, blissfully oblivious to the unseemly direction his thoughts had taken. "I suppose it is sort of an absurd thing to say, but I will know if none of them are missing." After a second of hesitation, she raised her shoulders in a weak shrug. "Well, considering I don't know their worth, I might not, but…"
Legolas, who had admittedly only listened to her with half an ear, nevertheless raised an eyebrow at her challenging tone. "Understood. Would you have me ask for receipts to be written as well?"
"No." The sound was half negation, half chortle. "I trust you that far."
Legolas inclined his head in a bow of mock gratitude, but before he could respond they were interrupted by the appearance of two nervous-looking servants, who had come to clear away the tub.
Once Anne had thanked the young men and they left, she glanced with a sigh at the darkening window, where curtains of rain were lashing against the stained glass in soft, drawn-out ebbs and flows.
"If only we had arrived earlier and in better weather. I should have liked to visit those workshops, or even go and look at the boats. Though I expect it might not be a good idea now."
"No," Legolas deadpanned, following her gaze at the rainwashed panes.
She took a step closer to the window, though he could see nothing that might have captured her interest, other than a few twinkling lights in the distance.
"I wonder what it would be like to live in a house like that," Anne muttered.
Legolas leaned against the door frame and crossed his arms, wondering if his bathwater would indeed be stone-cold by the time he returned to his room.
"You mean the ones by the riverside?"
"Yes." She nodded without turning around. "They had those large gardens. And stairs right down to the water."
Legolas cocked his head at her wistful tone, but she was still staring out the window, her voice pensive as she continued.
"Just imagine having your own boat or ship, tied right in front of your house."
The Elf was silent for a moment, thinking of harsh, doleful cries in the wind, the sweet tang of resin bleeding from crooked pines, and salt on his lips. His body felt heavy of a sudden.
"I think Hal had the right of it," he said slowly and with some effort. "You would fall asleep and the ship would carry you astray."
Anne huffed softly before turning around. Leaning back against the sill, she fixed him with an indignant stare. "I would not fall asleep while on a ship!"
"I have seen you fall asleep while sitting upright," Legolas pointed out.
"That's different." She did not sound entirely convinced.
"Then topple over, without waking up," he added, warming to the subject.
"Well, maybe so, but—"
"And nearly roll into the fire afterwards."
Anne opened her mouth to retort, then closed it with a 'humph'.
"Fine," she said after a moment of consideration, "but there are no fires on ships, so—"
"No," Legolas conceded. "Sometimes there are no railings either." He allowed himself a streak of wickedness. "But strong currents and high waves."
For a moment Anne stared at him, open-mouthed. "I think you are enjoying this a little too much." When he did not reply, she gave him one of her insolent eye-rolls. "All right, I see your point, perhaps," she sighed. "No ships for me."
Nor for me.
The thought struck swift and sure.
"Legolas?"
She was watching him. Frowning, questioning, drawing too close again.
"Is something wrong?"
Her voice was laced with concern; sweet, innocent, and the last thing Legolas wanted. He set his features into firm serenity and sidled back into well-trodden paths.
"Here is a thought," the Elf said, his voice smooth as velvet. "Since the act of purchasing appears to please you so, I shall allow you to buy me a bottle of their best wine tonight."
He had expected a sigh, or maybe another roll of the eyes in response to his jibe. Instead, she surprised and distracted him with a smile — honest, warm, and so shy it was disorientating.
"I would do that if I could."
Legolas faltered a bit at the force of raw, mellifluous honesty. "I was not serious."
"I know," said Anne, lowering her gaze, the slow smile still in place. "But… Well, it would be a nice thing to be able to give something to another person. And you have done a lot for me, so…" She drew up her shoulders in an awkward shrug and trailed off.
Legolas quietly watched and marvelled as yet another of her moods caprioled in front of him, this time stark in contrast to her earlier swagger and the stout attempt at defiance. The Elf did his best to ignore the unbidden twinge of tenderness that her sudden timidity instilled in him.
"Thank you," he said, perhaps a bit more brusquely than intended.
Anne looked up, brows drawing together in confusion."For what?"
"For the thought."
She eyed him as though suspecting some jest at her expense. At length, she shrugged again. "Well, that's nothing to thank me for. Thoughts cost nothing."
Legolas cocked his head, his lip curling wryly. "That makes them no less meaningful."
Anne still seemed uncertain whether or not he was deriding her, but then her smile brightened. "I suppose not. I must remember that you are so easy to please though."
The Elf exhaled on a thoughtful hum. "You may find that most men are."
His remark had served to amuse her. She was busy stifling an uncharacteristic giggle, the moment of brief alarm at his behaviour apparently forgotten. Still, Legolas pushed away from the wall, intent on leaving before she had a chance to start with her questions again. "I have kept you from your reading, I am afraid." He indicated the small tome, bound in faded blue leather that lay on the bed. "Enjoy your rest."
She called him back just as he was about to step into the hallway. "Wait! What was it you wanted?"
He paused and looked back at her, his hand on the door frame. "I beg your pardon?"
"I mean… Why did you knock?"
The Elf almost laughed at himself.
He slowly turned back around and looked at Anne. The echo of that bright, happy smile still lingered around her mouth and in her eyes. Legolas imagined asking her to show him her wrist. He imagined how any mention of that business would wipe the last trace of carefree joy from her face. He imagined telling himself that it could not be helped, that her cheer or lack thereof was not his concern.
He succumbed.
"I merely wished to see that you are well."
Surprised pleasure flashed across her face, trailed by a hint of suspicion. She slowly raised her right hand, cradling it in front of her chest as if to repel him.
"I… Why wouldn't I be?"
"Your ailment." Legolas brushed aside the unease that had seized him at her unconscious motion. "You were still coughing this morning. I wanted to make sure you are recovered."
Anne visibly relaxed, her smile returning. "Oh, I am. Pretty much, at least. Maeren's miracle cure seems to be working after all."
He nodded solemnly. "No doubt that must be it."
Anne let out a fairly indelicate snort of laughter — which she then hastily stifled, cheeks glowing and looking mortified. Considering he had not achieved what he had initially come here for, Legolas decided that he was content with the outcome. Surely a few hours would make no difference?
:::
Anne was beginning to wonder if this day could bring any more strangeness. And Legolas... Perhaps she should stop trying to make sense of his behaviour, and simply accept whatever didn't add up as elvish peculiarity.
At the moment he was watching her, eyelids dipped in that weird, tranquil way of his, after she had just laughed like an idiot. And now she could think of nothing to say, he was being all quiet again, and even though the look in his eyes was decidedly warm, it made her want to squirm.
"Thank you", she blurted on an impulse. It was the proper thing to do, wasn't it? "For coming to ask, I mean. That's kind."
He shook his head. "I am afraid it is a fairly selfish inquiry. Your well-being impacts my travels after all."
"Well, thank you anyway," she grumbled, nettled but stubborn. Couldn't he accept a thank-you like a normal person?
He said nothing, watching her calmly, but the corner of his mouth tugged slightly at meeting her scowl. Just when the silence and his peaceful gaze were beginning to make Anne's skin tingle, Legolas tilted his head towards the corridor.
"My bath awaits. Enjoy your rest."
And that was that. He was gone, taking with him her left shoe and too many untold answers.
Once the door had closed behind the Elf, Anne went and sat on her bed, drawing up her legs and pulling a woollen blanket over her feet. The room was cooling down quickly. At least, she thought, he had taken the money as well. Briefly, Anne wondered what sane person might be happy about something like that. It had felt like a small victory at that point — now her own insistence just seemed childish and silly. Perhaps her dependence on him had been grating on her more than she thought? Especially since Maeren had joined them?
Shoving the bothersome thought aside, pointless as it was, she tentatively picked up the journal but did not immediately open it. What had this all been about? Had he really come to ask about her cold? And if so, then why had he not done so, to begin with? Instead, he had acted so strangely — not that that was new — jumping from reprimanding to teasing and back again. To accuse her of pouting a lot, as if he was one to speak.
And stalling, Anne thought sullenly while weighing the journal in her hand and picking at a loose thread of the battered leather binding. Whatever had he meant by that? She didn't stall!
You do. Like an untrained mare, convinced that avoiding eye contact will spare her from being mounted.
Anne's face grew hot and she glared, biting the inside of her cheek. She had discovered by now that hardly anything embarrassed the Elf, but it still infuriated her how he could fluster her without any effort or intent. His careless words had sent an odd, slithering warmth to her stomach. And while her cheeks burned admitting it even to herself, she had sort of enjoyed the sensation.
The next moment she sniffed and curled in on herself in a brief shudder. What was wrong with her? The Elf might have little shame in some regards — or none — but he was certainly no philanderer. He couldn't have been thinking of anything like that. He was just being rude. And if he had been thinking of it, he was being insanely inappropriate. Either way, certainly neither option was cause for excitement. He had likely already forgotten about the exchange.
Anne pictured Legolas in his room, no doubt thinking of anything except her while doing... whatever he did when he was alone. Probably undressing for the bath he had mentioned. In spite of herself, she now recalled the odd glimpse she had caught on occasion. A narrow stretch of pale, smooth chest or a firm-looking shoulder, partly revealed as the Elf finished fastening his tunic while ducking out of the tent or returning from washing. She would always avert her eyes quickly, afraid he might catch her looking, but either Legolas never noticed, or he simply didn't care.
Once or twice though, while he was busy building a fire or brushing down his horse after a warm day, Anne had forgotten herself. She had let her gaze linger, watching with grudging fascination how the muscles of the Elf's back and arms moved smoothly beneath the worn fabric of his tunic as he worked. Again, Anne's mind meandered back to her near-tumble in the stable earlier. She remembered how warm and firm his body had felt against hers when he steadied her, even through several layers of clothes...
Realising the direction her musings were taking, Anne groaned and shook her head as if to rid it of any untoward thoughts.
Look who is being inappropriate now!
It had to be the isolation that was doing this to her, she decided firmly. Isolation, tension, and maybe tiredness or something. Whatever the reason, she mustn't think of him like that. He wasn't a normal man. It was wrong and strange, and — considering he was supposed to be the son of some Elven king — presumably fairly insolent as well.
And aside from this... What was it that Madam Sigrun had said? "Rather unusual for them Elven-folk to wed outside their kin..."
Not that Anne had any such absurd aspirations of course, but had not the rude Dunlander in Bree made a similar remark, albeit with cruder words? For all she knew, Elves might not go about things the same way as mortals. Weren't they a different species? Like as not they had different customs, and approaches or... practices as well. That notion was disturbing enough in its own right, she decided. Not to mention that, if she entertained foolish ideas like this, Legolas might pick up on it. Anne felt the blood drain from her face at this thought.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered, drawing up her legs and staring down at the journal in her hands. She needed to get herself together and focus on what was important. Already, she had wasted precious time. At best, there might be an hour left before supper.
With a resolute huff, Anne pushed both the Elf and any preposterous thoughts regarding him as far from her mind as she could, while picking up the journal again. She leaned back against the lumpy pillow and opened the book. Her eyes skimmed over the names and the self-addressed inscription, suppressing the nagging thought, prowling the back of her mind, that this was not her handwriting. With slightly trembling fingers she turned the page to the first entry. It was one of the longer ones, and neatly dated.
:::
March 15th 4A33
My very first entry! Oh, I should have found a better start, but so excited am I that my hands still shake. My very own private diary! Of course, all the children receive presents on their fifteenth birthday, but to Thordis they gave a lacquered comb on hers, and to Ava a ribbon. I would certainly never tell them so, but I do think this is so much better! I could not believe it when Master Amund handed it to me this afternoon as we were tidying up the lessons room. He said that every scribe should keep a journal, to record not only that which is their duty but also everything they deem worthy of note in their own humble life. Such a splendid thing to say!
This book, he told me, comes all the way from Gondor, it was made in Minas Tirith! How I long to see the white city and its wonders. The seven levels, the Court of the Fountain with its white tree! The Library! the Tower of Ecthelion! If only I was there already! I know there are female scribes even now, though they are few.
Madam Hulda was not so happy, I think. She made an angry face, and muttered something about 'getting fancy ideas'. The other children snickered at that, even Thordis and Elias! I had half a mind of not speaking to them for the rest of the day, but then I was too happy to be angry.
I must stop here, though I certainly do not want to — but the candle is burning too low now, and Ava complains that the scratching of the quill keeps her awake. Just as well, it is market day tomorrow, so Madame Hulda will wake us before dawn, to get the cabbages and cakes there in time.
Still March 15th
Postscript: (Oh, how splendid and business-like this sounds!) I forgot to mention, Elias apologised for laughing at Madam Hulda's comment and gave me a pretty white flower while we were outside sweeping the court. I admit, my good mood was such that I forgave him readily. I may have been a bit more delighted about the book, but no one has ever given me a flower before, and I think it is quite a splendid present in its own right.
I have to stop writing —Ava is grumbling over there on her pallet— but I am still so excited! I could sing and dance through the dormitory!
April 29th 4A33
I have shamefully neglected my recording duties, I know, but there is just so little time! The spring festival is drawing near, and Madam Hulda has already assured us of many long days and nights. Apparently, the mayor has decided that plenty of the flower arrangements shall be produced by the Heron House. Madam Hulda said this is because the mayor wants visitors to know that Lake-town is taking care of its orphans, and 'including them in social events'. I am not at all sure about this, but Elias says the mayor wants to 'keep up a pretty front while having us work like donkeys in the back'. I think he may be right…
May 4th 4A33
The Spring festival is nearly upon us (it is but two more days) So many guests have arrived, and everyone absent has returned to the town – it will soon burst at the seams. I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, and the quill's scratching hurts even my own ears, but I must write this:
Master Amund promised that, once I have turned sixteen, I may accompany him to Minas Tirith for his annual trip there. Nearly another year, how will I bear that? Of course, he visits his family and has errands to attend to. But he will make sure I have a place to stay, he said, and secure me an apprenticeship. I hear that a scribe's teachings not only include the copying of scripts but much more besides, like the proper cutting of parchment and the making of ink! How exciting that sounds!
The other day, Master Amund showed us a painting of Minas Tirith during lessons, and oh, it was so breathtaking. He said, there is nothing like watching the sun paint the tower golden on a summer morning while breathing in the scent of orange blossoms from the queen's garden. I feel like I can see it all, even smell the flowers, when closing my eyes.
Oh, I know how foolish I would seem to anyone who were to read these words (which shall never happen!) but I feel so tingly and light! As though if I were to jump from the roof of the town hall, I would simply float across the lake like a heron, to safely land on the other side and stalk my prey.
May 7th 4A33
At last, the festival is over! I cannot possibly count the number of tankards I filled, or the flatbreads I handed out. My arms and legs feel like turnip sacks and I burned my wrist on the stove. But no matter, it is done!
May 8th 4A33
Madam Hulda took Fram, Elias, Ava and me to the marketplace today to help with the clean-up. Madam had some business in the town hall and while she was away, some leftover (this is no jest) drunkard from last night tottered past, sat down and began accosting us.
He was utterly vile, ignoring the boys' growled threads, and even made a grab for Ava's skirt when she tried to step past him. When I told him to get lost, he became angry and started shouting, called me a filthy Easterling bride and that I should 'keep my yellow half-breed face shut'. Elias wanted to punch the man, but luckily Madam Hulda returned then and, of course, scared the wretch away. Elias was still glowering all the way home, while Ava and Fram were giving me strange looks. What a bother! I have not been called such things in years, and even though I do not care anymore I cannot help but think that in Minas Tirith people will be different.
Not that it matters. I have stopped envying the other girls. I know my skin will never be as fair as theirs, no matter how much I avoid the sun. My hair is coarse and my eyebrows are too dark and thick, making me look sullen (or at least so I am told). None of it matters in the end.
At the Heron House, we are all the same: no home, no families, no importance. The only way to change this is by becoming something more.
August 27th 4A33
A new girl has arrived — Heled. She is twelve, so she will share the chamber with Thordis, Ava and me. She has barely said a word, but Madam Hulda told Thordis that her entire family died from the flu, and no other household in her village was ready to take her in. Something about evil luck spreading or some such nonsense. Poor girl.
September 16th 4A33
The evening sweeping has been added to my chores; this leaves me with even less time to practice my writing. How I wish I could leave this place already!
October 11th 4A33
Heled is terrified of Master Elendir. Thordis says the hamlet she grew up in lies very remote and she has never seen an Elf before. That seems quite odd, perhaps because I have known the elves since I could walk and was old enough to help at the markets. Whenever the day grows old, they will bring forth caskets with wine, and baskets with white bread loaves that smell like honey, and sweet strawberries such as I have never found or tasted anywhere else. They are quick to laugh and share sweets with the children, tease the young men, and give a roguish smile or wink at the maids. As any child of Lake-town, I have learned long ago that they never mean anything by it, be it their ribbing or their dallying.
Of course, Master Elendir is different: he doesn't tease or flirt (what a thought!) and I suspect he would sooner eat his own cane than start handing out sweets to us. Yes, he is strict and heaven knows I am not fond of him myself, but mean as he can be, surely there is no reason to be frightened. It seems plain silly.
November 3rd 4A33
Ava has agreed to marry Lunt, the butcher's eldest son; she will leave by the end of the month. Our dormitory shall become a dreary place, I am afraid.
November 24th 4A33
We celebrated Elias' sixteenth birthday and Ava's last week at the Heron House last night! After the market last week, Thordis and I wheedled some wine from the woodland Elves, and Astrid was kind enough to secure us several pastries from the kitchen. Of course, Master Elendir found us out and ended the fun, but until then it was so good to see everyone laugh and be merry.
December 1st 4A33
Master Amund left for Minas Tirith yesterday, so we are left with Madam Hulda and Master Elendir. I was a bit surprised, he had told us nothing of this. Madam Hulda says he is needed there for a while, and that I should not be so nosey. I just hope he will return in time for my sixteenth birthday. I do not wish to stay a single day longer here than I must.
January 25th 4A34
A new year — And Master Amund still has not returned! What can take so much time? He usually returns with the merchants from Dorwinion, but they have come and gone several days ago.
In other, and much more fortunate news, Elias is to start apprenticing with blacksmith Halward. He will live above the workshop of course, and it shall be strange (and a little sad) not to live under the same roof anymore. Still, I am so glad for him.
February 23rd 4A34
Some messengers from Gondor arrived in town today. I was just returning from the market when I saw them, heading for the town hall. I hurried home, so sure that Master Amund must have returned with them, but he had not. Why is he not sending word to the Heron House at least, to explain the delay?
Elias said I should forget about him and just apply for an apprenticeship with one of the town hall scribes, but I always dreamt of learning in Minas Tirith.
What should I do?
March 12th 4A34
Master Elendir has taken over letters and history lessons for the time being. As if we did not see enough of him during sums and herb-lore. Does this mean, Master Amund will not return any time soon? No one tells us anything.
March 15th 4A34
My sixteenth birthday has come and gone, without a message from Gondor. Soon, I will be asked to find an occupation and leave the orphanage. How I have longed for this day, but now… I do not know what to do.
April 6th 4A34
We have news from Master Amund at last, but I cannot muster the goodwill to be glad he is alive and well — what sort of person thinks like that? — Apparently, he is to take over his father's business and needs to stay in Minas Tirith. That is all Madam Hulda told us. Not a word was mentioned about my going to Gondor. Has he forgotten about me?
May 9th 4A34
I followed Elias' advice and went to the Mayor's house to ask if I could apprentice with one of his scribes, but his steward sent me away. Said he did not 'need outlandish-looking womenfolk distracting his staff.'
So, if my cheeks were a little more rosy, would he have taken me on, then? Or is being a woman the greater offence, I wonder?
June 2nd 4A34
Thordis said I should just start working at one of the inns or taverns. The Yellow Flute and The Sleeping Minstrel are hiring, and she wants to apply there. I do not think I could stomach this. It would mean giving up. And what if Master Amund remembers me and returns after all, or sends word for me to the Heron House? Thordis gave me a strange look. I believe I can guess at her thoughts, even though she did not say them outright: That I think myself too good for honest work. Both she and Ava have hinted at this before, that I should be more moderate. Do I expect too much of life?
June 11th 4A34
Something awful happened, and yes, that is a terrible thing to say, and I can only hope that he will never read these lines. Elias asked for my hand in marriage. How could he?! He knows I wish to leave this town, that my dream is to become a scribe, not a wife, at least not for many years! And above all else: he is my best friend, we have known each other since I was left on the doorstep of the Heron House, and have played together as children! He is close as a brother to me, and I doubt I could ever love him as anything but that. I felt cornered, so I asked him to give me some time to think. How am I to tell him that I cannot wed him? How can we be friends after this? What a mess!
June 18th 4A34
I gathered my courage and told Elias the truth. The look on his face… I have never seen him like that, I cannot even describe it. I have never felt so wretched.
July 22nd 4A34
Madam Hulda told me I could stay for now — Astrid is leaving, so she needs more help around here, in the kitchen and with Master Elendir's greenhouses. I suppose I have little choice. At least, as long as I stay here, I will know when Master Amund sends word. There is still a chance he remembers his promise to me, is there not?
The truth is, I do not think he will.
September 3rd 4A34
I went to visit Elias at the smithy, but he barely spoke to me, and would not look me in the eye. He was my best friend. What have I done? And for what? I am not sure anymore.
March 10th 4A35
Half a year has gone by, I cannot believe it. And still, I am at the Heron House, when for years I used to dream of nothing else but leaving it behind. I visited Thordis at the Yellow Flute today, and she told me that Elias is to be wed next year — to Kelda, baker Delling's daughter. I am glad for him, I think… even though we have not spoken in such a long time. Perhaps I should go to the forge and tell him myself.
:::
Anne let the journal sink to her lap, and stared at the now pitch black window. Her head hurt and she felt disorientated. Like something was off or didn't quite fit. So Elena — she — had been an orphan. No family was waiting for her in Lake-town, and from the sound of these entries, not a lot of friends either.
Elias was not her brother. He had been a friend, a fellow resident at the orphanage, who had eventually proposed to marry her. She had refused him, which led to their estrangement. So how had they ended up running away together? Why had they — or at least Elias — claimed that they were siblings? Despite growing up orphaned, Elena had at some point been a joyful child. The early entries sounded hopeful, content, even happy at times. Then her dream of becoming a scribe had been crushed, and the tone changed.
Anne felt strangely apprehensive about reading on. Sighing, she glanced around the chilly room. One of the lanterns had gone out without her noticing, and the room felt a lot darker than before. There was a spare candlestick lying on the small dresser next to it. Anne struggled to her feet and replaced the burnt down stump in the lantern with the new candle, her motions mechanical. Once the lamp was lit she settled on the bed again, and reluctantly, picked the journal back up.
Her headache seemed to be worsening, and the odd, surreal feeling had not lessened. Anne couldn't have explained it in any way that made sense. It was as though something about the world around her was not right. Something should be different, but it was not, and the resulting discrepancy was like an itch at the back of her neck. This feeling of wrongness that had first become tangible in Bree, the day of their departure. Like a crack, a fissure, a fractured part in the way things should be.
Broken and put back together, but it doesn't quite fit anymore.
The hair on the back of her neck stood on end.
Anne took a deep breath and picked up the battered, old book. There wasn't much time until supper. She was being ridiculous; nothing written in here could hurt her. And she needed to know.
Resolute, she opened the journal where she had placed her hair tie in lieu of a bookmark and continued reading.
:::
Legolas was fastening the last clasp on his tunic when a soft tread outside his door made him raise his head. A moment later, there was the knock. Rubbing at a light cramp in his chest, the Elf went to open the door. Outside stood Maeren, clutching a roll of parchment and looking unusually harried.
"Supper will be served soon," she told him, waving the parchment, which Legolas now recognised as one of her inventory lists, in the vague direction of the stairs. "Sigrun is having a private parlour prepared for us."
The Elf nodded, content with this arrangement. He was not keen on joining the company in the inn's common room. "Just a moment." He stepped back into the chamber to fetch his cloak. It would be pleasant to catch a breath of fresh air after their meal, heavy rain or not.
Behind him, Maeren made an impatient noise. His cloak over his arm Legolas turned back towards her, eyebrows raised and with a sardonic remark on the tip of his tongue. Maeren, however, was not looking at him but scowling at her list; she had produced a piece of charcoal and was now furiously scratching something out.
"Is something wrong?" Legolas glanced between the tattered parchment and the woman's chagrined expression.
The merchant shook her head and grimaced. "I just spoke with my uncle. If the rain continues throughout the night, the Greenrill will burst its banks and the side road between the western gate and Heatherburrow might be impassable by tomorrow morning."
Legolas frowned while shouldering his cloak and folding back his sleeves. "That is not our road."
"No, but it is my road if I am to go to Heatherburrow and visit Doderic Noakes. Pippin's friend," Maeren added, seeing Legolas' questioning glance.
The Elf nodded in understanding, recalling the Hobbit and Maeren's conversation on the morning before they had left Bree.
"Do they not bridge the flooded areas?"
"They do, but since Heatherburrow is not a priority, those sluggards won't be in any hurry to get to it," Maeren grumbled as Legolas joined her in the hallway. "Our best bet is to leave tonight, and hope Doderic will grant us refuge."
"Tonight!" Legolas echoed, incredulous.
Maeren sighed and rolled up her list. "There is nothing for it. Believe me, the prospect of going back out there doesn't thrill me either. Hal told me there is a small inn in Heatherburrow where they are equipped for tall people as well, so if all else fails…"
"Very well, but should the road be inundated during the night, how will you get back tomorrow?"
The merchant waved a dismissive hand. "Those high waters never last very long, the ground soaks up most of it over the course of a day or so. And if it's worse than that, we shall be stuck here no matter where I am."
She had stopped outside the room next to the Elf's and now rapped on the door. There was no answer.
"That's strange." Maeren knocked again, her brows knit in a frown.
Legolas stepped closer to the door, tilting his head, but there was no sound from inside the room. "She may have fallen asleep."
"I don't think so," Maeren said, still frowning. "I went to see her not forty-five minutes ago, to bring her some warm stockings, and she was wide awake then. Perhaps she went down already. You did not hear her leave, I assume?"
Legolas shook his head as they headed for the staircase. He had been grateful to discover how thick the walls of the ancient building were, even though this caused a permanent chill to cling to the rooms.
"Oh, by the way," Maeren said when they descended the broad flight of stairs that led to the ground floor and the common room, "my uncle is looking forward to meeting you again. He says you fought together in the war. Do you remember him at all?"
"You said he is called Eradan?" A brief smile darted across the Elf's face. "I remember him well unless there is another one by that name."
"Not as of late," Maeren chuckled as she led the way past crowded benches and laden tables, barely avoiding stepping on a tiny, brown dog that crossed their path without paying them the slightest attention.
The number of guests had considerably increased. The air was thick with the musk of drenched wool, wood smoke and sweat, carrying snatches of raucous conversation, the occasional laugh, and the clatter of cutlery.
A serving maid showed them to their parlour; not the skittish young thing who had drawn Legolas' bath, but an older woman with dark, shimmering locks, a voluptuous stature, and a seemingly permanent impish smile. She shared a joke with Maeren and saucily winked at the Elf before waving them into the room.
Here too, there was a bright fire on the hearth. The fragrance of smouldering cedar wood was mingling with the spicy tang of tobacco smoke and the rich scent of mutton stew. The table in the corner was already laid, and from several tall jugs on a side-table wafted the aroma of a heady wine, earthy and full-bodied, that promised to be rather more satisfying than the one in Bree.
Eradan had been waiting for them by the fire, a damp travelling cloak slung over the armrest of his chair, with a mug in his hand and a pipe between his teeth. He rose from his seat when his niece and Legolas entered, greeting the latter warmly in Sindarin. The Dúnadan's dark hair and short-cropped beard were peppered with silver, but the years had been kind to him; his face was still smooth, save for a few lines around his mouth and eyes, and he was as tall and clear-eyed as Legolas remembered him.
"I could scarcely believe it when Maeren told me she was in your company," the former ranger said while pouring them all goblets of wine. "What a curious chance we should meet here again."
"Curious perhaps," Legolas agreed, "though a welcome one, no less. You look well, Eradan. It must be well-nigh seventy winters you have seen now if my count is not wrong."
Eradan laughed out loud. "Not by much, no. I am seventy-two this year. I shall take the compliment and would return it, but of course, you are as unchanged as the course of the Anduin. It is kind of you to overlook the marks on this weathered old face, but time has truly left no traces on yours."
"Nothing remains unchanged," Legolas said with a weary smile. "The traces are there, though perhaps not at a glance."
"I suppose that must be so, even for you fair people," said Eradan and sighed. "Almost half a century has come and gone since those dark days when we first met, and yet at times, it feels like the mere blink of an eye. But enough of the past, let us speak of lighter matters. It would appear that we are missing a member of our small party?"
"So we are, nor did I see her in the common room." Legolas shared a glance with Maeren, who shook her head.
"Neither did I," she said. "Perhaps you were right, and she is asleep, or we missed each other in passing."
When Legolas made to set down his wine, the merchant stopped him with a raised hand. "You two stay here, I will go and try her room again. I would rather not dawdle with dinner, and be off before the rain gets any worse."
Once Maeren had left, Eradan turned to Legolas, picking up his pipe and mug. "So, you have taken a hapless mortal under your wing again? Maeren mentioned that you are taking her to Esgaroth."
"That is where she hails from, but it is too far from our route. I hope to leave her with the border guards of my father's realm. She will be safer there at any rate."
Eradan nodded grimly. "The roads are not as safe as they used to be. I am glad, to be honest, that you happened to accompany Maeren from Bree, fond though I am of Hal and his nephew. It is a little different," he added with a sudden grin, "travelling with women instead of a horde of warriors, is it not? Unless it be female warriors, I suppose."
"That is true," said Legolas, "though I expect you must be far more familiar with it. You are wed since not long after the war, I believe?"
"Thirty-eight years now, and father of three daughters," the Dúnadan said, his face lit by a slow smile. "What of you, Legolas, if it is not too forward a question? I recall you speaking with rather blatant disinterest on all matters of love and marriage, or otherwise shun any such talk entirely. Has not one of those lovely ellith in the Woodland Realm or Ithilien managed to turn your mind since then? Or heart, I should say?"
Legolas laughed wryly. "Your memory behoves you. Both my heart and mind, I fear, are yet turned to other things. Which might be just as well."
Eradan let his pipe sink, eyebrows quirked with curiosity. "How so?"
The Elf twisted his lips. "Over the years, I have been told by more than one trusted friend that I am woefully unsuited for marriage. I am inclined to agree with their assessment," he added amidst Eradan's astonished laughter.
"So this is what men will gossip about once they are among themselves," came a gleeful voice from the doorway, heralding Maeren's return. "I hate to interrupt, but I found our missing sheep in the common room, or rather on the inn's doorstep."
Seeing the merchant enter the parlour with Anne in tow, Legolas' chest lightened with fleeting relief, before taking in the appearance of his charge more fully. Anne was wrapped in her cloak, and there were damp patches on the shoulders and down the front. Her hair, where the hood had not covered it, was plastered to her temples, still dripping rainwater. Her skin looked waxen, and there was a purple tinge to her lips.
"What were you doing outside?"
Legolas watched with growing disquiet when Anne flinched at his question as though he had struck her. For a moment she stared at him as if trying to make sense of his presence.
"Just for… for a sniff of air," she finally muttered.
Before Legolas could question this dubious explanation, Maeren suggested they eat and then introduced Anne to Eradan. She, too, was giving the other woman a doubtful glance when Anne, faltering and looking slightly lost, returned the Dúnadan's polite greetings.
"Sit down, Anne, and have a cup of this wine," said Maeren with a frown. "You look like you could do with some warming up. Eradan, I have asked Dernhelm to hitch up the wagon, so we can leave right after supper. The question is, shall we take the straight route, or rather the detour that takes us around the wetlands…"
While Maeren and her uncle began discussing how best to reach Heatherburrow, Legolas sauntered over to the side-table, where he picked up another goblet. Anne, instead of sitting down, had followed him and was now watching mutely as the Elf finished pouring the wine. Seeing her reach out, he turned, holding out the goblet — and nearly dropped it when she grabbed his forearm instead.
"May I… I need to talk to you. To show you something. To… Today."
Her words were an odd assembly of whispered sounds and soft, distorted gasps, as if she had forgotten to breathe in-between.
Masking his alarm with practised composure, Legolas steadied his hold on the wine cup. "Yes, of course." He checked the compulsion to pry her fingers off his arm; they were damp and deathly cold against his skin.
"Today?" she asked again, her gaze shifting from his face to the wall behind him, and back.
"Yes," Legolas told her firmly. What on earth had happened? "Can it wait until after supper?" With a tilt of his head, he indicated Maeren and Eradan. "They wish to depart as soon as possible."
Anne stared at the two Dúnedain for a moment, brow crinkled, as if not knowing what to make of them.
"No," she said slowly. Then she shook her head. "I mean yes, of course. It can wait."
Legolas caught Maeren giving them a concerned glance across Eradan's shoulder.
"Are you sure?" he asked, and to his relief, Anne finally let go of his arm and took the offered cup with wine.
"Yes." She nodded, the motion oddly stilted. "Yes, I just—" An odd sound escaped her; a dry, quiet laugh that sounded almost like a sob. "I did... I think I did..."
Anne's voice had died down to less than a kitten's mewl by the time she trailed off. She raised the cup to her mouth but then paused, the rim inches from her lips, and lowered the wine again without drinking. Her eyes strayed to some point about the height of the Elf's stomach.
Driven by a concern that startled him, Legolas reached out, grazing his fingers against the cold hand that hung limply by her side.
"You did what?" He was careful to keep his voice gentle.
"I..." Anne did not appear to notice his touch. She made a choked sound, before starting anew, her voice so soft now that Legolas had to lean in until her warm breath grazed his jaw.
"I think I did something horrible."
:::
III III III