* Song: Lullaby From a Distant Land by Forest Elves

Humming forcibly rather than joyfully, Eryndes stopped to wipe her brow.

The kitchen door swung open, "Eryndes, what on Earth are you doing here at this hour?"

Eryndes wiped the other side of her brow and continued her work without glancing up, "We have the games day two days hence."

Foruyndes chuckled as she moved about the kitchen doing what she knew not, "My mind is old and failing, but there's nothing wrong with my memory."

Eryndes bit her lip, "I meant tomorrow will be chaotic, everyone will be so busy preparing the feast."

"Yes?" Foruyndes questioned, this time from the other side of the kitchen.

"If most of tomorrow's meals are prepared now, much time could be saved for other tasks."

When the aged woman didn't respond, Eryndes looked up to search the kitchen. The door to the pantry was open, "Foruyndes?"

"So you are making Buckwheat?" her voice came out through the pantry.

"Yes. We have surplus and I know it is not everyone's favourite-"

"But it's an economical meal and saves our stores for the party," Foruyndes cut in coming back out of the pantry, her arms laden with bottles, sacks and one of her small pitchers of wine.

Eryndes eyed the pitcher as Foruyndes emptied her arms down onto the bench beside her. "What are you doing?"

"You cannot make enough Buckwheat for everyone by yourself, not unless you plan on commandeering the kitchen until the sun reaches midday?"

Eryndes was about to argue, but her mouth slackened and she looked down at her work, "Perhaps I had not thought this through."

She hadn't. After her encounter with Sindar her mind had been a little . . . occupied. This time it seemed her mother's advice regarding labour had not rung true.

"Buckwheat demands a long night of labour, as you well know."

Closing her eyes, Eryndes took a deep breath and started rubbing the mix off her fingers.

"There's no need to be so dramatic, darling girl. I will help you," she gestured to the littered bottles and sacks she'd brought from the pantry, "I will help you. Eru may shine on us and indeed allow us an hour's sleep before the sun rises and we're hounded to quit the kitchen for the preparation of breakfast."

"Thank you." Warmth tickled her heart and Eryndes smiled fondly, "Why the wine?"

Foruyndes nudged her side good-humouredly, "Every old woman has her magic elixir. Muscat aged longer than your shadows casted along these halls will keep the candles burning and our fingers nimble."

"It has been a vast many years since you and I have gruelled through an all-nighter. Even then, not once has Muscat been present."

Foruyndes clucked her tongue and went to the crockery cupboards, "At my age, what's the point preserving all the bounties of life? Best to enjoy now, while the rooster still rises to waken these old bones."

A pang quietly ached out from the depths of Eryndes' breast, "A good lesson for all."

Slapping three small goblets down on the bench, Foruyndes popped out the pitcher's cork with a hiss between her teeth, "You're far too young to be so concerned. These are lessons for old women."

Eryndes broke away from the old woman's kind reproach and changed the subject, "Why three, Foruyndes?"

"For our visitor who should be along shortly."

She frowned, "It is very late. Who else bar you or I comes to the kitchen so late? Even Sali is loathed to enter the kitchen after supper."

Foruyndes grinned broadly, her face light as though a decade of toil had been lifted from her wrinkles, "My young laddie. He's not much for sleeping and comes to woo me for biscuits and tea."

"Young laddie?" Eryndes asked while biting the inside of her cheek trying not to laugh. "Do I know him?"

"You do, but keep those pretty eyes to yourself. He comes to see me and my assortment of snaps and butters. Old Foruyndes knows how to keep 'em coming to her door."

Eryndes took the goblet of wine gratefully and queried lightly, "What does he look like?"

"Oh, so very fair your eyes weep at their unworthiness."

Her lip shifted and she could not bear not smiling any longer, "Of course he would be. Let us hope he will be willing to aid in our cooking."

"Alas he does not cook."

Eryndes laughed but was careful to keep her laugh friendly and not judgemental. It was difficult sometimes though, "They never do."

Especially if they weren't real.

"Very well, very well. You continue there and I shall get the boilers going. We cannot be idly talking all night and get nought done."

With a small laugh, Eryndes held up her goblet, "Do you not have a toast of wisdom first?"

"Even stale bread becomes breadcrumbs!"

Eryndes giggled and tapped her glass against Foruyndes'. They worked in comfortable silence as the moon rose outside the kitchen window and the wind picked up and blew anything not tied down asunder.

And just passed midnight, the mix of a long day and too much wine, and having fallen asleep for the fourth time, Foruyndes finally shooed her out the kitchen door to bed, promising she would finish.

With the help of her Laddie, when he finally came knocking.

An hour before dawn, Eryndes quietly walked to the kitchen for tea, check on the progress of tonight's supper, and perhaps a little nibble before heading out to check on the herb garden after all the wind of last night. She was sure much of the tender autumn growth would be torn and thrown about.

Going through the kitchen door, she was surprised to find Foruyndes still in there. Her labours had ceased thankfully though, for the old woman sat in her particular armchair by the fire, a blanket well tucked around her and a mug of tea lay forgotten on the table beside her.

Foruyndes gently snored in peaceful slumber.

With a gentle shake of her shoulder, her snores came to an abrupt halt and eyes opened. "Am I dead?"

Eryndes shook her head, "Not this day. Why have you slept in the kitchen? I warned against it; your armchair is no friend to your back."

Foruyndes rolled her neck and rubbed her face, "I was helping my laddie."

Eryndes sighed.

"Don't screw up your face like that! Do you want a face like mine? Wrinkles don't go away, you know."

"Yes, indeed," Eryndes left her at the fire and went to put a kettle to fire. "I will make tea and you can tell me how you and your laddie went last night finishing the buckwheat."

"We went very well, thank you," the old woman answered tartly.

Eryndes, having spent most of the night listening to the wind bang the shutters of one of her neighbour's windows without relief, was in little humour to indulge the woman's fantasies any longer, "But pray, I thought your laddie was no cook."

Foruyndes heaved herself out of her chair, "He isn't. But I have decided to teach him. He has quite the nose for herbs and spices."

"I am sure," putting the water to boil on the fire, Eryndes went to the boilers of cooling buckwheat-, "What is this?"

Coming up beside her, Foruyndes peeked over the rim of the boiler, "That's it. Try it. I think you'll be as surprised as I was."

"Surprised at what? This is not what-," she stammered, and wondered if Foruyndes' mind had finally gone over the rise. Opening another boiler, then another-, "Where is the buckwheat, our traditional recipe-?"

Foruyndes actually grinned, "We changed it."

"Who changed it? Please do not say your laddie-"

"I was making our traditional recipe and he asked why it was so bland. He went through the entire pantry, pulling out spices and herbs to make it smell right. And for the soak? Milk, butter and eggs! Genius!"

With a long, long sigh, Eryndes pinched the bridge of her nose, "Foruyndes, you cannot experiment when there are three hundred mouths to feed. And with this quantity? I cannot begin to say how surprised I am at you. That you would waste so much food on a whim."

"Taste it."

"No, no. This is my fault. I should never have left you alone last night. That was unkind of me."

"Taste it."

"But what am I going to serve now? We have nothing ready that's not already earmarked. There are the stores, but what would everyone say? There is no excuse for delving into our winter stores so early-"

"Eryndes," Foruyndes cut in sharply. "Will you be silent and yield my simple request?"

Feeling heat rising to her cheeks, Eryndes saw the sternness in the old woman's face, the fire in her eyes. Not since she'd been a little girl and learning her first dishes at Foruyndes' instruction had she been scolded. Nor to see Foruyndes so firm and serious.

Taking a discarded wooden spoon from the bench, she did as she was told. The buckwheat didn't look terrible but was far to light in colour.

Too smooth and creamy.

Bracing herself she brought the spoon to her mouth-

Her eyes widened but then closed as she savoured the smooth buttery flavour, the subtle hints of different spices playing on her tongue and a mellow sweetness of dark sugar.

"My laddie has quite the sweet tooth."

Eryndes swallowed then giggled like a child, "This is delicious. Your laddie's sweet tooth is well founded. I sincerely apologise for doubting you." Digging in, she brought a larger mouthful to her lips. Then another. Then another-

"Control yourself," Foruyndes snatched the wooden spoon from her, "It's very rich. You don't want to go spoiling your figure, do you?"

"Why not?" she took back the spoon stubbornly and went for more, "Perhaps I do not need love for happiness, only the contents of this boiler."

"You're being silly, Eryndes."

"Have you named your dish?" she all but cooed, spooning at the buckwheat with desire.

"It's not just my making, I told you. But we did name it."

"You and your laddie?"

"That's right. We call it Woodland Buckwheat."

Eryndes stopped, the spoon dropping back into the boiler with a plop, "Woodland?"

"Aye."

"Woodland?"

"Aye, that's right."

"Do you mean-?" she ran out of words. Breathing in trying to calm the calamity in her heart she forced herself to speak, "Sindar? Your laddie? Is Sindar?"

"Indeed, he is."

"You said he was young!"

Foruyndes laughed deeply, "He would tell you age is not merely time but temperament."

"You allowed an elf, a lord to toil in the kitchen? Like a servant? He is our guest! He is a lord and our guest!"

"I was tired and he offered to help," she sniffed. "He has none of your foolish notions about lords or guests not helping tired old women. Besides, you saw him helping out with the butchering-"

"Something I would never have agreed upon in private."

"But you would not deny it publically? Are you so inescapably consumed with decorum?"

Speechless, Eryndes looked back to the stove full of a dozen boilers, filled with Woodland Buckwheat. "Be truthful, Foruyndes. Just how many times have you allowed Sindar to cook his own food?"

Angrily Foruyndes shuffled back away from her, "Don't speak to me as if I was a child. I was wiping your tears and your backside as a babe-"

"Foruyndes."

The old woman turned and walked away.

"He is not one of us," she called after her. "How would you explain your lack of propriety to Strider?"

"Why, Fuieryn, so nice to have you back in my kitchen."

Eryndes recoiled as if she'd been struck, "My mother would never stand for this. Yet you expect it of me?"

"She would be so proud of you."

Hot anger welled up inside her, "You are being nasty."

"And you as unbearably proper as she ever was," Foruyndes sniffed loudly, and sat back down beside the fire. "For once in your life, would it kill you to do something inappropriate?"

Eryndes wanted badly to turn away and leave the kitchen, seek the comfort of her gardens until her anger at Foruyndes cooled. But what good would that do?

No, it was Eryndes' duty to see to this. All of Foruyndes' errors were hers to bear as Mistress, as was all at Carthal.

Quietly she walked over and sat in the spare armchair.

"My mother had reasons as do I," she gently explained, "She felt the house needed strict decorum, to be as lordly as any house with a title."

"Such was her obsession! She's spun you so tight to follow in her example."

Eryndes squeezed her eyes shut a moment, "You know that is not true. I am not my mother, not by half," the throat caught.

"Fuieryn was a hard woman," Foruyndes reached over to take her wrist in a surprisingly strong grip, "be grateful not ashamed."

"Foruyndes," she quietly said, allowing the words about her mother fall away without paying them any thought, "No more lords cooking or anything else. If I find out Mydedis has him washing clothes-"

"He asked. You want me to be rude and refuse?"

"Of course not," she replied quickly, trying hard not to think of her appointment that evening which her unwillingness to be rude had gained her. Taking a long, deep breath, Eryndes watched the fire for awhile. "All right," she quietly gave in. "But please, nothing else. Strider has asked for us to make his friend comfortable here, not to put him to work."

The morning saw Legolas endure another quiet meal; breakfast was a quick affair when mouths were used purely for eating. Even Lobordir and Úrion remained quiet.

The patrol was just as uncomfortable as breakfast.

It was completely ridiculous. They'd been down that emotional road far too many times over their sixty year friendship.

Yet each time Legolas attempted to breach the distance between them, Aragorn grew even more distant.

They knew each other far too well. They knew every chink to the other's armour and where to plunge the knife. Words spoken in haste required time to soothe the sting.

However Aragorn appeared to need a longer span of time than usual.

After the patrol, he and Aragorn worked with their chosen elite scouts under the giant pear trees where yesterday they had recited tales to children. The grass was short and well maintained for a few exercises in hand to hand combat, both armed and unarmed. Although the scouts primary mission was reconnoitre and evasion, Aragorn and he both strongly agreed it was best they all were thoroughly prepared for any eventuality.

Today however the lesson was theory and they'd been out there for hours already.

Some of the rangers were becoming irritable.

They weren't the only ones. Legolas felt the same nagging at the back of his mind all day. It was becoming maddening.

"Why are we learning about anatomy?" Faron bellyached and not for the first time, "Stick a knife in its heart and its dead."

Legolas ground his teeth, and nor for the first time either.

"What if your enemy has on thick armour?" Aragorn asked flatly, "or some other defence you cannot penetrate with a knife?"

"Go for its eyes or better yet, take its head off."

"There are far taller creatures in the world than the Dúnedain." Legolas crossed his arms over his chest, "How do you intend to take off a Gundabad orc's head from a lower position or a trolls when you cannot reach?"

Faron reluctantly conceded and gestured impatiently, "Well, tell us then. Some of us don't live as long as others. How do you take down trolls."

"Faron," Aragorn cut in, "Stand up. You'll be our troll."

Trîw sniggered, "The resemblance is remarkable."

"Be silent," Cordoves shot Trîw a scathing look. She was a serious woman and had little patience for Trîw's tomfoolery.

Legolas pulled one of his knives from his back but it was Aragorn who spoke, "The troll's anatomy is about as you'd expect; blood runs through arteries and without blood it cannot survive. The trolls' hide is thick, cave often considered the thickest of all. Without machines of metal, you can forget about taking an arm or a leg to induce blood loss. Sindar?"

Legolas tapped at Faron's shoulder, just above his armpit, "Major blood lost from a deep slash or arrow. Death or unconscious in under ten minutes. Longer for arrows-"

"Ten minutes?" Laeron asked in surprise. "Ten minutes against a troll?"

Legolas' eyes caught a disturbance in amongst the trees to the left this time but forcibly returned his focus to the class.

"Which is why you'll need to be precise and concentrate on the best targets to gain time," Aragorn nodded to Legolas.

"Hits to the head may disorientate, but the skin is almost as hard as the back. Any hit to the head would have to be highly significant to gain any advantage." Legolas tapped Faron's belly, "But if you are able to get through its hide with multiple slashes, enough to spill its innards-" he stopped, this time to look back at the ranger coming running up from the manor.

"Yes, Ravonor?" Aragorn asked the young ranger.

"Strider, Geledir and Amben, they request your assistance. Coston and Parf are at it again."

Legolas felt himself frown. "Is not Úrion or Lobordir on duty to see to drunken squabbles?"

Ravonor looked at him blankly, "Geledir said to get Strider."

Aragorn rubbed his face slowly, "Has Coston been drinking?"

Ravonor nodded. "Parf claims the fight rightful for his sister's protection."

"Arradis?" Cordoves spoke up, getting quickly to her feet. "She is hurt?"

"She's with Nestdôl now."

"Very well," Aragorn nodded to the ranger and he looked at the group, "We've probably been here long enough as it is. We'll continue tomorrow."

Legolas' mouth dropped and he moved to interject but Aragorn ignored him and their group dispersed with Cordoves practically running towards the manor.

Well, not all. Laeron and Baradon stayed back.

"Are you two looking to polish apples?" Legolas snapped at them.

Of course it did no good; Laeron's grin was as unflappable as his father's and Baradon simply shrugged, "We just want to know how many trolls you've fought?"

The tap in his consciousness sparked again, itching his eyes to seek out the intruder but he tried to give his full attention to his eager students and be civil, "Not today, Baradon-" his head turned instinctively to the side just in time to catch a glimpse of the one who was the cause of his own irritability; the small shape diving under the old wagon three hundred metres away.

"Sindar, what is it?" Laeron asked him.

His eyes searched the wagon sitting abandoned near the stone wall, but could not see her directly, "There is a young girl who continues to follow me. I noticed her during the days of the festival, but since my return yesterday, I have not had a moments peace."

Baradon nodded, "That is probably Briel, Geledir's daughter. You know Geledir, stock Master? Briel and her mother accompany him when duty requires him here. They live not far from Fuieryn's cottage."

Legolas rubbed the back of his neck.

"You're not ill, are you?" Laeron asked innocently.

His glare at the boy was answer enough and demanded from Baradon, "But why does the child stalk me?"

"Well, she is quite the artist; loves drawing, charcoal, even paint when in supply. Her's is an unrivalled talent. Most likely she wants to draw you and is too scared to come and ask."

Laeron chuckled, "You're frightening to little girls."

Legolas narrowed his eyes at the younger man, whilst still speaking to Baradon, "Why would she want to draw me?"

Baradon shrugged, "Perhaps she seeks a fresh face. She's already drawn the rest of us many times over." Looking over to where Legolas had been searching, he smiled, "whether we all wanted her to or not. She's become very good at stalking; caught many a folk in less than appropriate situations. Just ask Joust. She'd make an excellent hunter in a few more years."

"Not good enough for an elf, it seems," said Laeron pointed out. "You should speak to her, let her know it bothers you."

Legolas looked back at the wagon. Laeron was right; he should go speak to the child. It was just . . .

He looked back at the two men, or more correctly, one boy and one even younger boy. Opening his mouth he then closed it again.

He could ask Aragorn? But no. Not in their present tiff.

"Sindar?" Baradon asked.

"I will deal with this," he walked away from them towards the manor, "now before I lose my wits."

Taking a breath, then another, Legolas rolled his tense shoulders and approached her discreetly.

Watching her at her work, he took another calming breath, "Would you welcome some assistance?"

Eryndes looked up at him, her hand shading her eyes as he had approached her with the mid afternoon sun behind him, "Oh, Master Elf," she greeted him with a smile of disbelief, "You wish to help me?"

For the second time in twenty four hours his attempt to help had the opposite effect he'd hoped. Did none amongst the Dúnedain ever offer to help a lady? "Does my offer offend you?"

She blanched, "Of course. Forgive me, it is just, well I, you are, you should not. What I mean is, men never offer to help."

"I am not a man."

Eryndes opened her mouth then said with a nod, "Yes, that is true."

"There is nothing else for me to do at this particular moment." He held his breath and waited.

And make him wait she did, and he saw the conflict in her eyes. Surely what he'd asked was not so troubling? Perhaps he should have just waited until their prearranged evening walk later that night? But no, Legolas would not taint the occasion by having to explain why there was a child following them during their walk.

Finally, with her free hand she motioned to the seat opposite her at the table, "Please."

Legolas took the proffered seat at the bench, every muscle in his body feeling stiff. Eryndes passed him two bowls; a large one with pea pods and a smaller empty one.

Legolas took one of the pods, twirled it around, studying it.

"Foruyndes told me of your assistance in the kitchen last night."

He didn't answer, preferring not having to explain how the Dúnedain version of buckwheat tasted to him like moistened saw dust. Instead he studied the pea. He'd eaten them, he'd even seen them grow in passing, and yet he'd not once thought of how to remove them from the pod.

"Her praise was high and even said you had quite the skill-"

"She exaggerates." Should he use his knife?

When Eryndes spoke no more, he drew his eyes from the pea-pod to her. She wasn't looking at him, instead seeing to her own shelling, her hands so fluidic in their work it was hypnotic. But he needed to speak. It was the reason he'd come seeking her. Staring at her hands, he quietly told her, "I am humbled to admit I know nothing of cooking."

Eryndes' looked up at him.

"Apart from tossing a kill to flame, I am at the mercy of others."

She looked back down, "I hope our simple foods are not too distasteful-"

"They are adequate." He then sighed, frustrated, "I mean to say I make no complaint. Foruyndes simply allowed me to indulge in a taste of my home."

"Of course but if ever you should ever wish for us to make something more to your liking-"

"Please," he stopped her, "No preferential favour," he thought for a moment, thinking hard for something to ease along their conversation. Something amusing? "Unless whatever that was last night is served again. What was that?"

Her head rose slower this time, and answered warily, "Jellied eels."

Legolas shuddered and for a moment he thought she might have laughed.

Her eyes smiled for her instead, "I am sorry-"

"Do not distress," he smirked, still a little tensely, "If I can drink ale, gelatinous clumps of mud-dwelling fish should pose me no discomfort."

"Yes?" he asked, feeling amusement bubbling when she bit down on her lip.

At his question the smile she'd tried to hide broke free, "You drink urulas tea for ale."

His grin was easier this time, "So I do."

When she returned to the peas, he watched her. But she didn't seem inclined to talk more. Perhaps his question, nay his request would have to wait after-all. Picking up the pod once more, he studied it intimately. Her fingers squeezed, twisted and pulled all seemingly at the same time. There was a seam, so surely that was where he had to press-

"Was there something you wanted to ask me, Master Elf?"

"Indeed," he said offhandedly, "How do I get them out?"

He looked over at her when she laughed unexpectedly, "I meant, you seemed as if you had something on your mind."

"Other than legumes?"

"Yes."

Legolas held up the pod, "Will you show me how to do this first? I will not be outwitted by peas."

With a vibrant chuckle, she reached over to cradle his hand in her smaller dainty ones. "Hold it along here," she placed the length of the pod across his palm, then put his thumb on top, "press the tip of your thumb into the seam until it pops open. See? Then insert your thumb and slip them out."

The warm touch of her delicate fingers sent tingles up his arm, "Does it strike you as odd I know not how to do this?"

"Not at all," she let go of him, "Our men know very little of cooking. Aragorn has never offered to shell peas."

"Because they believe all menial work should be done by women?"

"Just so," she scoffed in jest.

Legolas pressed down on the seam as she'd shown him, "Such sentiments are unjust in the eyes of elves."

"Then I would very much like to see the kitchens of the elf-king."

"If that would interest you," he agreed doubtfully, slipping his thumb awkwardly inside the pod, "Though I fail to see why."

Eryndes grinned with a slight shake of her head, and a small lock of hair escaped its pin, falling across her forehead, "I have heard the tables in Thranduil's halls are the finest kept in Middle Earth, serving bounties of rare delicacies and extravagance."

The wonder in her eyes did not make him proud, "They are not so extravagant." It wasn't a lie if he didn't think the foods he'd been raised on as extravagant.

"You have dined with your king?"

Legolas swallowed covertly, "I have."

Eryndes eyes shone as she asked, "But never anything like jellied-eels?"

Slowly he smiled, "Indeed, never."

Sharing his smile for a brief moment, Eryndes then returned to her work and he contented himself watching her. Yet, his reason for seeking her out burned to be spoken.

"I have a service to ask of you."

Replacing the latest pod into a bowl, she gave him her full attention, "Ask away."

"The child, Briel," he started, a new feeling of discomfort making him shift in his seat, "I would speak with her."

"Yes?" she pressed patiently.

Again he shifted on the hardwood, "but I fear frightening her."

"Frightening her?"

Legolas dropped his eyes to the pod in his hand, "I am . . . unaccustomed to children."

Finally he lifted his gaze and found no mockery or tease in her regard but simple patience, "Because you wish to stop her drawing you? She draws everyone, you know."

"On the contrary," he negated quickly, "I care not if she draws me. I only wish for her to stop tailing me."

Eryndes sat back, "Does it upset you so?"

"Not in the way you perhaps think," he said carefully, "This sneaking about is," he paused looking for the right word, "irritating." He continued on with haste, "I mean that in the least conceited way." Legolas implore for her to understand, "My hearing and sight is unsurpassed; I see and hear in ways you cannot comprehend or possibly imagine. Unless I am largely distracted, not much escapes my notice. Suspicious movement, any suspicious movement and I focus to it without thought.

"The girl's constant sneaking," he sighed in defeat, "It is irritating. If I were mortal, I would believe my head broken from the pounding."

For another moment she continued to frown but at least she was sitting forward again, "Though I cannot claim to understand how your eyes and ears work, it does sound irritating."

"Very irritating; a bee inside my skull would be a welcome respite." He leant in to the table, "Please understand I do not care if all of the children wish to draw me, but for my sanity they need to stop stalking me."

Eryndes gave a small nod and took up her work once more, "I will speak with her."

Legolas was tempted to let that be the end of it, but . . . "Thank you, but I would prefer to speak with her myself. The children," he paused, watching her fingers take another pod, and admitted quietly, "I do not wish them to fear me."

"Why should the children fear you?"

Taking up another himself, he fiddled with rather than plucked, "I have heard it said mortals unaccustomed to my kind find our unblinking gaze – uncomfortable. More so, my inexperience with children- I have never had much cause to speak with any, at least directly. I fear my," he shifted again, "awkwardness might be seen as hostile."

For a pause, Eryndes didn't answer and he raised his eyes to hers. There was no scorn or ridicule, and she did not laugh at him as he might have feared. Gently she smiled at him, "Where is she now?"

All of the tension fell from his shoulders and with his eyes he swept to the left, "Behind the stack of wood."

"So close?" her eyes widened in surprise and looked toward the wood pile, "Briel? Briel, if you are not otherwise engaged, we may be grateful for your help."

Legolas blinked with alarm. He could have easily called out to the child himself.

Eryndes, though, gave him a reassuring glance and a tiny shake of her head.

"All right," a small childlike voice came from the woodpile and the young girl stood up. "Did you really know I was here the whole time?"

"Come, girl. Show us how much quicker you are at shelling peas than our good Sindar here," Eryndes grinned at him. Following her eyes down to the bowl in front of him, he grimaced. She was correct; he had not shelled more than five this whole time.

Briel came to the table to take the spare chair beside Eryndes, her eyes fixed on him. "It was you who saw me?"

"Manners girl," Eryndes admonished taking the girl's hands, "And you will not be touching any of our food with hands like these."

The girl shrugged, "Charcoal. I'll go wash."

"Wait a moment," Eryndes took the girl's shoulder. "Sindar here has taken an interest in you."

Legolas nodded stiffly, "Yes, that is correct."

The girl blushed and fidgeted with her book and charcoal, "You want me to stop drawing you, don't you?"

Legolas forced his lips up to a small uncomfortable smile, "That is not the case."

Eryndes nodded at him encouragingly.

Opening his mouth, he forced the words out, "I would, very much like to," he paused, "see your work. I understand you are considered a talent."

The girl's eyes looked up to him and nodded but no more convinced than he. Taking the book in her hands she slid it across to him, "I am sure no drawing of mine could hold a candle against those done by elves."

Legolas flicked open the book. The charcoal was crude but the drawings were surprising very lifelike. "Nonsense," he appraised earnestly, "your reputation is clearly well deserved." There were drawings of birds, horses, sheep and perhaps a dozen and a half of the Dúnedain of all ages. Towards the end of the book there were more than a dozen drawings of him, but they were far cruder with many mistakes rubbed away probably accounting for the state of her hands. "These were obviously drawn while you practiced your stalking technique."

He returned the book to her, "Do you not think it wiser to draw a position of comfort?"

The girl looked surprised and shot a glance towards Eryndes before answering him, "You would let me draw you?"

"If you wish to do so, I have no objection. But first you must promise to stop stalking me. No more hiding."

"I promise," Briel's face lit up into a huge smile, "Can I start now?"

Legolas looked to Eryndes who was silently watching them. "I do believe you are required to show me how quick you are shelling peas?"

"With those hands?" Eryndes gestured to the girl's blackened hands, "No. You two go, I can finish here."

Briel stood up instantly, her young face eager to begin.

Legolas did not rise and shook his head, "No, child. Duty comes before pleasure. Did you not promise your aid?" He picked up another pod, "You had best wash quickly, whilst you still have the light for drawing."

"I'll be right back!"

"You need not have worried," Eryndes commented, watching the girl running towards the manor, knocking into just about everyone in her haste.

Legolas instead watched Eryndes, her nimble fingers breaking and emptying the pods with practiced ease. He studied her fingers, her fingers, her hands, so small yet efficient, and tried to mimic hers with only a slight success, "She was defensive; scared."

"Most children are scared of adults. To them we are intimidating, and we do make the rules," she explained, "It is up to the adults to make them feel comfortable."

"How do I make her feel comfortable?"

"You already have," she commended him keenly, "Children respond well to a firm but kind hand. You are a natural."

"I believe you are trying to be kind," Legolas found himself carefully returning her smile, "But I thank you for your assistance."

She beamed at him, "And I believe you would have done well without me." She turned to her left as Briel all but fell into the seat with enthusiasm. "That was quick. I pray you used soap."

"I did," she drawled, grabbing a handful of pods and eagerly begun shelling. "Sindar? May I ask you questions?"

Legolas raised an eyebrow, "Questions? How many questions could you have?"

"Oh, lots and lots."

He blinked, "Very well."

"Well," she hesitated, "Are all wood elves as handsome as you?"

Legolas opened his mouth to utter his response, once he had found a one. This was what the child wanted to know?

"Briel," Eryndes reproved mildly. "Where are your manners today? Ask your questions politely and with sense."

Legolas found his voice at last, "I am from the Woodland realm, however I am not a wood elf," he explained to her smoothly, "The Dúnedain call me Sindar because that is what I am, Sinda."

"But do they all look like you?" Briel obviously had no understanding of the distinction between Sylvan and Sindar.

Legolas shook his head, "The Sylvan are different to Sindar. Their colouring is more akin to the earth. We Sindar are called grey elves for many reasons but most obvious to others is our grey eyes. Most have gold or platinum hair."

"And they have the same look like yours?"

"Look like mine?"

The girl gave him an impatient look, "Strange looking bird-like eyes. All unblinking and icy."

Eryndes' jaw dropped but Legolas surprised both of them by laughing. The child's manner was becoming as entertaining as it was tactless. "Is that how you would describe them?"

"Yes," Briel nodded, "but real pretty, especially when you laugh as you just did."

Out of the corner of his eye Eryndes pursed her lips. "Thank you Briel. To answer your question, yes. Elves do not need to blink. Though whether any would appreciate being likened to birds, I cannot say."

"And you sleep with your eyes open?"

"We do."

"You eat meat, why? I thought elves didn't eat animals."

"Some choose not to, but such is their luxury. There are many elven realms that do not possess such luxuries and eat what is available."

"Mirkwood has no luxury?"

"Eryn Lasgalen," he corrected mildly, "is a vast wood with many luxuries but to farm enough food for all who live there would require clearing of much of the forest we love. Instead we create and craft items to trade for gold and thus buy most of food we require."

"There are no farms?"

"Some clearings have been used for plantations, but again the harvest is insignificant to our requirements. So we trade for meat, cheese and grains for baking."

"But not venison or jellied eels?"

Legolas sat back in his seat, "You have been paying attention."

"But why not?"

He gestured to her, "I am sure there are foods you do not enjoy eating."

"Pumpkin," she made a face, "Makes me want to vomit-"

"Briel!" Eryndes stopped her.

"-makes me feel ill," Briel corrected quickly with a grimace in Eryndes' direction.

"We are all entitled to a small measure of spoiled tastes," Eryndes murmured quietly.

Briel grinned and continued, "How many children do you have?"

"I have none."

Briel's face fell, "None? Why not? How can you be so old and not have any children?"

Eryndes groaned, "Briel."

Legolas however was not offended; only mortals considered being thought old as an insult. "Simple, child. I am not married."

"You're not? But everyone gets married."

"Not everyone," Eryndes said firmly.

Briel huffed but then plucked up her enthusiasm once more, "Do the Sindar sing as well as wood elves? I have heard it said the wood elves have the most beautiful voices in all of Middle Earth."

Legolas shrugged, finally finishing another pod and picking up the next, "Some do."

"Do you? Will you not sing for us?"

He paused, "Nay. I do not sing."

"Oh," she looked down in disappointment, but only for a brief heartbeat, "Do you think the Dúnedain can sing as well as the Sylvan? Eryndes is the best but would she be good enough to sing amongst the wood elves?"

Eryndes stiffened, "Briel-"

"I think you are mistaken, child," Legolas spoke gently, feeling his stomach become as jelly-like as last night's eels, "I do not believe even the Sylvan to be her equal."

He could feel Eryndes' eyes on him but continued to address the beaming girl, "However, I am not an expert on such things and can only speak my opinion." Finally he could bare it no longer and chanced a glance. Eryndes stared at him, pretty blush to her cheeks, her mouth open in surprise.

The warmth in his breast grew fiercely and the pea-pod dropped from his fingers.

"What about drawing? Can you draw?"

"I have not drawn since I was very young," he turned back to Briel, unsure if he was disappointed or glad she'd spoken and broken the enchantment he'd fallen under. "Even then I had no discernible talent."

"If you have not tried since you were a child then how do you know you cannot? I could teach you to draw and you could learn to sing with Eryndes," she grinned, "You should stop being a warrior all the time and do something fun."

"Briel," Eryndes' voice was becoming firmer. "You do not tell others what they should or should not do."

Briel looked to her then down to the bowl, picking at the peas instead of shelling them in quiet self-pity.

"Perhaps I have not attempted for many years but I do not think time would have improved my ineptitude," Legolas explained. "However 'being a warrior all the time' does not stop me from enjoying the gifts of others. I would be pleased to continue to see your drawings."

Briel looked up at him and smiled happily, "And Eryndes will sing for you."

Looking at the woman he gave a small nod, "If it pleases Eryndes to sing, it pleases me to listen."

"And it makes shelling peas go a lot faster," Briel leaned into Eryndes' side, "Does it not?"

Eryndes looked at him pointedly but he gave no hint of dissuasion.

Having receiving no help, she breathed out in forfeit, "Oh very well. Briel, you will sit up straight and join in."

"But-" Briel started to protest.

"Do not argue," Eryndes said quite firm, sliding over another bowl of unshelled peas to Legolas. Legolas was beginning to improve his shelling and was pleased to see he had in fact finished his first bowl. Considering the filled barrels behind Eryndes, he still had a long way to go.

"But you do not make him sing!" she complained.

A scoff broke from his lips, "And you should feel greatly fortunate she does not."

The girl gave in then, and nodded, "Then we shall sing the lullaby song."

"You wish for a lullaby?" Legolas commented in confusion, "Are you sleepy, child?"

Eryndes laughed, "It is the song the children have been learning this past week. Briel chooses it because it is the only song she can remember."

Briel blushed, "I am akin to Sindar; I don't sing."

"Yes, you do and you will." Eryndes gently reached over and adjusted the girl's posture so she was sitting straighter, "Focus your breathing and follow me.

hön'marën kena-uva kala

(my heart shall see light)

indönya ullumeá

(our hearts shall be forever)

nör'ande sëra mi lorien

(go forth, rest in dreamland)

îm'eri ratö naya

(I'll soon be there)

larya nîn mëlissè

(Wait for me my love)

le sinte îma sinomë

(You know I'm here)

ána sama lemî oloorë

(To join you in dreams)

le ar'uunèr ana kaurë

(You have nothing to fear)

uur'anor wannëa

(Fiery sun, begone)

isilme va'arya

(Moonlight, protect us,)

telume siila tere

(Heaven's star, shine through,)

na'are utumno wanya

(Flame of hell, vanish)

erüma, helkàda

(Lonely voice, cold and bare)

raanè ressè

(Wandering alone,)

lörna à'kuilä

(Asleep, yet awake)

Vàrna mi'olör

(Safe in dreams)

türma ei ràumo

(Shelter from the storm)

Sinomë."

(Here)

They both finished. Briel had struggled somewhat through the song, and forgot quite a few of the words, but it still was a beautifully sung.

"A Quenyan lullaby?" he could not help the frown forming on his brow. "I did not realise you spoke Quenya?"

"No, I-," Eryndes faltered, "Just a handful of songs. My mother taught them to me. Mostly Quenya has been long lost amongst the Dúnedain for centuries now. Some of the elder women still remember a song or two, but that is all that remains."

"Yet your mother spoke Quenya?"

"No more than a few words. She met some Nolder journeying from Imladris during her early travels. They shared some of their songs with her."

Briel was frowning at him, "Did you not like the song?"

Legolas blinked, "Indeed I did. I liked the song very much."

"But, you don't seem very happy."

"Would you have preferred another?" Eryndes asked quickly.

"Indeed I would enjoy another," he assured her, "I was simply surprised to hear Quenya spoken here in the north."

Silence overcame them as peas continued to be plucked out from their refuge, and it was some time before he realised that although his hands continued their shelling labour at a much improved pace, his eyes had been drawn once more to the woman opposite him and had been gazing freely without pause.

It was evident, too, in the way Eryndes toyed with the peas in her hand she'd noticed as well. When she spoke she did not raise her head to look at him, "Is there another song you would prefer to hear, Master Elf?"

Legolas did not alter his gaze, watching her, unable to look away. There was one song in particular he would have her sing. . . "What of the song you were singing the day we met?"

Her eyes shot up to meet his, "I am not sure I remember."

That was not true and his expression told her he knew very well she remembered.

Eryndes looked away from him, her face flushing once more, "It is not an appropriate song for children."

Finally, disappointed, he acquiesced, "Is there another song the children have learnt recently?" Even as he spoke he heard the footsteps of a man approaching them from behind him.

"Sindar?"

Legolas turned on the bench to face the man striding over to them, "Yes, ranger?"

"Morgulchon's patrol just returned. His caravan's narrowed overcame an attack by marauders and Strider requests you in the war room immediately. I think he means to ride out to them."

"Very well," he told the ranger rising from his seat. The ranger nodded and turned to leave.

"Redhor, wait," Eryndes stopped them, "Were there casualties?"

"Four of the worst wounded were sent back ahead of the caravan with Morgulchon. I don't know how many stayed behind. They're being carried into the healing rooms now."

Eryndes jump up, but then her eyes went to Briel whose face had paled greatly, "Briel, I want you to stay out here with the other women."

The girl nodded, her face growing even whiter.

"Briel?" he tried to soothe, having no idea how to calm a stricken child. He forced a small smile he hoped was reassuring, "Forgive me, I must go. Can we postpone my portrait?"

She nodded slightly, but he was not satisfied and asked with a brow raised, "You will not forget?"

Colour returned to her cheeks and she returned his smile, "I promise I won't."

Moving away from the table, he caught Eryndes watching him for a moment before turning to head towards the main entrance of the house.

Turning away, he continuing on his own way towards the war room.