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Dramatis Personæ
Aglarebon – Woodland Stallion, Sindar's horse
Aragorn/Strider – Male, Chieftain of the Dúnedain
Baradon/Sculls – Male, Ranger
Bregol/Web - Male, Ranger
Briel - Female, Dunedain child
Camaenor/Vice - Male, Master of Arms
Cordoves/Swan – Female, ranger
Eryndes – Female, Mistress of Carthal & Apothecary
Faron/Dusk – Male, Hunting Master
Foruyndes – Female, Mistress of Stores
Gell - Male, Commander Rangers of the Wild
Gueniel – Female, Midwife
Laeron/Wren – Male, Ranger
Mereniel- Female, ranger
Mydedis – Female, Mistress of Housekeeping
Sali – Female, Mistress of Kitchen
Legolas/Sindar – Sinda Male, Prince of the Woodland Realm
Tauriel - Sylvan Female, Captain of the Woodland Guard
Úrion/Bear – Male, Second in Command
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Her words were met with silence.
Panicked thoughts raced one after the other; had Sindar changed his mind? Had she irrevocably hurt him? Was the chance of their happiness long lost? Why won't he answer?
Across from her, those silver eyes which held her paralysed, blinked. "(Is this a dream)?"
Eryndes breathed in and out to answer, but a squeaked 'Nay' was all she managed.
Sindar, unlike her, was a statue of calm patience. His steady gaze studied her at agonising length.
But then his gaze fell away, his jaw squared.
"(Are you sure)?"
"I am," she choked on the air in her throat. "I am beyond sure. There is nothing I want more than you. My fears-I," she shifted on the floor and dropping her head to stare at his hand firmly grasped in hers.
"All this time . . . was naught but my fears. I-I will never forgive myself for being so foolishly led by them. I want to spend my life with you."
When he didn't answer, the sound of her heart was the only noise in her ears, Eryndes gathered her courage and lifted her head.
Pooling every slither of courage, she posed the question she'd come to ask. "Will you . . . marry me?"
Her words thawed those guarded features like a bucket of hot water. The stiff line to his jaw eased, and the corners of his mouth lifted. His hand broke from hers to brush her cheek, a tender caress surpassed only by the warmth in his eyes.
His wordless appeal drew her to meet him halfway. His kiss was as she'd taught him, only better; sweet, lingering, as delicate as a rose petal.
A woman would willingly die for such a kiss.
Sindar parted from her while she lingered, eyes hooded in surrender to the earthiness of his scent. This was one of those singular moments in a lifetime, perfect in every way. Eryndes held fast to each sensation, reliving over again, securing to memory the wonder of his kiss.
Feeling him shift tugged Eryndes back to the present. She opened her eyes and felt her hand being taken. His other hand slipped from his pocket, holding a plain gold banded ring.
This was his answer and the back of her throat thickened. Her eyes welled.
His intense gaze remained fixed to hers as he slid the ring on her finger. "(Let it be known to all; I am betrothed to you)."
His declaration, said with such resolution, held her captive. Relenting, air in her lungs gushed out in a laugh, while her eyes each spilled a single tear.
It wasn't until he slowly smiled, the twitch to his brow did she realise her mistake and a sudden shame darkened her joy.
Lowering her eyes to stare at his hand still holding hers, the weight of his precious ring suddenly enormous. She swiped at her cheeks. "Forgive me, I-I do not have anything for you- But my father's chest may hold something somewhat suitable-"
Her words stopped when he lifted her ringed hand to press her knuckles to his lips. It was a simple show of affection and her insides rippled in pleasure.
Sindar, his expression unchanged, turned her hand over and pressed into her palm something small and cool.
It was another plain banded ring. Made of fine gold as hers, wider in style for a male. The stubborn glint sharpening his eyes told her he wasn't going to be argued.
Smiling like a fool too long at the brandy, Eryndes took his hand. His damaged hand. Her smile turned into a frown. "What happened to the bandage?"
"I removed it."
"You removed it?" she demanded, surprising herself with the heat in her tone. "Who gave you damned permission? The bones will not have knitted yet-!"
"Eryndes," Chuckling, he careful brushed away another tear from her cheek, "can the healers reprimand not stall a moment? Or is it your delight to keep me waiting in all things?"
She swallowed the rest of her chastisement and held the ring in her fingertips.
Taking a steadying breath, Eryndes focused on him, gathering all the love in her heart and the determination of her mind. She spoke her pledge to seal herself and future to him. "(Let it be known to all)," she vowed, sliding the ring up his first finger, "(I belong to you)."
The words were passed her lips before she realised she'd gotten them wrong.
Sindar did not notice. Or perhaps did but said nothing.
He closed the distance between them and covered her mouth with another sweet kiss.
Boldly she clasped his head in her hands and insisted. Swept away on a river of happiness and relief and countless other emotions too complex for understanding, Eryndes held him captive.
He tugged her closer until she lay cradled in his arms. He loomed over her and she clasped the back of his head and neck, desperate to keep him close. For a time, the only sounds were the pounding in her chest, their breathing, and the sounds of their passions. Her head spun, her world spun, and she surrendered. To all of it. To all of him. His kiss and taste, the warmth of his embrace, the feel of him, solid and real under her touch. She belonged to him. And now the world would know it.
Unable to hold back her need, she broke from him enough to speak.
"I love you."
If eyes could speak words, his told her the same. He was beautiful and always would be, but in that moment he was breathtaking. This remarkable creature, this kind and gentle fellow was to be her husband. And nothing in the world could ever be as beautiful.
"Melethrilig," He mushed against her lips before helping her sit up, a fetching touch of colour hinted upon his cheeks.
Her own blood was fevered and her head light. Although lamenting the loss of his embrace, it was for the best. For now. She'd not dishonour him again with another fevered impulse to know lovemaking with him.
Putting distance between them, she kept study of their hands. Fingers meshed, her ring gleaming in the golden sunlight. It was lovely; thin banded for a lady, plain as was elven tradition.
Lovely and perhaps more suited to an elven lady than Dúnedain but that wasn't her choice to make.
Her choice was whether to accept it and finally she had. "You . . . knew? Somehow you knew?"
"I knew nothing," his words caressed her cheek, being of no mind to observe any tactful distances between them, "I simply took the precaution."
"Precaution?" she breathed, trying not to shiver in delight as his lips grazed over her ear.
"I thought it best to be prepared if you changed your mind."
She was uncertain why it meant more he'd not known of her change of heart, but somehow it did.
Bound again in his strong arms, Eryndes rested her head on his shoulder with a sigh. She did savour his hold, his touch. His love. Cupping his face, she took another kiss. A chaste kiss.
"It is lovely."
"A token from my father-" His body grew rigid against her.
"What is it?"
Sindar did not answer straight away.
"There is a difficult matter to discuss. A . . . secret kept hidden long passed reason," he released her and swiftly rose to his feet. "I have been wrong to keep it from you."
Eryndes watched him seek a distance between them, drawn between being drunk with love and joy, and a deepening concern growing in her belly.
"You cannot be a wretch or pirate."
Sindar whirled back to face her with wide disbelief.
"I said you cannot," she pointed out. His moods truly were as turbulent as the weather.
He faced away from her once more. "My family," he said carefully, "my father and I are all that remains."
Sindar rarely spoke of his family or his father and she couldn't help being eager.
"We are of an ancient line." He glanced over his shoulder, "You know the Sindar swore sovereign-ship over the Woodlands and the Sylvan, as guardians?"
"Of course." Another uncomfortable silence. "Are there many Sindar living in Eryn Galen?"
"No."
Eryndes chewed her lip; he said that so significantly.
"Eryndes-" he began, his posture so rigid she'd have thought him about to snap in two. He sighed nasally and faced her, his face in great distress.
"What is it?"
"Eryndes, I have to tell you-"
Again he stopped, but this time his dark brows lowered, his focus drifting away . . .
"What's wrong?"
"I feel something approaching-"
A long low bellow sounded, loud enough to be heard even by Eryndes' hearing. She jumped to her feet, "The warning alarm! The orcs have returned?"
"Our scouts would have seen them long before now." Taking her hand, he led them down the hallway towards the stairs.
He tried to rush, but she wasn't as quick on her feet.
"Go," she released his hand, "You will be needed."
Sindar pressed a hasty kiss to her lips then sped off. Eryndes did not lessen her own pace. Grabbing her skirts to free her legs, she ran as fast as she could down the hallways and stairs. Coming around the manor on the gravel path, she used the trunk of the old chestnut to haul her around the corner to the front.
The embarkation circle was filled with Dúnedain and elves, each one of them looking to the lone rider upon a horse. It was an elf, from the woodland realm if Eryndes had to guess by his clothes and weapons.
The elf had not yet dismounted when Eryndes caught up to the back of the crowd. Sindar wasn't there but surely, he'd be at the front to hear what the rider had to say.
The rider was shouting out to the crowd around him, searching, "(Legolas! I seek Legolas! My lord Legolas! Where is he? I come behest of his father, king Thranduil)!"
The crowd looked at each other. They all murmured their confusion. Eryndes shared a bewildered look with those around her. Legolas Thranduilion? Here? The Woodland prince within her family's walls?
Shaking her head, Eryndes started to manoeuvre her way into the crowd. Whomever this rider was looking for, it was time someone told the poor fellow he'd come to the wrong place.
But then the elves around her; they looked to her, stricken.
"(I am here)," a deep voice loudly answered.
The elf-prince was here? Eryndes shook her head; she could've sworn that voice sounded a lot like Sindar when commanding the rangers and elves; that deep, commanding voice. But who was it?
Reaching the front, she bounced on her toes trying to see. The elf rider dove down from his horse to the ground and come to bow low. And the one to whom he bowed? She stretched her neck for a better view.
The elf bowed before her husband-to-be. Eryndes frowned, watching, and waited for 'Legolas' to step out from Sindar's side.
"(Sire! Your father sends me)!" He pulled an envelope from the satchel around his neck, "(Forgive me but I must beg you read at once)." No one else stepped forward.
It was Sindar who took the envelope. The crowd was deathly quiet. Breaking the wax, Sindar tore into the paper and withdrew the note.
"(I am to return to him with your answer without delay)," the rider encouraged.
Finishing reading, he held it out to Tauriel who stood beside him. She read while Sindar addressed the messenger. "(Tell my father I answer 'aye')."
'My father'?
Her throat constricted. "Oh, Eru, it is true." Sindar was Legolas. All this time? A prince? 'The' elfprince! Legolas the Orc-Hunter! Greenleaf the Destroyer!
Her betrothed was the son of Thranduil.
Sickness stirred in her belly.
Ahead the rider bowed even lower then picked himself up, "(By your leave)?"
"Get him a fresh horse."
A final bow, the elf jumped back to his feet and led his horse to follow Baradon through the crowd to the stable.
"'Tis grave news but why the urgency? October twenty-five is over a month away." Tauriel was speaking to Sindar, nay, Legolas, still reading the letter, then looked around, as if noticing the silent folk for the first time.
Legolas didn't answer Tauriel. He stared across the way. At her.
Eryndes stared back. She could do nothing but clutch at the sleeves of her dress. The betrayal tarnished every word he'd ever spoken. His every look, every touch and kiss.
"So you now know his name. It changes nothing! He is the same," Tauriel yelled out to the crowd, "Go about your business."
The elves smartly snapped into action, shuffling their way through the crowd. The Dúnedain stood as Eryndes did, stiff and disbelieving but then a few started turning away. Then they all did, moving but not necessarily moving away. Plenty flicked looks between Eryndes and Legolas.
Eryndes barely noticed. She remained rooted in place, her cloudy vision staring down a liar.
Legolas sighed and took a step towards her-
Blood pounded in her ears. Whipping around she badgered her way through the meandering crowd back the way she'd come.
"Eryndes, wait!"
Legolas' call only made her steps more urgent, charging up the stairs to the manor. She had no destination in mind. Just flee. Her fists shook at her sides, and snapped at anyone in her path, "Get out of my way."
Legolas was a tall elf and she merely made it to the great hall before he caught up to her, "Eryndes, stop!"
When she felt him take her arm, she whirled on him, "You bastard! How dare you! I swore myself to you- when all the time you were Legolas- the elf-prince!"
Her words hit him, and his face flashed from contrite to blazing, "'How dare I'? Not once did you ask! Not since the day we met did you ask me my name! You never spoke, never questioned, in no way was my name of great importance."
"Importance?!" she shrieked at him, "Being the son of a king is not important? Something to disclose 'before' becoming betrothed?"
"It was never my intention-"
"What? To hide this from me?" she stuck a finger in his face, "You are a liar! A sneak!"
"I never lied!" He snarled down at her, ignoring her impertinent finger.
He was fierce, but she was furious.
"You tell yourself that," she turned to get away-
"Eryndes!" He tried retaking her arm-
"Do not touch me!"
Quick as a serpent, he snatched back his hand. His face like she'd struck him.
Something in his eyes faded. Squaring his jaw, he turned and left.
Watching him go was both relief and wrenching. She was desperate to be alone in her anger and yet-
She wanted to call to him. But what name? That struck her hard. He lied to her.
She wanted to chase after him. For each of his strides away from her was a battle fought. Then he was gone, his silhouette vanished from her sight, marching through the door to the outside.
Her face screwed and the back of her throat thickened. Her gaze dropped away from the curious onlookers loitering in the hall and her eyes fell to her hands.
Eryndes slowly filled her lungs-
Then exhaled just as slowly. Picking up her feet, she hastened before any well-meaning persons came to ask if all was well, and left the hall. In the opposite direction to her betrothed.
"(What is this)?"
Foruyndes stood with three of Tauriel's elven healers behind her, the four of them standing outside his chamber in silence.
Foruyndes smiled at him, unperturbed by his caustic tone. "Right on time. We're ready for you."
Legolas stopped his brooding march in front of them and glared at each of the elves, "And for what are you ready?"
The healers were blushing, their eyes turned down. The younger ones fidgeted instead of answering. It was the elder who finally answered, "(The mistress of . . . honeywells commands us. She believes you're 'sick', my lord)." The elder flinched, "(Forgive me, my lord)-"
"Not sick, boy!" Foruyndes scolded. "Your lord's gone unchecked this whole day. You wish him to die of gangrene?"
The healers stood stiffly. "(My lord, she insisted your 'health' is in danger)-"
Legolas held up a hand and took a long breath. His mood was . . . not tolerant of this nonsense. For his fondness and respect, however, Legolas tried to be patient. "Foruyndes, this is most unnecessary. I have neither gangrene or any other ailments. It is you who should be resting. These healers will see you to your bed."
"Pish!" Foruyndes scoffed loudly, "What do you know? Now, get inside."
Legolas eyed her stern wrinkled face, and the finger she pointed at the door to his quarters.
He raised an eyebrow at her.
"(You must not speak this way)," the elder healer admonished the old woman. "(Our lord must be spoken to respectfully!)"
Foruyndes rolled her eyes and moved to the door, "Oh, but that's the problem! He's been mollycoddled rotten by your lot for far too long." Opening the door to Legolas' room, she knocked her head dismissively, "Well, Sindar, what are you waiting for? I haven't got all night."
Patience waned, he growled. "Pardon me, but I have not the temper for this right now."
Foruyndes wobbled on her unsteady feet towards him but he stubbornly didn't move when she grasped his arm. "Oh, come on, laddie. Lover quarrels hurt. If they didn't hurt then where is the love? I for one will never speak ill of elven passion after witnessing your performance in the great hall." She winked.
Squaring his jaw, he looked away from her and held his tongue. In private he would strongly convey his personal life weren't to be discussed in front of others. Especially his subordinates, such as those three healers trying to look anywhere but at him. But what was more was his embarrassment that their fight was so completely in view of all. He could hardly chastise Foruyndes when he was just as guilty.
"Brace yourself," Foruyndes patted his arm, "Disagreements happen. They're part of being in love. And part of married life. Perhaps Foruyndes could suggest best to keep them behind doors? Away from nosey eyes and ears, eh?"
Legolas gritted his teeth-
"And more for the better when matters resolve themselves. Trust me, making up is the best part," Foruyndes chuckled, wagging her eyebrow.
"Making up?" he scoffed. That seemed impossible.
"Don't be like that," she gave his arm a good squeeze, "Go on, get on with ya. Can't be wasting time with the likes of you. You're a trial, you are, all moody."
"Hold," Legolas didn't move and narrowed his eyes at her, "A bargain; if I submit, you will do the same. Two will see to me while the third returns you to your room where you undergo the same." Her wrinkled lips grew tight and she grumbled under her breath.
"Oh, very well!" she exclaimed at last. "Here," she shoved a small linen bag into his hand, "Not that you deserve it." Foruyndes pointed at the elves, "Don't share with them. They're fat enough." The three healers, as lanky as any elf, gaped from Foruyndes to Legolas.
He fingered the bag's contents. Dried fruits he guessed. Addressing the trio behind them, he sighed,
"(Escort the mistress back to her bed and tend her. You two, come. Let's get this done)."
As it turned out, Foruyndes' concern over his wounds was unfounded. When the three healers carefully unwrapped his bandages, they surmised he was healing well. Well enough they aided in cleansing his body without getting his wounds wet, applied a coat of their own ointment, and told him to forgo wrapping a fresh bandage; the wound needed airing.
When they offered to wait for the ointment to dry to assist in dressing him, Legolas dismissed them briskly.
Legolas bore a low tolerance for healers' cosseting and then finally, he was alone.
Walking to the window, he looked out over the compound. Evening freeze of late winter crept along the glass. Down on the ground below, the mud began the nightly freeze. Across the way many Dúnedain still toiled repairing the siege damage.
Thranduil's elves threw picks into the ground, struck metal, and mended broken buildings and fences alongside their human hosts. It was a heartening show, if it were not that Legolas had ordered them to do so.
Regardless, the two races working together was a welcome sight. Thranduil would approve.
Legolas cringed. He knew what his father would have to say.
Breathing out noisily, he looked down at the ring on his finger, not there anywhere long enough for his finger to be accustomed to its presence.
Bad timing could be blamed. He blamed his father for not ordering his messenger to use his alias.
Most certainly he blamed Eryndes. Once again, she'd overreacted.
Aragorn warned him. His father warned him to be forthcoming.
He stopped twirling the ring around his bandaged finger and squeezed into an aching fist. The pain was good.
The pain made him angry and anger he knew how to feel. Not this hurt, a wound to his heart.
He squeezed his fist harder-
His head darted upright. Someone approached his door.
Before her knuckles made their soft knock against the wood, Legolas knew it was her. Part of him wanted to turn her away. Or pretend he wasn't there.
Begrudgingly, he pushed away from the wall.
"I-I know you're in there," Eryndes called softly, "Foruyndes told me you were. Will you speak with me-?"
Her words stopped when he pulled the door open, and he saw the fury and betrayal were gone from her face.
Upon seeing him, her eyes widened.
"Why do you look at me this way?" he demanded. He was naked save for trousers, but she'd seen him this way before.
"Your hair, you-look different."
His eyes flicked to the side and remembered he'd yet to set his hair. Quietly, he cleared the discomfort from his throat, "My healers left moments ago . . . I was about to dress-"
"Looks nice."
The words vanished from his throat and heat spread across his cheeks.
"I wanted to say," she began again tentatively, then took a longer breath and locked eyes with his, "to say I am sorry. Very sorry. I . . . Forgive me?"
Legolas melted into the wooden floor. All arguments, every frustration and ill feeling nothing more than a forgotten whisper on a faraway breeze.
His grip on the door fell away. He held out his arms and she swept through the threshold. He loomed over her, enveloping her tightly, his long arms crossing over her back and buried his face in her hair.
Her poorer cloth rough against his skin. He didn't mind and held her tighter.
The ferocity of her returned embrace was the very comfort he needed. She'd come back to him. Creator be praised, and Legolas knew then, never again to doubt their fate. This was their destiny.
They just needed to become better at communicating.
He reached behind her and closed the door to keep their private moment, private. Foruyndes was oftentimes wise and this time he agreed; their make-up was indeed sweet and best kept private.
"(Why did you run from me)?"
"I was angry," she admitted, her breath warm against his neck. "Hurt."
"I never intended to hurt you," he nuzzled the soft skin at her temple and pressed a kiss into her hair. "A minute longer and my secret would have been told."
"I know."
Her hand captured his face, and he pressed a kiss to her palm before submitting to her hold. His smile slowly grew until he was grinning like a fool, "(You still bear my ring)?"
"You want it back?"
"Never," he chuckled, leaning down a little further to gather her better in his hold. He yearned to hold every inch of her, to press every bit of her against him.
A comfortable silence filled the room.
Eryndes stirred a little in his arms. "I don't know how to be the wife of a lord; the stars know I don't know how to be the wife of a prince-"
"That is not-," he stopped her, "I do not want-" He took time to find the right words. "(I want you to be my wife)," His words were inarticulate, his voice no longer clear, "(Not to a name or title, but to me. The elf I am. Can you not see)?"
He released her just enough to peer down at her face. "(We two)."
Those bluest of eyes stole his soul. Her unrestrained smile broke and mended his heart within a single beat. "(We two)."
Breathing out hard, he pulled her back against him, holding her head to his neck.
"I cannot exist without you," she whispered. "I know the truth of it down to my bones. When you left . . . death would have been kinder. And having to resist once you return? Whatever your name, I know who you are. Our love binds us stronger than our names."
"Aye," he agreed, unable to offer more. Her words spoke the truth.
"But please let this be the last secret between us?"
"I swear it is."
For the longest time neither of them spoke.
Eryndes eased back, her arms falling from his neck, her mouth parting from his. "I do have a question." There was a tang of amusement in her voice and she shuffled against his hold
Her touch upon his bare chest like warm water trickling pleasantly over his skin. A new sensation, one he wasn't ashamed to admit he liked.
Stoically, he raised a brow.
"We may not need names but what," she shrugged, "what am I to call you now, 'Master Elf'?"
The corners of his mouth lifted. "I have always wanted to hear you speak my name. My real name. Although burdened and infamous in some circles, it is still my name."
When she remained silent, his brow dropped, "Legolas. My name is Legolas."
"Yes, of course. I know that!" she laughed, her whole face beaming, "Now, I know it, Legolas."
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Though hot and weary, Eryndes smiled to herself. Her wedding was mere days away and it was hard to stop herself from constantly grinning. She could pinch herself when she'd become breathless with disbelief.
She was about to live her most precious dream and wed the one whom she adored.
Hers weren't the only high spirits; Carthal buzzed with excitement too. The siege ended weeks ago and life at Carthal was returning to a semblance of normalcy; if counting the extra one and a half hundred elves camped throughout the grounds along with the entire Carthal Dunedain population. None had been allowed to return to their farms or homes. The orcs were still this side of Angmar mountains. Urion and Legolas both agreed until the orc army lay decimated it was too risky to lower their guard. Three times as many patrols went out each day and the elite gone out for days on scouting missions.
Yet Carthal went on as normal. The children attended lessons, the women of the manor cleaned sheets and clothing, made food and tanned leather. Brushed wool and spun flax. The rangers and elves drilled and practiced together, and when they weren't they helped care for stock. Camaenor and other craftsmen kept the fires burning hot smithing and repairing. The chooks pecked and the sows, ewes and cows got ready to drop their spring young.
The women mistresses of Carthal however, namely Sali and Mydedis, planning and schemed like generals commanding a war campaign.
If it was to be a summer wedding there'd be such a celebration of the like not seen in the north for a hundred years; feast fit for a host of kings; whole roasts goats and boars, fowl pates and bean crisps, a swather of summer vegetables dipped in fondue or coated in truffle oils, fruits with honey and junkets, cakes and confectionary sufficient to satisfy even Legolas' sweet tooth. Fireworks, entertainers and fire breathers sought from the south.
An extravagance fitting the wedding of the Mistress of Carthal to the Woodland Prince.
Alas, it was the very late of winter and Legolas was adamant they'd not wait for a summer wedding. He reasoned Eryndes wasn't elven, forfeiting the demanded one year betrothal enforced upon all elf couples. He'd quirked a haughty brow, 'Why wait?'
Eryndes wholeheartedly agreed. Heavens she didn't want to wait. Neither of them did. They were impatiently eager to be married, and though a bountiful summerfest would be resplendent and fitting, it was scarcely reason enough to delay.
Therefore the wedding was to be a chilly first day of spring affair. The arrival of King Thranduil's supplies supplemented their stores, permitting Carthal's stores to be used more liberally. Grains for portage and flours, salted meats in barrels, and dozens of cheese wheels. The elf-king had sent more than enough to keep his troops fed on foreign soil. His accompanying letter told of his generosity, wishing to keep the bellies of his allies full enough to stand to post with his soldiers. Even so, the wedding would see no great feast. There were just too many mouths to feed. Sali, suffering Foruyndes' bedridden input, promised the occasion would be marked with the best which could be done.
Definitely no colossal cake.
Baineth proudly volunteered to arrange the entertainment. She vowed a night of music and dancing. She'd invited many of the elves to contribute and many answering enthusiastically. The elves were keen to celebrate their prince's wedding. They'd even aided with crafting adornments for the day in the style and colours of Thranduil's house and realm.
The particulars of it all Eryndes didn't know. Traditionally, the bride and groom were to remain unburdened by the preparations and Eryndes was firmly requested to focus on the wounded and sick, organising the spring plantings and stock birthing along with Amben, Gueniel and Geledir.
As was also tradition, the bride and her chosen honoured were left to sew the gown. The task was a long one but enjoyed and everyday for an hour or two weeks they'd embroidered over Foruyndes' bed. That was until the old woman's health worsened. Nowadays they adjourned to Aragorn's room, vacant since his departure, and fashioned the now hand brocaded fabric. Endowed to Eryndes over thirty years ago by Eryndes' mother, Fuieryn, a costly gift of golden silk, and accompanying thread and ribbons for tailoring. Given in commemoration of Eryndes' coming of age, paid for with the last of Fuieryn's dowry.
Eryndes did approach Tauriel once the wedding date was set, nervous as the elf captain still bore no warmth towards her prince's betrothed. Despite Eryndes' misgivings, Tauriel easily accepted the invitation to assist in any way, especially keen to design the robe for Legolas. Tauriel had been adamant what was to be and what was not to be.
She would not have her lord married in a rag. Her words. King Thranduil would be livid if his son was wed in anything not modest and of a noble cut. Again, her words.
And so the days went. Weeks.
Initially there had been a lot of fuss over Sindar's finally revealed identity. Many laughed how their friend had been a prince, while others boasted they'd known he was more than a common lord. Some were put out by his secrecy. Others understood and forgave. Many were excited at the idea of Carthal finally taking its place as lordly land, and the benefits of being kin to the great Elven king; those folk saw a grand future ahead of the Dunedain. A future of security and prosperity.
Some had not been so cheerful. The outrage came in a lesser number but as keenly bitter as it was loud. They saw the marriage as a take over, an invasion without swords. However those who saw Eryndes' marriage to Legolas as advantageous to them and their community were quick to douse the dissent amongst the rest of the populace.
If that didn't work, Eryndes showed them the door. It was remarkably effective.
The weeks since their betrothal had seen only small skirmishes, ranger and elf together hunting for the enemy. There were still thousands of orcs wandering around the north, their army dispersed and seemingly without leader or direction. Each day the joined forces of ranger and elf sought to cleanse the land of them.
Never to admit it out loud Eryndes was thankful for Legolas' healing injuries. He was an exceptional warrior, worthy of the legends singing his name and accolades. As of yet though, he was not fighting fit. She twisted and begged him until he'd conceded not to accompany the patrols or hunting parties, arguing his recovery was not to be taken lightly. Even so one day she'd spotted him out on the practice field, drawing his bow against a defenseless target.
Mad, she'd done an impromptu examination on the spot, ripping his tunic over his head in clear view of any passers by. Legolas admitted without too much prompting it hurt him to draw his bow. She'd pointed out the heated skin barely joined, and the angry muscle beneath. Until then he'd healed well and quicker than a human, but the damage had been done with every pull of his bow.
'The more you strain, the longer it will take to heal!'
Chastised, Legolas agreed to stow his bow for the interim and made every effort to busy himself around the compound. There was plenty to do.
A week later when he'd discovered the oxen caravans being prepared, he'd pulled her aside and demanded an explanation. Why should she risk her safety if he could not?
'There are a thousand orcs out there waiting in the shadows,' he'd argued. She'd assured him they went out to seed the farms well protected by a whole company of rangers. And they had little choice; if the farms were not seeded quickly, they'd starve.
At that he'd conceded with a compromise; if she was going, so was he. And he did. It had been perhaps a humbling experience for a prince to be out working the fields with the others. But if he lowered himself to butcher game and cut vegetables for the table; should she really be surprised he'd get dirty leading oxen through barely thawed mud and scattering seeds? Eryndes watched him with pride. And love. Her proud prince, vain and stately, fully engrossed in conversation with Geledir and Amben and the others whilst they worked.
When she'd pulled him away for a private dalliance behind the trees when the others weren't looking, he'd complained the Dunedain were trying to turn him into a farmer, he'd lamented the mud covered his hands, and clothing, and boots. He grumbly boasted he now knew why they altinated field plantings for better crops. His tune changed though, smiling and proclaiming it worth it when she'd kissed him. She'd washed his hands from her canteen, wiped a smudge of dirt from his cheek, then kissed him more. She'd spared him a half hour at least if not more from labouring to neck and canoodle, hidden away amongst the naked nut and apple grove of her mother's cottage.
It was not just farming at work. Carthal itself was slowly rebuilding. The grief for lives lost numbed to a forever ache. The wounded healed. Armaments were quickly remade. Sheds and walls though were slower. If the orc army once again matched upon Carthal, they needed to be ready. Time was what they needed.
Time.
Eryndes dropped the collected dried herbs into the stone bowl and took up the pestle. Curling her top lip, she enthusiastically pounded at the contents. Time was her constant enemy. Lurking like a snake underwater was Leoglas' impending journey to Imladris. He would leave not one week after their marriage. That creature Gollum had escaped Thranduil's captivity. What was more, the elves at Imladris had called for a meeting of sorts. To discuss a new threat. Legolas was to go in Thranduil's stead, to speak for him.
Eryndes pounded harder at the herbs. Stopping, she added a knob of ginger to help ease a queasy stomach.
She was tired of being sore about that. She'd argued and gotten upset. Yet as Legolas pointed out, he had his duty to his king and father. If there was one thing Eryndes understood it was duty.
'One moon, melethrilig. I shalt be longer.'
Scooping the mush into a mug, she patted her brow with a handkerchief.
One month. Surely an eternity for newlyweds.
She patted her brow again. It was hot down there in the healing wings. Winter fever had not ceased during the siege, and continued to affect many of the Dunedain. Two doors away the recovering wounded also lay in her charge. The elven healers had done more for those wounded from battle; their medicine was far superior and most recovered with little or no infections.
However, the elves bore few medicines for illness. Elves did not get sick. Dunedain medicine was the best they had to nurse the fever.
Eryndes poured hot water from a kettle over the herbs, the scent steaming up was pungent. It ought to be. It was her mother's own recipe for keeping eyes open and wits alert through long nights. Waiting for the tea to stew, she rubbed at her eyes.
"Tired?"
She jumped, then turned to face the speaker. "How long have you been there?"
Tall yet graceful, elegant but ever the solid warrior, Legolas stood resting his back against the wall adjacent to the door. Arms crossed and completely at ease, he smirked knowingly at her. "Hours."
"Hardly," She groused despite her beaming smile.
He pushed off the wall and pulled her in close, dipping his head for a lasting kiss. His lips were warm against hers. He smelt freshly bathed and of scented soap. There was a hint of urulas on his breath.
As always he smelt wonderful and she drew in a deeper breath. She dared tempt him with a touch of her tongue between their lips. His answer was swift and her eyes fell out of the back of her head as he took her mouth wholly.
Fuieryn's tea wasn't the only way to wake up.
He smirked wryly when he pulled back. "Good morning."
"Morning?" she blinked, her own grin faltering, "Already?"
"(Indeed)," his eyes intent on her lips, "(The sun greets the horizon)."
"Time moves unchecked down here," she chortled, extracting from his embrace to move to the prep-benches, trying to discreetly pat at her hair. Pull her dress straighter. How disheveled she must look? She was sweaty too.
Arms encircled her waist from behind and she felt him melt into her back, his lips playing at the contours of her ear, "You need not do that," he said huskily, his hands pressing tighter against her belly, his nose taking a deep long breath, "I like you this way."
"Better than how I normally look?"
His chuckled breath against her neck sent pleasant tingles dancing across her body, "The radiant Mistress sparks my eye. Too the bedraggled healer. Even more the farm maiden, covered in filth-"
"Why, I will never understand," she growled, her cheeks reddening remembering yesterday when she'd fallen over in the pigsty after assisting Gueniel with a birthing sow. Legolas, of course, had not only seen but was there to pick her up. After making sure she was unhurt didn't even attempt to hide his amusement, smirking as he paraded his betrothed through the embarkation loop and main entrance, down the corridors and up to her chamber to get cleaned and change.
His chuckle grew louder, "The time all you women collected fruit in the rain? 'Twas a struggle not to laugh or keenly observe how your dress, your skirt, clung to every curve."
She playfully smacked his hand and he sniggered. From the first day she'd met him, there'd been brief glimpses of the hidden flirt, kept unknown underneath the layers of elven propriety. She could playfully admonish him but wouldn't change it for anything.
It was his secret and it was for her alone.
Loosening his hold around her waist, she turned to face him, "Did you come down here for a reason, or just to poke fun at me?"
His haughty eyebrow rose, "Bidding good morning not reason enough?"
Eryndes held his gaze. Her question had been in jest yet revealed a tension in his neck and at the corner of his eyes his display of smugness could not hide.
His gaze dipped from hers. "Foruyndes."
Biting her lip she fought to keep her own face neutral. Telling family and loved ones bad news, while never easy, was a snap compared to telling your own beloved. Foruyndes and Legolas had a singular bond. One Eryndes didn't quite understand though respected. It hurt Legolas to see his friend and dare she say confidant, becoming frailer each day. The illness in her lungs weakened her body against the fever circulating the Dunedain.
"She is resting comfortably," she reached up to feather her fingers through his long hair, "All that can be done, has been done. Nothing remains but to wait."
He nodded solemnly, his face stoic.
However he tried to hide his grief, Eryndes saw through it. "She is stubborn."
The tension in his face broke and he smiled, "Aye."
She slid another silky golden lock between her fingers, "It is not in her nature to surrender without a fight." Eryndes felt cold hard metal against the ends of his hair and looked down. Her fingers brushing against the steal feathers of his armour-
"Why are you dressed for battle?"
"I think you need rest," he growled, capturing her hand from his chest to cradle within his, "Even with your limited powers of observation, you are obviously overtired. Perhaps after breakfast you should retire."
"Not possible; we are finishing my gown today. Why are you wearing armour?"
"Gueniel and Mydedis, and the others can surely finish without you."
"It is 'my' wedding gown," she stressed, standing back away to look at him. Truly he was readied for war. His hair was braided back for the first time in weeks. How could she have missed that? Ever since she'd mentioned how disarming and handsome he looked with his hair free from his customary braids he'd kept his hair down.
Until now.
The armour was the same as he'd worn that day when he'd broken the siege. Mended and cleaned, it shone in the candle light. He was armed too; his longbow joined both knives and a full quiver of arrows peeking over his shoulder.
A strong wave of concern washed through her stomach. "What has happened?"
His lip twisted, "What makes you think something happened?"
"Breakfast is not normally this dangerous," she soured, trailing her fingers down the metal scaling covering his chest. There was no mistaking the squirming feeling in her belly.
"Alas, I will not join you for breakfast today," he said, the lightness of his bearing and smile in his eyes gave no hint of alarm. "Scouts found a trail believed to be made by a large pack of orcs. We leave as soon as we are ready."
"You are going with them?" Eryndes loosened the choke in her throat and reached up to trace his brow with her finger. The cut was healed and unscarred as promised, but every injury remained vivid in her memory. "You are barely back to one piece and this, this is the first time going out since you were hurt. Is it not too soon-?"
"You know better than anyone I am almost healed-"
"Almost."
His lips played with a wry smile, "As your 'thorough' daily examinations of me have proved."
Her cheeks warmed. In a moment of unguarded wit she'd once admitted her joy in his submission to her inspections of his healing, and incidentally, how sublime she'd found his figure.
Since then his vanity had grown. If that was even possible.
"Besides," he continued, "I do not go alone. We march in number. I go merely to show my father's soldiers I am indeed hale."
"Then why the armour? You never wore it before."
He brought her hand to his lips, "Just a precaution. There is no need to worry." His lips pressed to her skin once more, slower, his eyes intent on hers. The look in his eyes swallowed her whole and stole both her breath.
Despite his casual assurances and the warm fever his flirtation inflamed, her stomach grew worse. "Unnecessary like wearing armour?"
The flirtation to his manner stopped and his keen eyes studied her, "Does your fear manifest before your eyes again?"
"No, I-," she felt her cheeks heat. "No," she repeated, "just a feeling."
She wanted to ask him not to go.
He pressed her palm against his cheek. "I cannot guess the hour of our return. My hope is to join you for dinner. Slugs in sauce notwithstanding."
She gave a little smile, but only a little one. She wanted to ask him not to go. "Be careful. Please."
The well of molten silver of his tender eyes and smile stopped the world around her. "All will be well."
"What if you find you have not the strength to continually draw your bow-"
He pressed a slow kiss to the inside of her hand, "What fool would I be to put my life at risk when we have such a life ahead of us?"
His confidence did little to appease but she nodded. To him but also to herself. She was firm in her resolution not to be tediously dramatic or taxing, especially with her irrational fears. She did not want to end up one of 'those' wives.
Nor would she allow her fears to ever reign again. She'd almost allowed them to cost her everything. Those fears would never again threaten their happiness.
Cupping his face she tugged him down and claimed his lips in a beautiful tender caress, a taste, no more than the sampling of an exquisite delicacy. "I will await you at dinner. Be forewarned: slugs aplenty on your plate if you are late. And nothing but ale to wash them down."
"(Cruel lady)," he teased dryly, brushing past her towards the door.
Her eyes went wide at the handful of squeeze upon her backside. She whirled around but he was already at the door. "Wicked elf."
He chortled as he climbed the stairs towards the ground level. "(Until this evening)."
.
.
She jumped to her feet. Despite Legolas' assurances and her own desire not to put any stock in her own silly fears, the tight sickness in her stomach had not eased a whiff.
Now it shouted and vibrated through her every nerve.
"Eryndes?" Gueniel jumped, her hemming work dropping from her grasp, "What is it?"
"I-," she frowned, looking at her friends, each of them staring at her with concern. They'd not been at the dress longer than the first pot of tea. "I do not know."
"Wedding jitters," Mydedis wised with a nod. "Perhaps now be the time to ease your mind and speak of the wedding night and what's to be expected. A nervous experience for any bride-"
"Nay," Eryndes negated quickly, a blush creeping up her neck. She took a long breath to calm herself, "Nay, it is not that. Besides, Mydedis, I know well how it all works. What healer would not."
"Knowing is one thing, my dear-"
"Then what?" Gueniel asked over Mydedis.
Before she could speak the pleasant midmorning air was cut by the wail of a horn.
"The warning alarm?" Mydedis gasped from the other side of the table.
Eryndes' eyes went wide. Legolas! She didn't spare the others a glance or word and shot out of the room.
Running as fast as she could with her skirt hiked half up her legs, she wove around anyone in her way. "Make way!" she cried, tumbling down the stairs, "Make way!"
Many did and quickly she plummeted out the entrance to the Carthal's front. "Urion! Urion, what is it? What happened?"
Urion took her by the shoulders, "Calm yourself. Breathe."
"Legolas-?"
"Is still out with the company. We've not heard anything from them."
Eryndes struggled to gain her breath, pulling the strands of hair that had come loose from her face, "But then-"
"There's a caravan of refugees headed this way," Baradon came to stand alongside her, "One of them rode ahead to call for aid. They were hit by orcs but held them off. They have wounded, women and children."
The news that Legolas was not in trouble was a relief, but her heart and belly refused to calm. She took a moment to regain her breath. "Refugees? How many? From where do they come?"
"A couple dozen by the sounds. Come from the far west and claim kinship to the Dunedain. They fled when their village was destroyed and the orcs tracked them across the plains. They almost made it to the north road. I haven't been able to get much more from their rider. He collapsed and fell from his horse just before the gate."
Eryndes nodded, her queasiness not relenting. They didn't have lots to offer but they had shelter, medicines and food. Carthal was in truth overcrowded these days, but what was space if it meant saving lives?
"We must ride out at once. Urion, who are you sending?"
"Baradon's lead."
Baradon, who after the siege had honoured the rank of ranger captain, now had his own command of ranger patrols. He stood tall and answered crisply, "I will take two patrols and a healer."
"Surely one healer will not be enough," she argued.
"Aye," Urion agreed, "but the number of fit healers with ranger training is thin."
"Aith is recovered enough from her injuries, and I will bring Bregol-"
Urion stopped her, "You will?"
"Aye. Is two patrols enough? Should we ask the elf-commander, ah-"
"Forthmir?" Baradon supplied. "He's giving us ten archers, makes us just shy of forty two. Well, if you're going plus Aith and Bregol, makes forty four."
"Please send someone to collect Aith and Bregol? And ask them to bring out an extra satchel for me, and three battle-dressing saddlebags."
Baradon inclined his head then strode off.
"I'm not convinced this is the best idea."
"What other option is there?" she asked Urion, glancing down at her dress. After Legolas had left her and the next healer on duty had relieved her, she'd bathed and changed into one of her prettier dresses. But alas, she didn't have the time to change, "Besides I have gone many times with the rangers, and this is not attending a battlefield filled with wounded orcs eager to make one last kill. These are refugees. May I borrow?"
Urion followed her gesture and sighed resigned taking off his huge overcoat, "I don't like it. Something seems wrong about this."
"How so?" she asked, pulling it around her and fastening it as much as possible. It was laughably too big for her. She would've liked to have laughed too, but the sickness of worry still held her stomach.
"The timing." When she waited, he continued, "A large orc pack leaves a sniff of a trail and we send off a good number to hunt them down. Now this?" He shook his head.
"It's our duty, Bear," she squeezed his brawny arm, trying to feel as confident as she sounded. "Can you have Mydedis and Sali prepare for our return? Pull from the food stores, a hot meal and all, and find what bedding we have left. And grab Nestdol out of retirement; we may need him."
Urion's greying stubble shifted as he smiled, "All shall be prepared, Lady Eryndes."
Eryndes wiped at the nervous sweat clinging to her brow, "Don't you start. Urchel's already got the children calling me 'milady'."
He chuckled and drew his coat around her better, tugging tighter at the leather sash around her waist, "Well, milady, try to bring it back without too much mud. Just had it cleaned." He paused, "You sure about this? You don't look good."
"Of course," she confirmed with a forced smile, "I may not be a warrior but I am still Dunedain. It is my duty."
"Don't mean that. You're all flushed."
"I am well. Just lack of sleep."
He eyed her, but said no more about it.
Within minutes, they were ready to go. A young ranger came out of the stable leading Banjo over to her.
Eryndes glanced up at the sky. The day was bitterly cold but bright with sunshine as it had been for days past. Hopefully the snow was done until next winter and continued to remain clear. Taking the reins from the ranger, she checked the buckle around Banjo's girth, then his bridle. "(How are you, old man? Ready for a good gallop in the sunshine)?"
Banjo snorted and shook his mane.
"(Nervous, hey? Me too)." But that was normal. Whenever her duty called her to accompany the rangers out on a mission, she would feel the sickening of her stomach and the shivers creeping over her back.
This time though . . . it seemed to be worse. Even worse than earlier when Legolas announced he was going on patrol that morning.
"Ready?" Baradon came over to her.
"As ready as I ever am," she threw her satchel over her shoulder, and climbed onto Banjo's back while Baradon held his reins.
"Stay in the middle of us-"
"Yes, Baradon," she gave him a small grin, "Do not deviate or fall behind." Eryndes looked to her fellow healer, Aith, already on her horse. The young ranger-healer was calm and focused.
She wished she had the women's training and confidence. But these were refugees in need of help. There was no danger.
Eryndes noticed the ten elven archers had made themselves into a circle around her. Was that by design? Their overprotectiveness of lord and prince had now extended to his betrothed?
Baradon mounted then turned towards the gate, "Move out!"
Eryndes gave Banjo leave to keep an easy pace with her elven guard and held back the bile gathering at the back of her throat.