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Chapter 2: Of Gardens and Apricot Tarts
The beds of vibrant flowers Rivendell boasted were peaceful and serene as the sun spilled over lush treetops. Only the bird's soft trills and twittering cries flew through the leaves like the butterflies flitting from sweet blossom to sweet blossom.
Arwen walked alone down the narrow paths set in stone through the lush plants. A book was held lightly in her hand but the sapphire eyes did not rest on the words inscribed upon the pages.
They instead were lost to the beauty of the morning. Reveling in the warm bliss, she let her eyes drift shut but kept walking, her feet knowing long ago the paths to tread.
All was quiet until suddenly something happened that hadn't happened to her for nearly a century. She walked into someone. Eyes jerking open, she started.
Legolas smirked back at her. "M'lady," he bowed crisply.
"Legolas," the name came out in a half sigh, "I swear, you and my brothers…you are a lethal trio and how Rivendell still stands is only known by the Valar themselves." She groaned foppishly.
"Only to some."
"Pray, tell, who are these some? Surely not the lowly and simple-minded daughter of Elrond?"
"Mi'lady, you are far from lowly or simple-minded. Indeed, you must have a great wit to else you would not still be standing here in one piece with brothers such as yours."
Arwen smiled gently, amused by his answer. She pivoted and began to stroll. The light footfalls beside her revealing that her Mirkwood friend had followed. "Elladan and Elrohir tell me that you must leave us soon."
"Aye, m'lady, I cannot shirk from my duties for long, languishing in such finery as Imladris. I think I should grow slothful." His teasing words were equally as light as his step.
"You call this shirking from your duties?" she halted, almost at a loss for words. It was not what he had said of her home that bothered her. It was that he though he was shirking his duties. She had lost her mother to that way of thinking and she would not lose a dear friend. In an impulsive gesture, she clasped his forearm, gently but still firmly. "Legolas, an Elven spirit is a volatile thing, as you well know. To refresh and enlighten that spirit is key."
"M'lady-"
"Tell me, Prince, how do you expect your troops to rally when you yourself cannot really do so? If they need someone to look to as badly as my brothers believe let them not see one weary and downtrodden. They must see hope. And you must be that hope. But even a candle in the night needs a bit of air to strengthen its glow."
To her utter surprise, he began to laugh. "M'lady, it is as I said. You have too great a wit to be harmed by the snares of the twins."
"I think the one with true wisdom stands before me, for he is wise enough to deceive even himself. Yet perhaps that defeats the achievement of wisdom…for only the wisest can hide the truth from themselves but if truth is hidden what wisdom can be found in that?" She scrutinized his virulent blue eyes closely but nothing could be read within their depths but what she had already perceived. "You are tired of battle, Legolas. I can see it in your eyes. You long for peace. For your people, let your heart open and heal. Stop hiding your pains behind that veil of deception."
He replied with the most serious tone she'd ever heard from the merry wood elf.
"That is a transgression that I shall labor to remedy with all the life and breath I have within me."
And she believed that he would. For when this particular elf made a promise he never broke it. Ever.
Hoping to bring the glow back into her friend's face now that she had attained his assurance of remaining joyful, she returned to their easy banter. "Be sure to leave some air in those Sindarin lungs of yours or I shall have the unfortunate task of telling your father of your fate."
Legolas grimaced at the envisioned scene. "Now, that would not be a pleasant task, I can assure you."
"In truth, I shall consider myself lucky if I can somehow remain in one piece."
"And I would not disagree."
A slight touch of sadness in his voice caused her to change the subject, again endeavoring to bring that unsurpassable glow to his features. "Besides, Imladris is not all you brag of, surely your father's place lays claim to magnificent beauty."
"True, but Imladris contains some things which I fear my home will never hold."
"Such as?"
"Hmm?"
"What does your home lack that mine possesses?"
"Peace, laughter."
"Your home has suffered then. Receive comfort, though, the mirth will return, Legolas. It cannot avoid it with a prince such as you."
He feigned thinking long and hard. "Am I to be flattered or take offense at that, M'lady?"
"Oh, I don't know. Which would you choose?"
"I should like to be flattered but then I should become proud. If I take offense I must become irate and that I find impossible to do on a morning such as this."
"Well, then, it seems you have found yourself an enigma to meditate on."
"Indeed."
They ambled for a time, neither feeling compelled to speak but instead savoring the coolness of the morning, the song of the birds, and the mere presence of each other.
At the end of the winding pathway, Arwen paused, catching his forearm once more. "Legolas, what did you mean last night when you spoke of the star?"
He opened his mouth to answer, a slight crease across his brow and his blue eyes appeared caught in a spring storm. But a ruckus beyond them broke off whatever it was that he had begun to say.
"Legolas! Congratulate us, gwador." the twins strode forward, wide grins on their faces and little white packages in their hands.
"You have it, as always, yet may one ask the reason behind such jubilant cheer?" Legolas appeared almost as if he would like to turn and dart off in the opposite direction as the twins approached.
"'Dan and I have successfully pilfered three parcels of Rivendell's famous apricot tarts."
"Ah, my friends, you spoil me." The words seemed pleasant enough but Legolas could have just swallowed a hot pepper if one judged by his expression.
"The great prince of Mirkwood deserves to be spoiled." And with a mighty flourish, the twins dumped their plunder into the blond archer's arms. Then, nodding in farewell they scurried off, looking suspiciously like they had pulled of one of their infamous pranks.
Legolas stared down at the loot in his arms as though it were an orc's meal. He had a massive soft spot for the sweet pastries and could devour them at a whim but this did not seem entirely like the twins, especially since they themselves relished the treats. "M'lady…could you-"
"Not I, great prince. I have no desire to be sullied by some foul potions hidden in your 'tarts'."
Legolas looked upon the verge of either sighing heavily and trying the treats himself or dropping the parcels and running after the twins, demanding that they tell him just what exactly trick they were trying to pull.
An Elven voice, raised to a high shrill, made the decision for him. "Legolas Thranduilion! Get your thieving, deceptive, incorrigible, wood elf hide in here this instant!"
Legolas' face went white. "Aranduriel," he groaned.
The elder she-elf had made a reputation for herself in both the wonderful dishes she prepared and her searing temper, turned upon any who dare invoke her wrath and enter her kitchens. Normally, the Elven Prince could soothe her better than any other and had saved the twins from her doom hundreds of times but it seemed this day was not so fortunate.
Two seconds later and Aranduriel herself flew into the gardens, a thick spoon in one hand and an iron pot in the other.
Legolas tried to rid himself of the evidence lying contentedly in his arms. However, it was too late.
Eyes flashing, Aranduriel stormed forward like a whirlwind. "I do not care if you are the Lord Elrond himself! You will taste the sting of my spoon on that pandered behind of yours before this day is through!" reaching out she caught the edge of the archer's ear and dragged him down to her shorter height. "I have told you time and time again! My apricot tarts are not for the taking!"
"Aranduriel, I did not take these. I tell the truth!" He exclaimed, eager to defend his honor and, more importantly, ease the pressure on his ear.
"Then who did?" Her clutch on his left ear tightened.
Legolas' mouth snapped shut. He had reached an impasse for if he told Aranduriel who really took the tarts then he would face their wrath. However, as it was, he would face the tiny cook of Rivendell's wrath and hers was a force not to be reckoned with. Still, he had practically grown up with Elladan and Elrohir and that loyalty was not easily set aside.
"Aranduriel, it was my brothers." Arwen interceded for him, noting the indecision written plainly across his face. "Legolas was not to blame."
"Hmph," the older elf eyed him suspiciously as if he would suddenly sprout wings and fly away but she released his ear.
"Truly, t'was not him."
"Very well, but I expect to see your pesky brothers in my kitchen shortly. They deserve a good tongue lashing for this." She wagged her finger in the archer's face.
"Aye, ma'am." He nodded penitently, resisting the urge to rub his aching ear.
"And don't you think they'll get off because you are leaving soon."
"Aye, ma'am."
"Hmph," her favorite expression sounded again. Turning, she headed back to the main home's arches. "Keep the tarts, Legolas," she called over her shoulder, "might put some color back in those cheeks."
TBC...
Elvish Translations:
Gwador- Brother (a term used in close friendships as opposed to actual blood relation)
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