The Woodland Realm
Mirkwood
Elven Healing Class
The class is quiet. Everybody pays attention to the Master Healer as she's explaining the misteries of her work. She knows so much, she's almost as powerful as the King himself. For various reasons, this observation stays unsaid. At least, out loud. The stories are almost unbelievable, yet nobody dares to question the truth behind them.
The students are sitting at an endless looking table. There are many of them. They sit still with perfectly straight backs, chins up, never breaking eye contact with their tutor. Only one of them lays with her head on the table, breathing heavily, knuckles pressed against the desk. Before the class started, the day was nice and calm.
Mirella went for a morning walk in the forest with a few other elves. The weather was nice, the sun was shiny. The company entertaining. They were home, after all. Little did she know about what people say about a good start. And a terrible ending.
When Mirella got into the hall where the Healing class was about to take place, a rather big crowd was already sitting around the table. The rest of the Elves were slowly arriving. Some of them were out in the forest as well, some of them came from the Library or from breakfast. Mirella was looking for a known face. It wasn't long before she took notice of the waving Haldír. As she made her way to him, she noticed the soothing absence of another familiar face. She smiled for herself. It looked like her favorite day. Haldír moved away from the elf who was sitting next to him to give space for the newly arrived Mirella. They only had time to say half of a sentece to each other. From out of nowhere, Thranduil wedged himself in between the two of them and started whispering endless nonsenses in his smoothest tone right in her ears. Who knows how many hours passed since that doomed moment?
The prince's favorite elf is laying under the vail of her hair with her eyes closed tightly. Her parents always told her to be nice and respectful. Yet, the need for giving the greatest slap on the face of the pesky blonde is washing over her every five minutes. Thranduil realizes the lack of attention towards him. He's thinking about stroking the long, light brown hair but his hands stop before he could reach her. It is something new. He wants to touch but without his hands being broken right away. He never saw Mirella acting violently towards anyone but he saw her practicing her sword fight and it was definitely something to be worried about. Why isn't she listening? Why isn't she drinking his words from his lips like all the other maids do?
„Are you feeling good, love?" She exhales sharply.
„I don't know. It's so strange..." Thranduil leans closer to her. „This unexplainable, suffocating feeling. It's like something very dark has sticked to my aura."
„Don't you worry about that. I shall clean your sweet aura with my own hands."
She sits up straight like an arrow looking right at the eyes of the Prince. Without blinking, she leans closer to his face.
„Oh, no. Wait. It's just YOU."
The Master Healer clears her throat. The whole class is looking at the two of them. Haldír shakes his head slightly while hiding behind his hands.
„I couldn't help but realize how desperately you had to share your thoughts with each other about the dragon flu, I suppose. I guess I should give you some more time to submerge in the world of healing. You two shall join me in the next few days at the Healing Ward. I might need your outstanding opinions."
Mirella slams her head back to the table while Haldír is patting her back with soothing purposes. Thranduil sees a chance to fulfill his dream for the day and gives her a quick, light stroke on the back of her head.
He is the happiest elf in Mirkwood.