Chapter 17

Thank you so much for your patience over this much-delayed chapter. I've had a difficult few weeks with several losses in my family on top of planning a wedding.

When I sat down to finish this chapter I realized I couldn't position my ending properly, so congratulations, we've got at least one more chapter to go.

Many thanks for all of the comments, follows, and favorites, during the in-between. They've been much appreciated.

...

Once Miri had transitioned back into her daily routine, it was as though nothing had changed. Well, nearly nothing. For several weeks after her return to duties she still suffered from sporadic pains in her throat, ankle, and wrist from her run-in with the warg. Ceven assure her these would fade in time. She bore no scarring, so Miriel was content to accept the temporary irritation.

Otherwise, the days played out much as they typically had before. Breakfast in the kitchens with Legolas, Tuigalen keeping a closer-than-usual eye on them both. The cook was particularly diligent about ensuring Miri ate well.

"Best to build up your strength," she'd scolded when Miri protested over a third helping of oats a few weeks after bedrest had ended. "You're still looking paler than I'd like."

"I'm just fair-complected!" Miri had tried to argue, fed up with the cook's attempts at fattening her up.

Tuigalen merely sniffed and added a handful of blueberries to the top of the bowl before turning back to the goose she was roasting.

When Miri and the prince parted following breakfast, Legolas headed to his lessons and her to her office. Thranduil had given her a brief reprieve from their usual bouts around household spending. Upon this realization, Miri was tempted to order bolts of velvet and satin for the next round of staff uniforms, just to see if he'd dare to argue. But she restrained herself.

Then it was a break in the afternoon for some fresh air, perhaps some reading in the solar while Carwegeth embroidered beside her or walking about the mushroom gardens. Next, dinner. They'd quickly returned to the routine of eating in the king's private dining room, just the three of them. After the initial awkwardness of her first few nights back at the dinner table, both of her ellyn had finally relaxed into a semblance of their former intimacy. The peaceful atmosphere was broken however, when for the fifth night in a row the family was presented with one of Miri's favorite dishes.

"Tell Tuigalen we've reached our limit of her relief and she can return to a less Miri-centric menu," he growled after they were served bowls of pumpkin soup and a platter of quail with an acorn and sage stuffing.

Miri cackled as she served Legolas a small bird. "You're just mad because when you nearly died she only made honey cakes once instead of a whole week."

The king scowled over his goblet. "Venison and carrots, pork with stewed apples, meat pie, poached trout, anything but these small-boned birds," he groused to the kitchen maid, who suppressed a smile as she slipped from the room. It was abundantly clear his displeasure was mild and Thranduil was putting on a show of annoyance.

"You're getting too big of a head over this," he accused as Miri dove into her soup with gusto.

"His majesty is well-versed on the finer points of head circumference, given your own impressive skull," she murmured before putting the spoon to her lips.

Thranduil huffed indignantly while Legolas giggled around his dinner roll.

…

A bow was deemed the bare minimum of her new curriculum. Following a month's recovery, Thranduil demanded Miriel receive instruction on swordplay as well as knife skills and hand-to-hand combat. She'd rolled her eyes and huffed, but the king had held strong.

"As someone who oversees my heir and my household, you ought to have some relative ability to protect yourself and others," he had snapped when Miri complained for the umpteenth time at her early morning lessons. "We were naive to overlook your lack of instruction and it nearly cost us all."

It wasn't a terrible point and thus she was compelled to stop grousing. Aloud. To him, at least.

The worst of it was that everyone seemed to agree with the elfking. Tuigalen tutted when Miri whined about her aching arms after a rigorous lesson practicing the defensive forms with her wooden short sword. Galion reminded her of everyone's frantic worry after her warg encounter. Carwegeth seemed amused more than anything, happily laying out Miri's practice attire every evening on the trunk at the foot of her bed For his part, Legolas was just excited.

"We can spar!" he had exclaimed excitedly when Thranduil announced her new training regime. "I can show you all of the moves, Miri, Captain Rovain says I'm one of his best students."

She turned a look to Thranduil, a "see-what-you've-done-expression?"

With an air of faux concern, the king replied to his son, "It would be wise to wait a few months until Miriel has developed callouses. She'll be far too inexperienced for some time yet, ion nin. It would hardly be a fair fight."

"I'll show you a fair fight," Miri seethed under her breath at the elfking's imperious smirk. "We've only ever fought with words, but wait until I've learned the blade, Oropherion."

But when she tried to stalk into his study the following day, intent on going to battle over these forced lessons, he was deep in paperwork and quick to dismiss her. So she lost steam and returned to her own office. There was no point in fighting someone whose heart wasn't in it.

…

One part of her life that had returned to its former state too quickly was her relationship with the king. Thranduil had stood guard over her bedside for days when she lay injured, had barely left her room once she'd woken, and then quietly slipped back into his role as her sometimes-friend and always-opponent. He wasn't necessarily distant. But neither had the intimacy they'd briefly fostered on their journey made a re-appearance, even in an emotional sense.

Back on the road, before they'd been set upon by the hunting party of orcs, Miriel would have sworn this is what she had wanted. To go back to before, to the Thranduil she knew and the playful, adversarial relationship they'd managed to forge over their shared guardianship of Prince Legolas. To forget the too-easy encounters of falling into one another's arms (and beds). Just return to normal.

Death had fallen upon her with its foul breath and razor-like teeth and with it brought new clarity. She'd been ready to cast aside her fears. When she'd awoken, sore and scrapped up, to find the weary king at her bedside, Miri had believed she'd been too hasty in rejecting his suit back in the gardens of Lothlorien. And in those first moments of her return to the land of the living, a breathless Thranduil had held her hand and declared his love yet again. Her heart had felt full to bursting.

Yet he'd not touched the subject since. They'd returned to their day-to-day of bickering and family dinners and fretting over Legolas. Thranduil acted as though nothing had changed — and therefore, she tried following his lead.

The desperate kiss she'd given him upon her revival now felt like a searing mistake.

Miri knew now she'd hurt him, deeply, in Lothlorien. Bringing him into her bed hadn't been something she should have treated with such lightness. Thranduil had seen their amorous interactions as preludes to an oath-sworn relationship, whereas she hadn't considered them anything more than the natural boiling point of centuries of tension. Just a physical act to relieve centuries of pressure.

"I supposed I should be grateful that he's forgiven me and seen fit to let me remain here," Miri reminded herself wearily. She lay in her bed, staring up at the canopy, unable to find sleep for what felt like the umpteenth night.

There had been an eternal "what-if" following their first encounters and her subsequent rejection centuries ago. After the humiliation wrought before the entire court of Lothlorien, Miri had spent countless nights lying awake, pondering the life she might've had as the bride of the prince of the Great Greenwood. Part of the question had been briefly answered in Lothlorien as they found pleasure in one another's forms. And despite the comfort found in its fulfillment, Miriel hadn't been able to stay within that comfort when it was offered forth. She couldn't fathom saying "yes" after ages of saying "no."

Thranduil was a far more gracious elf than she; if she'd faced a second callous rejection of her affections, Miri wasn't certain she could stand to be in close proximity to the lout ever again. But here Thranduil was, eating dinner with said lout every night.

"He's far kinder than I've ever given him credit for," she thought. "And selfless. I'd have tossed myself from court, consequences be damned."

Rolling over, Miri tried to stop the endless wondering that flooded her tired mind. Fretting over Thranduil's benevolence in treating her as though nothing occurred between them was an endeavor that would only lead to more sleeplessness.

…

As much as Miri resented her forced lessons in weaponry, it proved to be a helpful distraction. Rovain kept her on a rotation of early morning and late night sessions, which meant she often fell into bed exhausted at the end of the day, barely able to remove her sweaty muslin tunic and dirty leggings. There was also the added benefit of taking out her roiling emotions upon the sawdust-filled dummies the captain put before her. The vigor with which she could launch an attack was impressive — and unlike other parts of her training, something Miriel had learned to relish. So much so, Rovain often teased her voracious attacks.

"We'll need to replace this one before the month is out," he observed as she swung the dull practice sword so hard the canvas burst on the poor dummy's side. A dust cloud of wood shavings exploded upon impact.

"Good, that will give you something to do besides critique my form," Miri shot back. She placed a foot on the base of the dummy, wrapping both hands around the hilt of the sword, and pulled hard to free it from where it had gotten stuck against the wooden core of the form.

"Not my job," Rovain said lazily, carelessly turning his own sword in the air in measured arcs. The captain sat on the top rung of the practice yard's gate, where he usually perched to shout out his instructions. As Miri was no elfling, she did not get the soft and gentle treatment Legolas had received under Rovain's tutelage. So shouting it was.

She huffed, turning to look up at her instructor. "It seems to me your primary job is sitting and yelling at underlings."

Rovain grinned. "Now you're getting it, Dolithien. The higher the rank, the more people you order around. You should try getting your own underlings."

Miri did not bother grumbling that technically speaking, she did have those whose work she oversaw. But another skill she was practicing in these sessions was saving her breath.

While she dragged another dummy into place to replace the busted one, Rovain gave his critique from his seat at the gate. The mindless effort of hauling the new dummy allowed her mind to truly focus and absorb his words.

"Now, while the power behind that swing was adequate your retreats were sloppy. Get your blade stuck in the rib an orc and you'll be felled by the next one while you're still trying to free your weapon. I want you lighter on your feet. Keep the power but don't let it falter after the strike. Got it?"

Miri blew a few strands away before they could stick to her sweat-sheened face, nodding.

"Good. Go again."

As she resumed her position, Miri felt a distinct prickle on the back of her neck that told her the lesson did not go unobserved. Today must be the day — when he finally came to see she'd risen to his challenge.

"Focus," she bid herself, flexing her empty hand. "Behave as though it is only you and that sack of sawdust."

And thus she struck.

…

Thranduil watched with his usual dispassionate expression as his seneschal executed a practiced series of motions, her oak blade moving steadily, if a bit stiff. She was far from exemplary, but for the purposes of basic defense, he could be satisfied.

Not satisfied enough to entirely end her instruction, however.

For the past four months, Rovain had dutifully reported on Miriel's mental and physical progress at the end of every week. She'd taken to the new routine with the anticipated amount of grousing and grumbling. After a few weeks, the complaints ceased and Rovain shared that the elleth had settled into the routine lessons and was building skills with admirable effort. Her ability with hand-to-hand combat, archery, and sword work, at had all seen steady growth.

That concerned the king less than what he heard from other parts of the palace — testimony of her fretful sleep, reluctance to leave the fortress grounds, and the tendency towards taking on a dazed, lost expression and losing her focus to some unseen occupation. Despite seeing her on a daily basis, there were things even he and Legolas missed, parts of herself she kept hidden for fear of concerning her ward. Everyone, it seemed, had a reason to be concerned. Tuigalen kept a close eye on the elleth's plate. Carwegeth sought to bring her friend out into the light of day. Even Legolas seemed to sense something was off and made a point of bringing cheer to their evening meals. Miri's day-to-day duties were completed in her usual clean and timely manner. Yet despite the mending of her physical wounds, Thranduil suspected she hid others that were less quick to heal.

Ceven reassured him Miriel's state was normal. After all, she'd faced death and had only just evaded a grisly end.

"These things take time," the healer reminded him. "Time, and support. Surely you remember what it took for you to overcome the aftermath of Dagolad?"

He did. Years of anger and pain and resentment. His inability to heal what the dragon fire took ate at him more than the wound itself ultimately did. And then there had been the throne — taking his father's crown, responsibility over the Greenwood. It had all fallen upon him at once. However, he'd had Cala at his side. That alone had made all the difference.

Thranduil, for all of his years with his gentle, empathetic wife, was not Cala. He didn't have the same touch she'd display upon being deposited into the care of a broken elf. There was no way he could emulate her grace, give Miri the same care he'd benefited from after Dagolad.

So he determined the next best thing. Thranduil orchestrated a plan of care unique to his own abilities. Miriel liked to be busy, she thrived on challenge. He'd give her one. It was just a bonus that his orders infuriated the elleth. Her frustration was easy enough to wield, and it left little room for nastier feelings.

Rovain was hardly a mind healer, but he'd watched many wardens and guards suffer in the aftermath of traumatic encounters. The captain of the guard was a stern, steady teacher who had no time for self-pity but was no stranger to gentle methods of instruction. He'd known the elleth would be wary to pick up a weapon, to envision violence so soon after overcoming injuries from the ambushed. Building confidence was a vital first step — especially for someone who'd never picked up more than a dinner knife in defense — and the captain of the palace guard had therefore gone slowly.

Thranduil watched as Miriel grudgingly attended lessons, bemoaned sore limbs, scowled over his teasing remarks about her growing callouses, and bore her glares. Nothing altered immediately, but as Ceven said, these things took time.

...

During his last report, Rovain speculated Miri would be fit for sparring with living partners soon. She'd exhibited less doubt overall, less reluctance to experiment with her newfound skills and go beyond the basics. And more importantly, she wouldn't accidentally injure herself or her partner from lack of experience.

"She will never be a warden," Rovain had said. "But she'll be able to defend herself and others without hesitation."

"Yet she is not keen on continuing her lessons."

They were making a circuit of the barracks, stables, and training yards. It was time for the quarterly inspection of the armory. Thranduil hadn't washed to add more to the captain's plate, which meant check-ins on his seneschal's progress occurring in tandem with his other meeting with the captain.

Rovain snorted. "My lady Miriel is fierce, your majesty, but she does not have the lust for battle in her veins."

"A love of the fight is hardly necessary. I want her able, nothing more." Thranduil paused before adding, "She's done well with you, Rovain. I know Miriel can be a stubborn student at best. Under your tutelage, she has not merely acquired the necessary skills but the reassurance in herself to be able to use them."

His captain had bowed his head. "Thank you, my king. It has been a privilege. She's been an interesting student, to say the least."

Thranduil allowed his lips the barest hint of a quirk. "Interesting" was a kind way of putting "pain in my ass." Rovain was hardly one to mince words, but he had the good sense to moderate himself before his king. That or his fondness for his unorthodox student was staying his tongue.

"Her progress has been admirable, but it is not yet time to complete her training," Thranduil said as he stopped to examine a rack of polished spears, noting the careful way they were aligned so all the birch shafts were even with one another. "She needs more time, I think."

Rovain hesitated before agreeing. "I know you're concerned about her safety, and while I believe she could handle basic defense, sharpening her experience in melee combat could only be to her benefit. So far I've stuck to teaching her the honorable side of fighting. But not every opponent will be honorable."

"True." The king tilted his head, taking in the well-shaped fletching of the arrows awaiting use. A series of quivers rested lined up along the wall, hanging by wooden hooks. They'd be easy to obtain should any guards be called forth for an emergency.

"I'll take on the task of telling her the lessons are not yet at an end," the king had said with a sigh as the pair rounded a corner to entire the chamber that stored the armor. Last quarter he had been dismayed to see the faint blooms of rust on several helmets, hopefully, the problem had been rectified since then. "I doubt the news will go over well."

"Her attitude has greatly improved since our first few sessions," Rovain protested mildly.

Thranduil pinched the bridge of his nose."Yes, however, anything additional instruction on my part will undoubtedly be received as a ruthless demand. Lady Miriel does not take kindly to commands. Even from her king."

"Ah, yes." Rovain winced. "You give her much leeway. Others in your position would not be nearly as forgiving."

The king smiled wryly. "Other elleth would not be nearly as prickly as our Miri. And I find even in her fieriest moments, she's coming from a desire for equality, not merely for herself but others."

...

Now he stood on the secondary level of the barracks, observing his seneschal from a higher vantage. When he'd appeared, Rovain had bowed his head in the routine deference before they both turned their gazes to Miri. She refused to look at him, instead maintaining all her energy on her wood-and-canvas opponent. Each attack grew sharper and sharper as she fell into the dance. His eyes traced the way she twisted to meet Rovain's shouted instruction, her limbs snapping into place at his words. The long honey-blonde braid followed her every move like a whip.

She was fierce and beautiful. She made his heart ache.

When the captain called off the attack, Miriel lowered her sword and lifted her gaze. Thranduil left his expression neutral as he appraised his seneschal. With her plain practice attire, messy braid, and a film of dirt clinging to her every inch, Miri did not cast an especially impressive figure. But her bearing was regal as she met his eyes. Lips pursed, she awaited his evaluation.

"You've managed to learn a sufficient amount in these last four months," he started, keeping his tone impassive. Nothing would irk her more than his refrain from emotion.

Miri's lips twitched.

"I am pleased with your progress, though you still show great room for improvement," he continued, ignoring the hint of her growing frown. "You should be proud, Miriel."

"I had a good teacher," she replied.

"Yes." Here he allowed himself a smile — directed at the captain of his guard. "Rovain, you've been a diligent instructor."

The captain inclined his head again, though Thranduil suspected it was more of duck to hide his own smile.

Turning back to Miri, Thranduil added, "You are in luck, my lady. You're to have the benefit of Captain Rovain's expertise with your continued instruction in self-defense. A few more months of lessons will undoubtedly turn you into a capable warrior."

To his disappointment her mouth did not fall open nor did she exclaim her surprise. She merely blinked, then her pursed lips transformed into a fully-fledged scowl. It was then Thranduil issued a smirk, pleased to have at least disgruntled her a little even though he'd hoped for a larger reaction.

"Lovely," she ground out. Miri looked to Rovain, inhaling deeply before saying tightly, "I'm going to return to my chambers and retire for the evening. I will see you tomorrow, Captain."

As she passed through the gate and headed towards the doors to the mountain fortress, Miri merely said "My king," coolly in parting.

A look of amusement passed between Rovain and Thranduil.

"That was far more sedate than anticipated," the king mused.

"She isn't planning to give a more thorough expression of her feelings at a later time?" Rovain speculated.

Thranduil descended from the platform, making his way to the dusty practice yard. "Perhaps. But I'll assuage her. Somehow."

…

One more chapter — possibly two? But I'm determined not to make you wait.