Before the Storm
Let's see how good your healing skills are," Findir said one day as the sword fighting practice was over. Erenien nodded nervously in spite of her lungs craving for air.
Without any notice, he took one of his daggers and made a clean cut on his forearm. Blood rounded up at the end of that trail in one scarlet bead.
"Go ahead." He beckoned her closer.
Erenien willed her breath even as she crossed her hands above the cut. Nothing happened for a moment. Just as he felt the slightest sting of skin joining together, her hands shook and she dropped them back to her side, chest heaving. One memory was gaining the upper hand- Eiliandil bleeding out as she sat doing nothing to save him.
A gentle hand pressed on her shoulder. "Hey, relax. You are good. You can do this," Laerdil whispered.
Erenien drew a shuddering breath and looked back at Findir, who had worn that telltale frown again. She had managed to change it to indifference in the past hour, by great effort.
"Try again," he ordered. Laerdil released her arm with a gentle squeeze and stepped back.
She crossed her arms again and forced her mind into an old dream. Of sunlight on green meadows and of a song in the spring winds. That first time, when she saw glimpses of her parents' faces…
"Good." Findir's comment released her from her thoughts. Her arms returned to her side, revealing only a pale scar. Her sleeves came off wet as she wiped them on her temples.
"Now let's see what happens with a little bit of motivation," he said and offered a knowing look at Laerdil. Even as she protested it, Laerdil stepped forward, pulling up his sleeves.
"Go a bit deeper this time," Findir asked. Laerdil looked at her once. Taking a deep breath, he drew the dagger across his forearm.
"No!" she yelped. But the dagger had already become bloodstained. Blood dripped from his hand onto the floor in a soft patter.
"Now, now… do it. We don't want poor Laero to bleed." Findir coaxed.
How dare he! She suppressed the urge to lash out and channelled all of her mind to her arms, calling to the power that was about to flow through her palms.
You have it. You only have to set it free. You can do this. She reminded herself.
Eiliandil came uncalled for. She shoved him aside. Then came Anwel, who must be rotting in some filthy orc dungeon if she was not dead already. The thought nearly made her gag. But she had to do that. She needed to do that. With every sweat bead forming on her temple, Anwel's face began to blur at the edges and slowly it dissipated into a thin mist.
"Excellent!" Findir chuckled. She stared at Laerdil who was smiling proudly and then down at his arm. There was nothing except drying blood. Not even a faint scar.
"It is not so good to play favouritism when it comes to healing, you know," Findir said with the barest glint in his eyes.
She really wanted to come up with a fitting retort. But the floor had begun to move and no amount of blinking would fix the slight blur in her vision. Keeping her body balanced on her feet became her only concern.
"Let's try this once more," Findir said enthusiastically.
"Won't it be better to take a break now? Look at her! She needs rest." Laerdil interjected.
"She can have plenty of it once this war is over. Now concentrate!" He commanded.
Just before his blade made contact with the skin, the door opened. Thranduil was standing at the doorstep, his face set into neutrality.
"How is the training?" He inquired, gliding smoothly into the room.
"We were training her healing powers, my lord. She does better with a bit of motivation." He said, looking pointedly at Thranduil, their minds communicating momentarily.
The next moment he was rolling up his sleeve.
"No," she breathed. But his mind was set. Thranduil took the dagger, now wiped clean from Findir. With a long look at her, he plunged it into his forearm, his brow furrowing only a bit as blood began to drip down.
She steadied her swaying mind. Never had she ever seen him wounded thus. With one deep breath, she thought of her deepest desire. That sweet, unfulfilled reflection of her family together. She held firmly onto it despite the clawing of grim thoughts on the walls of her mind.
When she opened her eyes, Thranduil was smiling at her.
"I am the least favourite person in the room, it seems," Findir mused.
She shot her best version of a glare at him, whatever she could manage in her condition. She withdrew her gaze quickly as the ground tilted dangerously at the edge of her vision. Just a breath later, strong arms were around her, easing her weight off her knees.
"I got you," Thranduil's voice reverberated on her cheek. She took a few deep breaths against his chest as the world finally came to a gentle sway and steadied.
"I am fine." She scrambled back to her feet, away from his grasp. For a moment, his hands remained extended towards her before he caught himself and pressed them back to his sides. She didn't miss the flicker of pain in his eyes.
"I said I am fine." She said a bit more forcefully, seeing Laerdil's worried glance.
"Is the morning session over?" Thranduil inquired without any emotion.
"Yes," Findir replied in a tight voice. She wondered if she imagined the barest hint of worry in his gaze as he looked at her. She dismissed the thought immediately.
"Then I would like to have a word with my daughter." Thranduil stated. "Can you walk?" He asked, turning to her. She nodded in return.
"Shall we?" Thranduil asked, extending his arm. Erenien walked out ignoring it. As soon as she stepped out of the door she realised the mistake, because the ground was tilting again. Immediately, her hands sought him and held onto his arm. Thranduil walked beside her, looking entirely at ease, as if he wasn't taking most of her weight.
He led her to one of the balconies overlooking a garden, which was carefully carved into the steep face of the mountain. Just beyond the garden fences, the rock dropped onto a sheer cliff. Beneath, the woodland canopies extended as far into the south as one's eyes could travel. Beyond several rolling hills to the south-east, where eyes could not follow, the shadow of Dol-Guldur remained. Far away, yet too close to home. The garden itself was coated by a thin layer of snow, where plants, braving the cold and the snow, peeped through a blanket of white.
As the sky was turning clear, they stepped down into the garden. There was a round table and two chairs at one end, under the creeping vines of a wisteria. Just as soon as she let go of her father's arm, Erenien dropped down into a chair. Thranduil procured glasses and a bottle of wine from a table on the balcony and poured it for both of them.
With a mumbled "Thank you", she sipped the wine, relishing the sweetness on her tongue and the spreading warmth on her body.
As he sat down opposite her, it was hard for her not to look at him. It became harder when his gaze was fixed on her.
"It was unbecoming of me to say those things to you." Her gaze snapped at him. "I meant the incident at the training grounds last month," he added.
"But it is the truth, isn't it?" She asked, looking far away to the horizon, away from his eyes.
Thranduil drew a long breath. "You didn't deserve the burden of my grief," he sighed.
"Legolas is not dead." She said a bit too forcefully, leaning forward and meeting his gaze.
"Yes, not dead." He mumbled over the rim of his cup. "I can still feel his mind, though thin the connection is."
"See, he is fine." She leaned back onto the chair, the frozen wood touching her sweaty back in a chilling embrace.
"The tether could break at any moment." He cleared his throat of the swelling emotions and looked away, blinking rapidly. "I cannot let him be alone if he is to meet his end. I cannot rest until he is returned to me."
Erenien stared down at the goblet still clutched in her hand. It felt somehow wrong to see him this vulnerable. But he had sought her out, had chosen to reveal that part of him to her.
How well you enjoyed punishing him in the past month…! The voice at the back of her mind sneered.
She slowly got up and knelt down beside him. Thranduil looked at her quizzically. Taking his hand in hers, she whispered, "He will come back to us. Maybe this is his destiny."
He leaned forward and caught her in a warm embrace. "So I believe, my child. For that is the only thing I can do." He mumbled into her head.
"That is the only thing we can do," she replied.
The wind was howling among the trees, sending a wave of chill into the garden. Thranduil led her back inside, to the warmth of his halls. A long brewing war was almost upon them. But such matters could wait until they healed their hearts and shielded their minds from what was to come.
