Chapter 23

July 6th, TA 3020

"If only you had told me."

Legolas paused, allowing time for an answer that did not come. Elladan sat sprawled out in a seat by the window, his stretched-out legs resting on a stack of books piled upon a chair in a display of nonchalance belied by the frown that creased his brow. His long hair, that Legolas had seldom seen otherwise but neatly tied at the back of his head, was tousled; long, wild curls escaped the knot, framing a sullen face. Had Legolas not known better, he would have thought him to be sulking; a behavior more befitting a fifty-year-old than one of Lord Elrond's sons.

"By Elbereth, Elladan, why did you not tell me?"

Never before had Legolas' love for order been so sorely tested as then, when the desire to upturn said chair and shatter the facade of someone whom he considered a dear friend became almost too tempting to ignore. Legolas was not sure how much longer he would resist, especially when Elladan, in his stubbornness, refused to acknowledge him.

Legolas himself had often been warned against his aloofness; if this was anything like what he had been as a youngling, then he pitied his own father.

"Does Elrohir know?" he pressed on, "does Saineth?" As the frown on Elladan's face deepened, he threw his hands into the air in exasperation. "For the love of Eru, will you not speak?"

"What is it that you want to hear?" Elladan snapped, teeth flashing like a cornered animal. "That I am sorry? I am, but not for the reasons you may think."

At least, now they were talking. "And what would that be for, then?"

Elladan turned towards the window, crossing his arms upon his chest. The emerald light reflected in his hair, painting his skin a sickly shade of green that may, or may not, forebode the choice he had made. Legolas' chest constricted with the understanding that the inevitable was under way, whether he wished it or not.

"For losing control as I have." Extending a languid hand towards the window Elladan touched the glass, as though willing himself to be elsewhere. "That was unforgivable."

Losing control.

Something Legolas had thought would never happen to himself, and yet it had. He need not close his eyes to summon the memory of a small hand in his, and of full lips parting in shock. Of the heartbeat that had quickened in the veins pulsating under the soft skin of her throat…. He, too, had thought his outburst to be blame-worthy; that was before Naima had chosen to forgive him.

He shook his head, both rueful and peeved. "I would tend to concur…but the offended lady seems to think otherwise."

Elladan's head jerked upwards, his eyes widening at the news. "Have you seen her?" he demanded, all pretense to indifference cast aside. "How is she?" His fingers twitched, as though remembering what they had done. "Did I…?"

"Make a fool of yourself?" Legolas sighed. He pulled himself another chair, hesitating before he picked up the tomes that encumbered the seat and gently set them onto the desk. "Undoubtedly." He sank onto the leather padding and crossed his legs. "Frighten her? Assuredly. But not enough to deter her from pleading your cause."

"What?"

Lifting a shoulder in a deliberately unconcerned half-shrug, Legolas feigned to study his boots, ignoring Elladan's bewilderment. "She came to see me this morning. Begged me to let you off the hook – most convincingly, may I add."

He all but smiled at seeing, from the corner of his eye, the son of Elrond squirm and stew in his seat, glaring daggers at Legolas' prolonged silence.

Interesting.

Elladan ran a hand through his hair, dispatching what remained of the knot. "What did you tell her?"

"The truth. That I would think about it."

Removing his feet from the chair, Elladan leaned forward, the hands that now rested on the edge of the seat as still as a frozen stream: the pent-up tension, beneath the surface, threatened to break the ice at any time. "And?"

"Still thinking."

Elladan huffed, but dared not protest at being so tormented. He did deserve it, Legolas reminded himself at the first pang of guilt that spurred his conscience. He had, on all accounts, assaulted a female member of his staff, ending in her tears. And, if Redhriel's assessment of Mehreen's injuries had been as reassuring as one could only hope, the fault lay twice as heavy on Elladan's shoulders, for the strength given to those of their race and his calling as a healer.

Legolas himself was not devoid of blame. Ever since the previous day's events he had raked his brain for signs of distress he had missed, at the risk of reading too much into things that did not matter. Had he unloaded too much of his own responsibility upon his friend? Would he have entrusted Mehreen into Elladan's supervision, had he known of his choice?

And why not?

Though Elladan had ever been the more hot-tempered of the twins, less restrained and faithful to his name, such emotions had made him a healer as compassionate as he was dedicated. Better, perhaps, than Elrohir – not that Legolas would ever say so aloud. Once more, he was brutally reminded of Naima, whose passion had burned as bright as the love he still bore her.

"Do you wish me to leave?"

Elladan had asked the question in a low, subdued voice. He was watching Legolas with a placid expression he knew better than to believe. In fact, over the span of their conversation, Legolas found that he had come to loath this dispassion of his, which was naught but a mask to hide his state from all those who cared for him, lest they started to worry.

And would that be grave indeed, he thought wryly.

"If I did, where would you go?" he asked, buying himself some time, searching for a way to shake Elladan out of his wretched stoicism.

Elladan shrugged. "Somewhere I am needed. Gondor, mayhap, or Emyn Arnen."

Not Imladris, then. Even more interesting.

"If such is your wish, I am in no position to stop you." A sudden thought crossed Legolas' mind. "Know only that Mehreen has accepted to endure the same punishment as I would have you face. Should you choose exile…."

The hands that gripped the seat tensed, knuckles whitening.

There we are.

Elladan narrowed his eyes in suspicion. "And why would she do such a thing?"

"She seems to believe she is not blameless in your…quarrel." Legolas hid his smirk under the pretense of rubbing his chin. "You may not know it yet, but under that frail demeanor of hers, Mehreen has a will of iron…and a heart of gold. So. Do you still want to abandon your post, knowing that our people need you, or shall I find you both another punishment? I could have you clean after your namesake. That would be fitting, since you are as mulish as he is."

Only his elven ears allowed him to overhear the gritting of Elladan's teeth. "This is hardly a laughing matter, Legolas."

"Actually, I find it very clever. And so does Saineth, I will have you know." Ignoring the glower that came from the window, Legolas continued: "I could cut your pay for a year. That could be a solution…if you ever used it, that is, rather than living in the Houses day and night."

He could not resist the jibe, relieved beyond words as color slowly returned to Elladan's cheeks. His annoyance, at least, Legolas knew how to handle, being no young maiden from Harad. Though he must admit, to his own stupefaction, that Mehreen had survived much better than one could have expected.

Could it be that her resilience may prove useful in more ways than one?

Elladan sighed, conceding his defeat, resuming his initial position with somewhat less apathy than when Legolas had found him. "Do what you will. I deserve it, after all."

Taking his cue to leave, Legolas sprang from his seat with the renewed energy of one who has a plan and a means to set it into motion. "So I shall, my friend," he muttered under his breath as he made his way back towards his study, his heart lighter than it had been since weeks. "So I shall."

oOoOoOo

Still sulking or no, Elladan left his growlery to join them in the Great Hall that evening, striding in as composed and confident as ever to take his place at Legolas' left. Legolas, a firm believer in appetite as a sign of health in his men, chose to see it as a good omen – not only regarding the wellbeing of Elladan's body, but also that of his mind.

"If they eat, they will endure," Nendir liked to say and, as they raised their cups to those they wished to remember in this world or meet again in the next, Legolas thought of his long-time friend. Nendir, who was now a father to a little Ídhil and who, no doubt, now rued the many self-assured counsels he had once offered to those with children of their own. Nendir, who enjoyed order as much as Legolas did – if not more – and who now had to deal with an elfling's love for all things noisy, furry or crawling.

"Forgive my lateness," Elladan murmured to Legolas. "I was with Gaerlin."

Legolas noticed that Berendir's ears had pricked at the mention of the name, his eating slowing down so as to listen. Not that Legolas blamed him for his curiosity. Gaerlin was part of Berendir's staff, and a hard worker by all accounts. Yet out of the entire crew, he alone did not join in the common meals, or the evenings in the Great Hall to listen to Merilinel playing the harp.

"I would welcome counsel on the matter." Elladan sighed as he loaded his plate with vegetable stew. "There is not much more I can do, I am afraid, and yet I feel like my work with him is far from finished." Legolas stifled a grin as he watched him begin a merciless sorting out of bits of celery, which he pushed towards the edge of his plate.

"I do not envy you this burden," Berendir gravely acquiesced, reaching out across the table for a slice of bread. "It is simpler, with swords. A defective blade can ofttimes be corrected, and it seldom complains about being hit with a hammer."

"Really?" Mistress Meldis, the woman in charge of the lone children of Bar-Lasbelin, chimed in, leaning forward so as to look at him over Redhriel, whose stiffening back spoke volumes about her displeasure of finding herself in the line of fire of the settlement's most eager gossip. "I've always believed that a warped blade was good for nothing but the crucible."

Elladan had tensed as well, spearing bits of turnip with more vigor than necessary. Berendir shrugged, wiping his plate clean with a piece of crust before he indulged her. "It must not always be so. A chipped blade can be tempered anew. A divot can be ground out. Even overheated steel can be salvaged, if one has the patience for it."

"Oh, this is fascinating." Mistress Meldis batted her eyelashes, oblivious of the building tension around Redhriel's mouth. "Overheated? Pray tell, what does that mean?"

Widowed during one of Prince Imrahil's skirmishes against the Corsairs of Umbar, she had come recommended by the entourage of the new Queen of Gondor as a woman with a big heart and a love of children, of which she had none, much to Mistress Meldis' avowed chagrin. Legolas had soon discovered that her heart was indeed vast enough to fit all the children of Bar-Lasbelin, along with some hapless man.

With an apologetic look towards Elladan, Berendir swallowed his mouthful and wiped his hands before lifting his knife to balance the blade upon a finger. Mistress Meldis feigned an admirative gasp. "Overheating causes a blade to be too soft or, on the contrary, too brittle. Fragile. Unfit for use."

"And what would you advise against such a…diagnosis?"

Legolas, who had been sipping from his cup of water, was surprised to hear Elladan join the conversation, ignoring Mistress Meldis and her clumsy advances, focused solely on the knife in Berendir's hand.

"There is but one way, I am afraid…and perhaps is it best that men are not blades, for the way is to normalize it again. Heat it up," Berendir clarified for Mistress Meldis' sake, "and undergo the same trial it was damaged by. Now, you must excuse me. One of my men has injured himself today, and I would see how he fares."

"Léoda is in capable hands," Elladan assured him, having left the perilous waters of his concern for Gaerlin for a more familiar terrain. "Annahad was finishing the stitches as I left. He will spend the night in the Men's Ward, and should be able to return to the smithy within the week."

"You have my thanks."

A hand upon his heart, Berendir made his exit, much to Mistress Meldis' disappointment and Redhriel's relief. No sooner had he reached the other end of the Hall that Bruiven appeared to take his place, setting his own plate opposite of Legolas with a grateful look and creating a welcome distraction from the other conversation that was taking place at the table between Morion, Caelben's second-in-command, and Eredhwen.

"I assure you, Master Morion," Eredhwen insisted, pounding the table with her index to emphasize her words, "the rains will come again, just you wait. My grandmother – may the grasses grow lush upon her tomb! – used to say that if the mushrooms pick a hillock to grow up in the spring, then the summer shall be cold and dreary."

Morion exchanged a look with Beylith, their Senior Herborist who, hidden from the older woman's sight by Legolas himself, stifled a chuckle.

"And the snow!"

Bruiven, who had only taken a bite from his dinner, frowned. "The snow?" he repeated, raising his nose from his plate. "What snow? Where?"

"If the first snow's dry, it's a sign for a good, honest summer," Eredhwen continued, oblivious of their disbelief, "and I trust you all remember the slush that'd plugged the roads in and out of Bar-Lasbelin 'fore spring came. Mark my words," she wagged her finger at them, "we're in for more rain anytime now."

Remembering Elladan's warning against the combined effects of a downpour and the sickness from Mordor, Legolas stole a glance of his friend. Yet Elladan seemed utterly uninterested in Eredhwen's expert opinion, serving himself a slice of cheese from the platter that Taniel had handed him before passing it over to Legolas.

"And yet the wood is dry," Morion objected, nodding towards the pillars of the Great Hall, fashioned by his hands and those of the rest of Caelben's men, which wept tears of golden sap in the mildness of the evening. "The trees' summer rings are thick and dense. If there is something to be learned of it, it is that these lands have not had a bad summer in years – centuries, even."

"My mother used to believe such omens," Beylith piped up, taking the platter from Legolas' hands without even looking, "removing freckles by washing them with the snows of March, and all that. But no matter how much she rubbed my sister's face, she's remained as spotted as a starling."

"I have received news from Saineth," Legolas murmured into Elladan's ear, taking advantage of the diversion. "She and Caelben are thoroughly enamored with their daughter. The bonding is a fulfilling time for them all, and Melui is love made flesh."

Oblivious that a delicious piece of gossip was escaping her notice, Eredhwen pursed her lips. "Yes, well," she huffed across the table, undeterred. "She must've done it wrong, is all.

Elladan nodded ever so slightly, playing along. "If she is anything like her mother," he grinned only for Legolas to hear, toying with his cup, "then she will have them both wound around her finger in no time."

"Now, a rainy summer can only lead to one thing."

The statement had been spoken in a tone so assured, so compelling, that even Legolas turned to look at Eredhwen. Pausing in her speech, she watched those around the table one by one. Bruiven, who had been scraping his plate clean of what was left of his vegetable stew, felt obligated to stop, his spoon suspended in waiting.

"Cranky children?" Beylith giggled, but even she fidgeted under the older woman's gaze, her impertinence quelled by her dramatic tone.

"A cold, harsh winter, and the death of all things frail."

Dommiel, who had been silent until then, sitting at the far end of the table and thus spared by Eredhwen's scrutiny, rolled her eyes. "If my memory doesn't deceive me, such was to be our fate last year. And yet, the harvest has been plentiful and the Anduin, almost too low to ship our timber through to Osgiliath."

Vexed, Eredhwen scowled, muttering under her breath and making a show of ignoring the second tour of the cheese platter. Tired of waving it under her nose, Dommiel leaned forward, gracing Morion with a grateful look as he seized it from her hands to set it in the middle of the table.

"A pity that would be, though," Beylith sighed, reaching to grab a peach from one of the bowls that stood before her. "I have always found the most ephemeral things to be the most beautiful."

"Such as that new flower by the crossroads," Bruiven concurred, having finished his plate at last. "I am no expert in botany, but it appears to be a hollyhock of some sort."

"A desert rose," Mistress Meldis corrected him from the other end of the table, her cheeks flushing with delight at the chance to rejoin the conversation. "I would know…. My father was gardener for Ecthelion the Second. He used to grow them in the gardens of Minas Tirith," she wistfully remembered, "a rare, precious species."

With Elladan sitting so close beside him, Legolas could hardly look at his friend without appearing conspicuous; yet he could have sworn that his friend had flinched at the mention of the desert, the careless caress of his fingers upon the rim of his cup stilling at Mistress Meldis' words.

"All the more strange to see it here. I wonder how it came to Ithilien?"

How indeed.

"It'll die with the first frost," Eredhwen crowed, relishing the prospect with gleeful horror, "if the rains don't drown it first."

"I have always loved flowers."

Her eyes misting up at the thought, Mistress Meldis threw a pointed glance in Elladan's direction; it sailed over his head, much to the matron's regret. Had Legolas been raised in a less faultless manner, he would have told her she was wasting her time with that particular elf. Elladan favored a more exotic bloom to the fading loveliness of Mistress Meldis' charms, though himself may not yet know it.

Legolas searched the Great Hall for one tall woman with dark hair and green eyes, but just like Gaerlin, Mehreen was nowhere to be seen. He wondered whether the rumors had triumphed over what was left of her courage, spent in facing him that very morning, and hoped that said courage would replenish during the night, if not through a hearty meal. An idea as small and unyielding as her desert rose had blossomed inside his mind, refusing to be dampened by skepticism or cowed by the coldness of reason.

"Sometimes," Legolas began, "the most delicate things can thrive in the most unexpected places. I, for one, am willing to wager this rose will endure beyond our understanding."

As Eredhwen opened her mouth to contradict him, she was interrupted by the patter of footsteps on the floorboards, a young girl making an entrance far too hasty even for one late for dinner. "Mistress Meldis!" she called out breathlessly, skidding to a halt in front of her chair, "Mistress Meldis, come quickly!"

"What is it, child?" the matron chided her, pursing her lips in disapproval as she puffed up her chest under the silken shawl she had wrapped around her shoulders. "Can't you see I am in the company of Lord Legolas, and…."

"Lord Legolas, Lord Elladan!" the girl curtsied hastily, bobbing up and down in a manner that must have given Mistress Meldis the sea-sickness that she, by her own admission, was prone to. "You too must come."

"What happened?"

Elladan's chair scraped against wood as he leapt to his feet, preceding Legolas by a heartbeat, his hand reaching for a sword he no longer carried in a habit too old to be easily forgotten. Bruiven and Taniel had sat to attention as well, following their example, and even Beylith gulped down the last quarter of her peach, wiping the juices on her napkin before she was done chewing.

The girl embraced the table with a startled look, intimidated by the reaction her words had produced. "It's Déordred," she lamented, wringing her hands in front of her, her lower lip quivering with tears. "He's gone!"