Lucy: Legolas gave Mehreen and Elladan a nudge (or several)... Now they have to open their eyes and actually do some work themselves, though clueless Elladan is particularly satisfying to write ;)
Guest: I hope you enjoy this new, Elladan-filled chapter :)
Chapter 31
August 1st, TA 3020
Carnage was taking place upon the meadow.
The dandelions were being slaughtered as dozens of naked little feet trampled the fragile, fluffy tassels in the wake of their boisterous race, celebrating their unwitting carnage with shrieks of laughter and cries of "Tag!". Elladan came to a sudden halt as the cohort of children dashed across the trail – sparing but a fleeting glance to the two grown-ups covered in mud – and winced as the mud inside his boots sifted between his toes, warm and viscous.
Mehreen, however, had not been as swift. The pack parted around her and she whirled in place, elbows raised, her stiff skirts belatedly following the momentum. She laughed, her green eyes filled with a covetousness beyond Elladan's grasp, but whose intensity he must have felt at some point, and now mourned.
"Are you going to participate?" she asked once she had ascertained that no further onslaught was to be expected from that particular direction, "In the archery contest, I mean?"
"Not this year." Elladan pondered the question for an instant, and deemed fitting to add: "Not ever, most probably."
"Oh." She seemed disappointed, though not enough to ask him why not. Or perhaps was it her timidness that got in the way of her curiosity. As they fell into step once more, Elladan decided to humor her.
"I am a much better archer than most in Bar-Lasbelin. It would not be fair to the others." He did not mention that using a bow for anything else than hunting reminded him of darker times, unfit to be compared to the lazy, carefree benevolence of today.
"But…isn't that the point of a contest? To show what you're capable of, so that they yearn to rise to your level?"
"That is…hardly possible," Elladan ground out, somewhat more tensely than intended as a clump of mud slid down his lower back, tickling his skin in its wake. To get out of these soiled clothes would be a blessing that could not come too soon. Mehreen frowned, no doubt mistaking the tautness of his voice for reluctance, and Elladan hastened to clarify: "Imagine yourself racing against a toddler. Against Déordred, for instance. You would outrun him easily, would you not?"
Provided, of course, that she did not decide to let him win beforehand – something that Elladan would not put past her, knowing what he now did about her tender heart and her compassion for all things small and pitiful.
As if to confirm his suspicions, Mehreen burst out laughing. "You underestimate his stamina, I think…and his stubbornness."
And yours.
"Perhaps," Elladan conceded with a reluctant smile as he tried to scratch his itching back without being too obvious about it. "Still, from an onlooker's point of view, the odds would not be evenly matched, and another child watching you both would be discouraged from even trying."
"Hmm." As they followed the gentle turn of the path uphill, towards the once-empty flowerbed in which the famous desert rose now bloomed unchallenged, she seemed to ponder his reply, her unfocused stare preceding them by a few steps. "Is there one?" she asked eventually. "A contest for children, I mean?"
"Not that I know of, but you are welcome to submit your idea to Legolas. I am certain he will consider it."
For his part, Elladan deemed it a fair idea. Bar-Lasbelin was yet young; in the first year of their settlement here, the Hlāfmæsse had been little but an evening dinner blown out of proportion, spurred by the enthusiasm of those from Godwyn's staff who remembered feasts in the Golden Hall of Meduseld in days of old. Elfgrim had whipped out his fiddle, and suddenly people were dancing between the trestle tables, singing songs of their homeland and, for many of them, weeping for those they had lost. This year, Legolas had given the celebration a distinct place in the calendar, which was not to say there was no room for improvement.
Yet, beside him Mehreen gasped. "Oh, no! I wouldn't want to offend him."
Elladan stopped in his wriggling. "Why would you?"
"Well, he's a man," she began, twisting her hands against her mucky stomach, "and the Lord of this place…."
He lifted an eyebrow. "So?"
"I'm only a woman, and a stranger." Perhaps had she awaited some sort of assent from his part, a rescinding of his suggestion – having found, as an afterthought, her opinion as worthless as she thought it to be. When none came, Mehereen dared to look at him, raising eyes frightened and awed in equal measure. "I…I never would've thought any man would ever want to hear my opinion on his way of running his household."
"Do you still count yourself a stranger here?" Elladan quietly asked as they made it past the flowerbed, noticing how her gaze remained latched onto his face. He had thought her a flighty creature, bound to be distracted by things more important in her eyes than himself…and was pleasantly surprised. Not feeling flattered, but noticed, rather, seen in earnest, in the very manner she had beheld him by the river. An uncomfortable thought slithered into his mind much like that blob of slime, however, spoiling the warmth that had unfurled inside his chest. "Does that make me one, in your eyes?"
"Of course not!" Mehreen sputtered at once, the wringing of her hands stilled against her slender waist, her lips parted with unfeigned horror and Elladan chuckled, surprised at his own relief. So, she had noticed his efforts in being more civil, and foregoing the bitter start the two of them had gotten off to.
Efforts which cost him less and less by the day, as Elladan was finding out.
"Then I am pleased to hear it."
He watched her cheeks blossom in a comely blush.
Meow.
The cry had come from somewhere to Elladan's left. At once, he realized how foolish he had been, imagining himself to be the only one to have heard it, as Mehreen's keen hearing for such wretched mewling picked up the beast's distress and steered her off the path before Elladan could as much as protest. For an instant, he considered waiting for her return upon the sunlit trail, before remembering her utter lack of caution, and his own promise to see her safely to her dormitory.
Cursing under his breath and swatting at the flies that had seized his immobility as a chance to sting his neck, Elladan followed Mehreen across the meadow, to the sparse shrubbery growing beneath an old oak. While spindly in comparison to its grandfather growing in the Houses' courtyard, the tree remained a venerable specimen, its branchings cast around like a crown, growing high and low, twisting away from the furrowed bole.
Meow!
"Pumpkin!" Mehreen cried out, her head thrown back to better see the cat hiding in a hollow in the bark, well above ground. "However did he get there?"
Elladan did have an idea, which he kept to himself. The children's distant shrieks of laughter waxed and waned as they dove in and out of the undergrowth, much to the despair of the girls appointed to oversee them – despair which added to the disgruntlement of being inflicted such a duty, instead of enjoying the day like everyone else. As of now, they followed the harmless mob from a distance with shuffling steps. Thus more-or-less left to their own devices, the children must have spotted Pumpkin lounging in the sun, on one of the lowest boughs of the oak brushing against the grass, and pestered him into seeking shelter higher up the tree.
Meow!
"The poor thing," Mehreen bemoaned at once, stirred by the little demon's yowls of complaint.
She lifted her dripping skirts and set a foot upon one gnarly branch, only to startle as Elladan snapped: "Certainly not. You are not thinking of climbing up there in your present state of dress."
"But he's stuck!" she complained, undeterred by his crossed arms, narrowing her eyes in reply to his own stern gaze. "We must do something about it!"
Elladan would have been amused at how unabashed she could become when it suited her – even if it meant questioning his decisions – had the chafing under his shirt not grown steadily worse, and the flies' nagging nigh unbearable.
"We?" he repeated, and slapped the back of his neck over his filthy hair, dislodging the bloodsucker who had somehow gotten there. "We must go change into something clean and less…smelly, or we will be eaten alive before evening." He mellowed at the sight of her silent pleading. "I shall go fetch Pumpkin afterwards, if you wish."
At once, the beast miauled anew, yellow eyes squinting in challenge from the depths of the hole it had gotten itself into. Elladan could have sworn it was mocking him, and cast a baleful glare in return while Mehreen was not looking.
"See?" she turned to face him again, her small fingers bundled together in concern, "he's trapped up there, and can't get down on his own. I'll try to get to him. I've sometimes climbed the trees in my father's garden when no-one was looking…."
Trying to emulate her brothers, no doubt, but Elladan doubted the size of any tree that could fit inside four walls. At this rate, he would have to carry her – plus the weight of the mud caked between her dress and her shift – after she fell out of the oak and hurt herself, or stand here for Eru-knew-how long as she attempted to coax the tawny beast out in a battle of stubbornness.
"Fine," Elladan grunted. "I shall go. Just…stay here, will you?"
Trying to ignore how satisfying it was, to have her beam at him, Elladan grasped the nearest branch and hoisted himself up, finding grip inside the cracks caused by winter frost. Before Mehreen could gasp in wonder at his prowess, he had reached the cat in the hollow, extended a hand…which the beast hissed at, burrowing deeper into the hole.
"By Angainor," Elladan groused and seized it by its scruff.
He would not spend his afternoon trying to cajole the thing out; not while he offered a feast of their own to the insects swarming around him. Relinquishing his grip on the bough, he let himself fall to the sound of Pumpkin's caterwauling, landing by the foot of the oak while holding the cat against him. As the little demon sunk its claws into his chest in retaliation, Elladan grit his teeth, and disentangled himself with all the gentleness he could muster.
As he lowered Pumpkin to the ground, Mehreen ran up to caress it, crooning words of reassurance which, judging from Pumpkin's beastly equivalent of a smirk, were as pointless as a shoemaker in the Shire. Arching its spine to make the most of her petting, the cat regarded Elladan with haughty content before deeming it had had enough attention for the day and darted off without as much as a purr of thanks.
Ungrateful little goblin.
At least, Mehreen had deemed their good deed complete, and retraced her steps across the stretch of grass dappled by shadows of oaken leaves. Elladan followed, gingerly rubbing the scratches burning under his shirt and wondering what had possessed him to hearken to such a silly plea. Twice already had he put her comfort before his own, and now feared what else the day would bring.
They passed an opening between groves of beeches and lindens, the boughs of the latter encumbered with pea-like fruits growing against dainty, feather-like bracts that swirled as they fell. Between the green-grey trunks flashed the colorful fanions garlanding the fence which delineated the newly built archery range. It stood deserted at this hour, but would soon be surrounded by a crowd much larger than that of the tug-of-war.
"Is it true that women will be competing as well?" Mehreen softly inquired, craning her neck to catch a longer glimpse of the place.
Her voice was incredulous, wistful even, and Elladan guessed she would have much preferred to attend the archery contest than to watch a courtyard full of older women bent over their frames to the sound of grains of sand trickling through the neck. Even without her colorful plumage she would stand out in the crowd, with her flushed skin and her shining eyes, applauding with equal abandon whether the contestants hit the target or missed it.
Though the prospect of being pestered with questions for the remainder of the afternoon had suddenly lost its tediousness, it did not belong to Elladan to invite her to forfeit her promise to Ahlam.
"Of course." He reached out to scratch yet another itch behind his right ear. "Many a woman here wields a bow as well – and sometimes even better – than a man. Some have learnt from their fathers, or brothers, and others… under more dire circumstances. It does not mean they should forget such useful skills simply because of their gender. Do you not agree?"
Having received no reply, Elladan turned to look at her, only to see the same old fear cross her features. "Or are you still worried of offending me? As Mehreen's chin lurched downwards, he beseeched: "Do not be. You must have noticed that many of my staff are women. Would it not be a waste, then, to surround myself with the world's most competent healers, only to let the skirts they wear get into the way of my hearing when it comes to listening to what they have to say?"
"I…suppose so."
"Besides," Elladan grinned, "I am yet to see anyone manage to cow Saineth into silence, be it a man or no."
At the mention of Saineth's name, Mehreen brightened. "How is she? I haven't seen her since, well, that day."
"She is well, and so is her daughter." From the way her eyes widened in surprise, Elladan gathered no-one had bothered to tell her anything. "You did not know?" So much for making her feel welcome…. If anyone was to blame it was him, having forgotten to give Mehreen any news – if only the most harmless – about Saineth's wellbeing. "Her name is Melui, and Saineth insists she is the most perfect being of Eru's creations."
Mehreen mouthed the name in silence, a gentle smile spreading upon her lips. "Such insufferable vanity!" she then quipped, shaking her head in a pretense of scorn while watching him raptly for a reaction to her teasing from under long, dark lashes.
An artless coquetry; one Elladan would have deemed vain, or even garish, in any other woman but she. Instead, his heart filled with pride at having brought Mehreen to trust him enough to abandon her façade of primness and property. "I would not be surprised if she were right," he laughed, "as Saineth often is. In fact, I would not put it past her to disagree with Ilúvatar himself on the topic, should such a conversation ever come to happen."
"Have you seen them?"
"Seen whom?" Elladan baited her. "Saineth, or Eru Ilúvatar?"
"Saineth, of course," Mehreen snorted, and pushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear.
"Not yet," he replied, "and when and where – and whether – it happens is up to Saineth and Caelben. The bonding is a precious moment, and not to be rushed nor questioned. How long they wish for it to last is up to them."
Her pretty nose wrinkled in confusion. "The bonding?"
"Indeed. An elven custom taking place after birth. The parents retreat into a home of their own, ofttimes away from the rest of the settlement, to build the bond between them and their child, and strengthen the one between the two of them in the caring for their son or daughter. And though not one bonding is the same as another, it is commonly frowned upon to disturb it. It is tradition to send gifts for the family, however, to welcome the little one into the world."
"Oh! I'd like to send one, then. If you'd allow it."
The Great Hall loomed ahead, the whining of Elfgrim's fiddle wafted down the path, mingling with the buzzard's shrieks overhead and the squeaks of swallows nesting under the eaves. Mehreen's stomach rumbled at the scent of mead and food floating their way, and she covered her belly with both hands, unable to hide an embarrassed smile.
"There is nothing for me to allow," Elladan chuckled. "You are free to do as you please, and I have little doubt Saineth would be happy to receive something from you."
"Really? But," she stammered to herself, "there's not much I can give."
"Why not one of those bracelets you make? Saehild has given me hers, though I doubt she was alone in creating it." He pushed up his soiled sleeve to reveal the present the girl had given him, some days past – a simple cord of wool that smelled of Mehreen as much as of Saehild, though he had not told her anything of it, accepting the gift and her flush of delight upon seeing him tie it around his wrist.
Mehreen's eyes widened at the revelation, a blush creeping up the curve of her graceful neck. "Oh, I only…it's nothing, really."
Elladan decided he hated that self-deprecating look in her eyes, the one that made her shrink and wither, as one wrings out a cloth by squeezing a fist over it. "It is hardly 'nothing' to Saehild. Nor to me," he declared vehemently.
She startled at his tone, her eyes flying to his; the same specks of light that had cavorted over the meadow now danced across her skin, drawing out its warm, golden hues. Elladan came nearer, stopping as close as propriety allowed, his hands itching with a brand-new sensation: the desire to cup her face and tilt it upwards, so that she never felt less than again.
"I may not be the blithest being around here," he murmured, "but trust me, I appreciate the gesture."
Except for Elrohir, she had come the closest to seeing what darkness Elladan was capable of. She should have run, should have come up with some platitude to excuse herself; he would have understood.
"Oh, I don't mind." Mehreen moved of her own accord, offering her face for his eyes to feast upon, and Elladan's breath hitched in his throat. "You not always being cheerful, I mean. I've seen enough false smiles for a lifetime."
