Hello everyone! Just a quick note regarding the upcoming updates: I'll be travelling for the next two weeks, so there's a small chance I won't be able to publish the chapters as regularly as usual (though I'm a creature of habit, so I'll definitely try). In case I really can't manage, then you'll be getting a nice package of chapters to read upon my return :)

Lucy: Pumpkin the involuntary matchmaker ;) As smug about it as only a cat can be.

Chapter 32

August 14th, TA 3020

"My Lord Elladan, I trust you know why I am here."

Fighting the urge to lean back in his seat, away from the forcefulness of Taniel's stare, Elladan nodded. After all, it was he who had bid her come see him, having been left little choice by Legolas in the matter – a blunt approach far away from Saineth's kind-hearted nagging.

"You are here because you know I am determined to choose an apprentice before the year is out."

"Yes, my Lord."

There was no denying her motivation. Taniel's eyes sparkled at the prospect, as though his choice was already made, and Elladan took no time in disabusing her. "What I wish to know in return, however, is your reasons for coveting this position. Before we begin, know that I have already spoken to Annahad this very morning, and shall do so with Bruiven as well."

Taniel's brows knitted ever so slightly as she hid her disappointment in a manner no doubt learnt from Redhriel. "My Lord, should you choose me, I shall not give you reason to regret it."

Elladan could not help but grin. "How curious. Annahad said so as well."

Saineth would have called him cruel for teasing the young woman so. Easy for her to say; she was not the one saddled with the obligation of choosing an apprentice for the centuries to come amongst three people who, so far, all seemed unsuitable for the role, albeit for very different reasons.

"Oh." Taniel's shoulders sagged before she pulled herself together once more and stole a glance at the clipboard she was clutching against her chest. "My Lord, you have seen me work. I am efficient, organized and a fast learner." Another glance – evidently, Taniel's learning heavily relied on her notes. "I will do my very best to make you proud…I mean, I will make you proud. My Lord."

There had not been a word of exaggeration in her plea, but Elladan could not help but regret its dryness. To her credit, Taniel had approached Elladan at a time where he was able to actually listen, instead of Annahad's feverish advocacy, delivered in between their morning rounds. The boy had courage, Elladan must grant him that; more so, perhaps, than any other apprentice he had ever met. Yet courage did not make a good healer, no more than strength alone made a warrior.

Purpose drove a hand, be it to help another or to kill him; a hunger for something beyond the pretense of saving lives. Only a strong sense of purpose could overcome the darkest moments, when one came to understand there was no end to the suffering of this world; when illusions shattered and the brightness of hope withered into a trembling spark.

Saineth would have called him a pessimist, but then again, she had not seen what Elladan had.

Purpose was what Annahad yet lacked; all that remained was to see what Taniel was made of. Elladan leaned forward to steeple his fingers in front of him. "What makes you think this is what I want? For you to make me proud?"

Parting her lips in surprise, Taniel all but gasped: "Surely, my Lord, a healer of your reputation can only strive to train the best, and see them accomplish great things?"

"Hmm. And what if what I taught you was not to your liking?" Giving in to his initial impulse, Elladan reclined in his seat; his gaze fell upon his copy of the 'Guide to Hemocraft'. "What is your opinion on bloodletting?"

"On bloodletting?" Taniel flushed, scanning the pages pinned to her board for answers they could not hold, and Elladan all but pitied her.

Yet, it was not he who had forced her hand in applying; Redhriel was to blame for that, believing her niece to be as resilient as herself. The same thirst for success drove them both, but where Redhriel had learnt to harness it, Taniel yet struggled and, while she was as efficient as she claimed, and undoubtedly possessed the sharp mind the art of healing required, Elladan was not entirely certain she had the heart for it as well.

"Let us imagine I told you that there is good in the old ways, and that bloodletting is a remedy that has wrongly been cast aside." He patted the leather cover with the familiarity of an old friend. "What would you say?"

In truth, the book was almost as bad as Lahtaro's. Had Elladan not known for a fact that the Fëanorians had gone extinct – save for one last living representative, who was quietly whiling his eternity away on the Harlindon coast under Círdan's watchful eye – he could have believed the 'Guide' to be an outlet for their bloodlust. As it were, Tinwendil must have overindulged on wine when writing it, mixing fact with fiction into a result that one may only call of dubious scientific interest. Knowing for certain that Taniel had read it as well, Elladan expected her reply with only half-feigned curiosity.

Would she stand up for her opinion?

"That would depend on the state of the patient, my Lord. Since you yourself have once said that if our patient was too ill to use his or her energy for healing, we must first treat them using other remedies available." Her confidence regained, Taniel recited her notes without another hesitation. "If bloodletting was one of such methods, I would try to learn more about the use you made of it."

Smart.

Elladan smiled, impressed despite himself. Taniel had managed to avoid the trap while managing not to reveal her thoughts on the matter and, while her motivation seemed weaker than Annahad's, her intelligence made up for it. Her mettle remained untested, but perhaps had Elladan been too ambitious in measuring it in the span of an afternoon.

The afternoon!

Glancing out the window, where the sun was slowly but steadily sinking towards the trees that bordered the opposite bank of the Anduin, Elladan all but cursed.

He was late.

"An interesting approach, though my greatest hope is that we never have to resort to such…extreme methods," he conceded, acknowledging the cleverness of Taniel's answer. "And an interesting conversation it was, to which I have nothing to add but a thank you for your time. You may return to your duties, Taniel."

And I, to mine.

Pushing the 'Guide' back under a pile of parchments without bothering to hide his disdain, Elladan contemplated sending it to Maglor as a gift, before chastising himself for his pettiness. He rose to his feet, eager to stretch his legs, only noticing Taniel milling in the doorway as he, too, made his way towards the exit of the study.

"Is that all, my Lord?" she asked uncertainly. "Have I…passed?"

The uncertainty that lingered behind her façade reminded him of Redhriel once more. How much of Taniel's drive did she owe to her aunt's insistence, Elladan suddenly wondered, and how much of it was herself?

He quirked an eyebrow instead. "What would you do if you did not?"

"I…do not know," Taniel admitted, a hint of apprehension creeping into her voice as she toyed with the edge of a sheet upon her board, curling it around a finger. "I never thought it could happen."

That, at least, was as genuine an answer as Elladan was likely to get.

"If you remember your notes, as I am certain you do," he said with as much kindness as he could muster, "when it comes to healing, proceeding with excessive haste can only lead to grief. Such is also my opinion on choosing my apprentice, but know that as of now, nothing is set in stone." He smiled as Taniel nodded, relieved. "I am quite hoping that one of you may yet surprise me."

oOoOoOo

Had Elladan been willing to take a wager – which he was not, considering how the last one had gone – he would have bet that Legolas had only half-expected him to comply with the sentence, and that his friend would have wagered in return on Elladan dragging the chore out for the decades to come, so that the old wooden planks of the pavilion would have time to rot into nothing, thus solving the problem in his stead.

Yet here he was, strolling towards what had once been a small orchard of apple trees and sour cherries with a bounce to his step that had not been there before, looking forward to spending an hour or two in the fresh air and relative sunshine of the grove.

That, and the pleasure of Mehreen's company.

Another strange thing – he had come to look forward to her presence, her gentle wit and almost child-like naivety which disguised a dowry of sorrow and as many secrets, superposing like the veils she had insisted in wearing upon her arrival. A few months past, Elladan had as much expected her to relinquish her prudishness as he had thought it likely for her to retain her position inside the Houses; yet Mehreen had ingrained herself into its nooks and shadows, the outline of her silhouette busying itself with her tasks as familiar a sight as the oak that grew in the courtyard. Each time Elladan walked past the Women's Ward, he found himself turning his head, expecting to see Mehreen sitting by the edge of Saehild's bed, their excited, cheerful voices wafting down the corridor.

And if she remained too cautious around him for his liking, her veil was long since gone.

A good thing, that, Elladan mused as he stepped into the small clearing in the middle of which stood the pavilion, and stopped to take in the scene.

Mehreen was leaning over the peeling baluster, her feet upon the bottom rail and an arm wound around one of the posts for balance as she stretched and strived upwards on tiptoes, trying to reach a bough of vine that hung from the fretted roof. A frown of concentration creased her forehead, lips parted as her chest rose and fell with each deep breath imposed by her exertions. Elladan noted she had finally found the good sense to abandon the winter dresses she had worn until now in favor of a sleeveless kaftan of joyful pink, vanquished perhaps by the summer heat despite her southern origins; her tanned arms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves of her shift, a stark contrast to the white of cotton.

A string of harsh words – some Haradric curse, no doubt – escaped Mehreen's lips as her outstretched fingers brushed against the vine, only for the breeze to blow it out of her grasp.

Elladan smiled, tilting his head sideways, unwilling to startle her before she had the pesky plant well under control. Yet as the baluster creaked under the weight she leveraged against it in her efforts, he felt obligated to intervene, lest she got herself into yet another tricky situation. "There are taller people, around here, who can help you out, you know," he declared with a grin, opening his arms as if to demonstrate that he was, indeed, one of those.

Mehreen narrowed her eyes in mock suspicion. "I'd commend you on your timing, had I not suspected you of lurking around just to say that, instead of actually helping!" Elladan chuckled. How emboldened she had grown since their last encounter, how carefree! That alone was worth Legolas' punishment. "Besides, I've already done the rest," she added with a wave of her hand to her general surroundings, "so I should be able to manage."

Still, she clambered down, ignoring his proffered hand with a deep blush and a dip of her head while Elladan took her place, surprised by the sting of disappointment at her kindly rebuke. Taking it out on the vine, he seized the bough and jerked it downwards…only to hear a loud crack as the cupola piece tumbled down the roof and into the grass.

A loud snort reached Elladan's ears. Upon turning around, his hands still full of vine, he saw Mehreen with her hands pressed against her mouth, her eyes watering with a laughter she was trying to repress – and failing, as she gave in to her hilarity and doubled over, shaking and gasping.

"How glad I am for your help," she managed to croak out in between fits of giggles.

"Very funny."

Yet Elladan could not bring himself to scowl at her for teasing him. Tossing the weeds into the basket Mehreen had brought for that very purpose, he marched down the stairs to pick up the piece. The wood had rotten where the creeper had wound around it in its effort to establish dominance over the pavilion, and Elladan's tug had decapitated it as if it had been made of butter. He would have to petition Morion for help…and explain what had happened. Elladan grimaced, anticipating the younger elf's jests.

"It would have come off sooner or later," he said, extending the piece towards Mehreen to prove he was not entirely at fault.

She took it, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand to better study the evidence. "Perhaps we can glue it back?"

Trying to imagine Caelben's reaction to such a sloppy job, Elladan shook his head. "There are other ways to repair it, you know. We are, after all, in a woodland elves' realm and who, better than they, can do it?"

"Are you a woodland elf as well?"

Mehreen was watching him with curiosity, and it occurred to Elladan that just as he knew nothing of the peoples of the South, she was utterly ignorant of the differences existing within his race.

"I am a Ñoldo. Legolas, for instance, is half-Sinda – a woodland elf from Mirkwood, though his mother was of the Nandor." He had little desire to venture into the meanings of those names, where the fabled 'wisdom' of the Ñoldor was opposed to the 'primitive' ways of the latter, as still preached by some disdainful tongues who had learnt nothing from history regarding the pitfalls of pride. "It is complicated," he added in haste upon seeing Mehreen's curiosity replaced by confusion, lest she believed she was trying to befuddle her on purpose. "Even for an elf. Trust me."

"Does it have something to do with the color of your hair?"

"The color…?" Elladan chuckled. "There is that, yes."

Purposefully ignoring the odd feeling in the pit of his stomach as Mehreen's gaze slid to the braids that kept his hair gathered in the back, Elladan decided to indulge her. Leaning his head to the side so as to easier sweep the black mass over his shoulder, he picked up a braid, as if demonstrating to a child. "Ñoldor have commonly dark hair, though there are known occurrences of red as well. Glorfindel, however, has golden locks, as bright as the hem of your dress."

She was staring at him with her mouth open – something that Elladan was used to, generally speaking. Not that he believed himself to be particularly handsome, unlike Glorfindel – him again! – whose arrival to Imladris had stirred quite the upheaval amidst the womenfolk of the Last Homely House. Yet many a mortal woman tended to find elves attractive, much like Mistress Meldis, who would have been hard-pressed to choose her favorite, should she ever be given the chance. It should have been an awkward moment, standing before Mehreen with his hair thus displayed, explaining something that would have been evident to anyone else; yet Elladan found it as natural as breathing. Mehreen's thirst for knowledge was refreshing rather than tedious, though he noted how her fingers twitched on the cupola piece she still clutched, yearning to touch it, and how blissfully unaware she was of the inappropriateness of such a gesture.

Had she known, she would have blushed a deeper crimson than before and, for an instant, Elladan was sorely tempted to tell her.

But then she would shy away in embarrassment, reverting to a shadow of her true self – something Elladan had no wish to see happen, if it meant to be robbed of that contagious joy of hers. He pushed his hair back so as to remove any further temptation – however innocent it may be – its familiar weight restored between his shoulder blades.

"And your braids…do they mean anything?"

Always with the questions.

"That is a lesson for another time."

Elladan grabbed the piece of wood from her hands and lobbed it into the basket.

"But," she protested at once, eyes following its curve, "shouldn't we keep it? If only to show Lord Legolas it was already broken?"

"Legolas does not care."

Pushing up his sleeves, Elladan set to inspect the state of the balusters, lest one finally gave out under Mehreen's weight as soon as he was no longer around and sent her toppling headfirst from the height of the deck.

"Easy for you to say," she mumbled in his back. "He won't be tempted to send you back home for such a blunder."

"Legolas will not send you back to Harad. Nor anywhere else, for that matter."

The statement had come out somewhat more assertive than intended, but the longer Elladan dwelt on his words, the more he meant them. He rose from his crouching position by one of the posts, where the railings had slid out of their holes – best disassemble it altogether, before Mehreen hurt herself – and came to face her beneath the vault formed by the rafters. Her dark waves had been sprinkled with splinters and dust that also clung to her lashes and this time, it was Elladan who almost raised a hand to brush them away.

"No-one is going to send you back."

"You don't know that."

Mehreen was wringing her hands in the very nervousness Elladan hoped she had learnt to put behind her. A simple gesture from his part could have stopped her – a gesture he had no right to make.

"I do. And I promise you that as long as you wish to remain in Bar-Lasbelin, I shall see to it that you can."

Her lips trembled. "I don't want to cause any further trouble."

"Worry not, then. I intend to remain the main source of trouble around here."

He was rewarded with a small, if quivering, smile. "I know it's selfish of me," Mehreen muttered, "to want to stay."

Elladan frowned. "How so?"

"If I stay here, I won't marry a man of my father's choosing and if I don't marry, then I won't fulfill my duty as a woman."

"Which is…?"

"To have children, of course."

Of course.

The roles had been inverted; this time it was Mehreen explaining something that appeared beyond evident to her, yet baffling to Elladan. Even Lahtaro, in his prejudice, would not have dared to reduce a woman to her womb, while such customs still ran strong in Harad, if Mehreen's translation was to be believed.

"Is that your wish?" Elladan blurted out, feeling an utter fool as soon as he had spoken. Not that it was any of his business whether Mehreen wished to have children or not.

It was not as though he would play any part in it.

She shrugged and turned away, ambling over to the baluster he had not yet managed to dismount to lean lightly against the railing. Elladan felt compelled to follow.

"It's part of what I want, yes, though I've never really thought about it," she said wistfully, echoing Taniel's words from earlier. "I've been taught my life had one purpose, you see, and only the one. That I would always belong to a man, be it my father or my husband. Before coming here, I'd never even known there could be an alternative, though I'm not yet certain that trying to make myself useful in a different way doesn't make me a horrible person, and the very kind of dissolute soul that Lalla Nafiyah had so often warned us about."

This Lalla Nafiyah must have not been very different from Eredwhen. No wonder Mehreen had arrived so unprepared, be it in mind or body.

"I realize," Elladan began, "that your current…occupation is very different from what expectations you could have had, but there is nothing demeaning about manual labor, and…."

"Oh, I know!" Mehreen cut him off. "I didn't mean to complain. It's not like I can someday become a healer, I know that. Nor to keep the ledgers in order – I've never mastered the art of numbers, they come out all backwards when I do it – nor even cook." Flushing at having been misunderstood, she appeared all the lovelier, her shyness forgotten in the excitement. "I used to hate what I do, but now I know I'm needed. And that my work, however simple, is appreciated. You've said it yourself, once: I hadn't built anything and here, I have the chance to do just that."

"I am glad to hear you have chosen to remember the nicest part of what I have said, that night," Elladan commented wryly, feeling ever more guilty for his behavior.

"Oh, but it wasn't the nicest part." Her blush deepened, much in the way Elladan had imagined, had he told her what touching his hair would mean. "I also remember you telling me I was good for more than childbearing."

Sweet Elbereth.

Had he really said that?

"I see I should also have warned you I am not skilled with words."

Best to be honest, for sooner or later Mehreen would find out as much, and be disappointed. It was a kindness he was doing her, Elladan persuaded himself; if he could undo his shirt and show her the darkness that lurked beneath, wound around his heart, he might have. Such a revelation required an undressing of another, more intimate nature, however; one he was not yet prepared to attempt.

"Oh, I think you are," Mehreen demurred while picking at the railing, peeling away strips of crumbly, dried-out paint. "Even if they're sometimes harsh, their meaning is true. All I know, is that they've given me courage when I most needed it."

Elladan blinked. How could she say such things so carelessly, without realizing what they did to him?

The sweetness of her scent filled the pavilion, reminding him of his childhood, and the apple tartlets he and Elrohir used to filch from the kitchens, much to Mormeril's displeasure. The cooked sugar, slightly burnt and thus acquiring double the guilty appeal, had rendered the pastries sickly-sweet and cloying, yet they had gorged themselves on it just the same.

Now it was Mehreen's words Elladan swallowed, with the same greed as a drowning man gulping down salt water.

"I hardly believe you have ever had need of my encouragement," he ground out, hoping against his better sense she would contradict him.

She shrugged. "Perhaps it was what I wanted, then. For someone to believe in me."

Jasmine, Elladan faintly thought, his mouth suddenly dry. That is what Mormeril had lacked to made her baking truly irresistible.