“My king,” Gweluven announced their arrival, walking up on a platform high above. There was nothing but columns and a throne that seemed to have sight over the halls. King Thranduil was sitting, one leg over the other, and his cold blue eyes scanning her from head to toe.
“A dead body was brought in and my best healers tended to it so, tell me, how come you are alive?” he asked, not even acting sympathetically.
“I don’t know what happened. I was dead, indeed, but then this light engulfed me and I woke up here,” she explained, frowning at the pain she felt before she woke up.
Thranduil narrowed his eyes and in one swift movement, he cast his long golden coat aside, baring his long legs before he descended the few stairs towards his throne and approached Mistril just enough to make her understand how much authority he held.
“And what is your name?” He asked, realizing she was almost as tall as him.
“Mistril, sir,” she answered, knowing she had to act properly in order not to return to the wilderness.
“And why were you found in my land, wounded by goblins nonetheless?” he continued, his tone polite yet there was a tinge of animosity. “Where did you come from?”
Mistril’s eyes widened as she figured there was no real reason for the king to keep her there. She had no answers for him and she could understand how odd and suspicious her situation was.
“You tell me you cannot recall anything from before you woke up here? Especially your fight with those foul creatures?” she nodded which made him angrier, “And why would I believe you?” Thranduil asked, taking one step closer. She was fidgeting which gave him a glimpse of her hands. He did not like what he saw.
“I do not mean any harm. I’m just-“she stopped when she realized whatever she was about to say was not going to change the king’s perspective.
It took the Elvenking a few more minutes to be sure she was not a threat. Thranduil circled her staring at her with interest and suspicion. Her eyes were like stone, he could not understand what she was thinking about. She was so guarded that it brought more questions to the king.
“How did I get here?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.
“My son took pity on you and brought you here.” The king answered, not once faltering from his suspicion.
“And where is he now? I’d like to express my gratitude to him.”
“What makes you believe that I will allow you to meet him? That I will allow you to stay?”
Mistril’s eyes sparkled in a way that made everyone near her remember that she returned from the dead, therefore the Valar clearly had other plans for her. But the reason was still mysterious. Thranduil could vaguely form a theory based on what he noticed on her wrists but he didn’t want to jump to wrong assumptions. Another reason to worry was her flickering light, which could only mean that her soul was restless.
“Until I decide what to do with you, you will have a guard at your side at all times. I trust Gweluven will make all the needed arrangements.”
It was quite clear he was incredibly paranoid and overprotective so Mistril nodded and kept her opinions to herself. Gweluven bowed to his king and with a subtle touch of her elbow, they retreated down the stairs, leaving a thoughtful elf king behind.
“What is the name of the prince?” Mistril asked when she was sure they walked a good while from the ears of the king.
“Legolas.” The healer responded with a soft smile. “The young prince will be of age soon. There will be a banquet tomorrow night in his name. There are songs written about him and his adventures in the woods. He seems to love nature and the feeling is mutual.”
“I wish I could remember how that felt,” she started, making the healer turn to her with a confused expression, “I feel like nature doesn’t like me much. I was out there for days as you said. Who knows what happened in that time to my body.”
“If that was true, you wouldn’t be here.”
It wasn’t long before Mistril met the prince. He was very excited to see her walk and breathe and he was waiting in the room she woke up in. His eyes widened at the sight of her figure and joy flew from the depth of his heart.
“I knew you were alive!” he exclaimed.
Mistril smiled widely, her eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of this young elf. He was quite tall compared to what she imagined but she could see it in his eyes, he was still so pure, so young.
“I’ll always be in your debt, prince Legolas.” She said as she bowed to him, “Thank you for saving my life.”
Legolas blushed faintly, not ready to see her so lively now that she was awake. She looked tortured while unconscious but now, she seemed so well. There was some type of nostalgia around her, but at least she wasn’t in pain anymore.
“My name is Mistril,” she introduced herself, knowing the prince must have been curious about it. She saw many more questions zoom through them yet he wasn’t in any hurry.
“Will you be staying with us for a while? I’d be more than pleased to have you at the banquet tomorrow.”
“I’d love to but will that be alright?” she asked turning to Gweluven.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she asked for his approval.
“Of course it will! It’s my birthday after all! I decide who comes,” Legolas answered sassily.
“That isn’t exactly how it goes but you do have a word in the guest list.” Gweluven interfered since the teenager was growing a bit commanding. “I’m afraid Mistril needs more rest if she wants to attend the banquet tomorrow.”
“Sure, sure. See you around, Mistril!” Legolas said with a wide smile as he waved the two goodbyes. Mistril waved right back, confused how someone could be so bright both in personality and in spirits.
Gweluven led Mistril to her room, one that couldn’t have been deeper into the kingdom even if they tried. Her keen eyes noticed that if she were to move more towards the left side, she’d probably be going down to the cellars; she could feel cold air brush her hand from that side. But Gweluven led her to the right, where a room was prepared for the guest.
“We arranged this room because you will need a healer to watch over you as your condition evolves. Miluinir will check on you every day since we would like to keep you well and comfortable.” Gweluven explained seeing her measuring how far she was from the rest.
Mistril frowned at how the healer could read her expressions so easily.
“I will have someone bring you a second dress and maybe you will find her presence more comfortable than mine.”
“I find your presence soothing,” she said quickly, not wanting the healer to get the wrong impression. Gweluven smiled softly and nodded before he left Mistril get used to her room.
The room proved to be more than Mistril expected. She might have lived through worst because the simple sight of a clean bed and a window were more than enough. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she saw a dresser as tall as her and a mirror in the corner next to the window. Growing curious of the sight beyond the four walls, she rose and approached the window. Mistril smiled at the view over the forest. It was not the greatest and it was not towards the way she came from but it made her happy.
“My lady,” a soft voice came from the doorway.
Mistril turned her head, her short orange hair uncovering her green eyes as she looked upon the elf.
“Your robes,” The newcomer said as she walked in and placed them carefully on the bed.
“What’s your name, if I may?” asked Mistril walking to the elf with curiosity. She wanted to know more about the wood elves and their kingdom.
“Edenith. I am a musician at the court.” She explained, her soft voice making Mistril wonder if she wasn’t maybe afraid of her.
“I’m Mistril.”
“I know. Everybody does, we saw you when you were brought in and then sent to meet the king. Do not worry, we don’t believe you are here with vile intentions but most of us are curious.” Edenith explained blushing when Mistril came right in front of her.
The truth was that Mistril was imposing from both afar and near. Edenith was a short and fragile elleth, with the elegance and construction of a person whose life revolved around the court. Compared to her, Mistril was rough around the edges, maybe as tall as Gweluven and even in a dress anyone could see her body was bulkier than a musician’s. It was clear for Edenith that the elf in front of her was not one to play songs and write poems but one to run and fight.
“I’m not here to bring anything. I’m not even sure how I got into the forest.” Mistril started, placing a warm hand on Edenith’s shoulder. The musician froze at the contact and not because it was a strong grasp but because her grey eyes noticed the rune on Mistril’s wrist.
“I believe it’s time I take my leave. I will come back again later or if you will be too tired, tomorrow morning.” Edenith said and excused herself swiftly, almost running out of the room.
Mistril watched the elf hurry out with eerie. Something about her seemed to make the others wary and she did not enjoy it. Elves were supposed to help each other and probably that was the main reason King Thranduil didn’t kick her out yet.
Those thoughts played with her mind for the whole night. Once she fell asleep, she had dreams that were so messy she couldn’t extract much from them. And there were other images, snippets of darkness she had not wanted to see. There were orcs, many of them, and there was a fire. She could hear people shouting in pain and fear while running from the enemy. She turned her head and in that mess she saw an elfling with long red hair and bright blue eyes. They looked at each other, the young one looking scared yet content. And then a sword came through her chest, killing her instantly. Mistril couldn't do anything but cry out.
"No! No you can't! No!"
"Lady Mistril, please wake up. It's just a dream!" She heard Gweluven's voice and opened her eyes. "It was a nightmare."
"No, it was real. It was real." She said, looking at the healer with worry in her eyes. "I witnessed it. It must have happened because it pierced my soul."
Gweluven sighed and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She was so helpless at that point that she grabbed his arm and held it tightly. Gweluven only watched and let her do whatever she wanted.
"Can you tell me what the dream was about?" He asked, knowing from her eyes that she will tell him.
"An elfling was killed and I just stood there watching. It was war."
"War? What war do you speak of?" Gweluven asked growing curious about her age and experience.
"..” She looked down, confused about what she should answer since it was all very foggy in her mind anyway. “Were there many wars in the last age?” She whispered.
“How old are you, Mistril? What is the last thing you remember witnessing?” Gweluven asked seeing how it definitely affected her in some way. “Do you perhaps remember Morgoth?”
A shudder went down her spine but her reaction was not enough to give him an idea of her past so Gweluven tried a more recent name.
“Then, maybe Sauron?”
Mistril’s eyes widened and she flinched as voices started to mess with her head, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hear anything else. Gweluven placed a comforting hand on her back and waited but she did not utter another word.
Gweluven has lived for a long time and he wanted to believe he was a good judge of character. When he saw Mistril in the healing rooms, awake and confused, he knew that she must have gone through a lot. However, with every piece of information unveiled, he couldn’t help but feel suspicious. That was the main reason why he went to see his king in his office.
“May I enter, sir?” Gweluven asked after a soft knock. He heard a grunt and took it as a sign to go in.
Thranduil was looking over a trading map when his healer approached him.
“What is it Gweluven?”
“It’s about our guest, lady Mistril. She had a nightmare,"
“And why is the nightmare of an elleth my concern?” Thranduil asked, not once glancing at Gweluven.
“I do not think it was just a nightmare. I think it was a memory that surfaced during sleep. Her subconscious is trying to regain hold of her past and the only time when it is strong enough is when she is asleep.” Gweluven explained, “It is still unclear but she had seen battles and war,”
“Why does it matter? Many elves have seen war, some more than others," asked the king, finally looking up at his healer.
“I tried to estimate her age based on what she remembers and I believe she was born sometime at the end of the Second Age. She didn’t know who Morgoth was but she had a strong reaction when I mentioned Sauron." Gweluven added with a frown. "And my lord, she sleeps with her eyes closed."
King Thranduil was intrigued, which was not an emotion he felt often. He was also suspicious of what Mistril has done up to this point and whom she met in her travels. He did not want any trouble in his kingdom just because an elf stumbled in.
"What else?" He ordered.
"Nothing. She will probably have more nightmares and our image of her past will come in sight." The healer said before he looked towards the path to her room. "Maybe you should give her something to do, my king. She is healthy and we can use her services as a token of thankfulness."
"Work?" Mistril asked once Gweluven asked for her in his office. "I am not sure what I am good at."
"What about music?"
Edenith gave Mistril a harp but the sound was noise not music. They tried several more instruments but it was very bad, although Mistril did enjoy making the others run or screech at the sound.
“Alright, maybe music is a bit of a stretch for someone who obviously has rough hands. What about healing? I can teach you some things that will also help in the future.” Miluinir said as they made their way to the healing rooms.
But Mistril knew just the basics and nothing more could be done. Every time there was a patient with a broken bone or just light wounds, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.
And there were many more things they tried but Mistril was not good at housework or politics. She almost set Faervel’s documents on fire, a first meeting with the head of the army that she did not want to repeat.
"I'm bad at everything." She moaned falling on her back.
Legolas caught sight of her a bit after she started searching for her talent and he couldn't lie; she was really bad at everything.
"Come to my arching lesson and maybe you'll learn how to handle a bow and arrow. Who knows, maybe you have a keen eye!" Legolas encouraged her. "Come on! I'm sure Tudor will be pleased to meet you! Besides, how bad can you be at throwing some arrows into trees and training dolls? Nobody will get hurt.” he hoped so.
In the end, Legolas had to pull Mistril up and half drag her to the woods. Once she stepped in the wilderness she felt a recharge, the fresh air cleared her head of trouble. Having so many voices sing in perfect harmony, Mistril closed her eyes and let herself dance along. She didn't see or expect the flying arrow coming her way but she heard it from the moment it was pulled out. Mistril caught it with ease before she opened her eyes and met an elf slightly shorter than her but with eyes that were staring into her soul.
"Very well newcomer. Quick reflexes save lives." Tudor explained seemingly pleased by her luck.
"Mistril, this is our army’s best archer, Tudor. He fought in many battles with my father."
"Not that many..." he mumbled, scratching his ear. “But I do know one or two things. So you are the elleth that angered Faervel? I heard he needed to go out into the forest for a few hours in order to calm down. Those were important files about our people." The archer added bemusedly.
“Yes, that’s me,” she replied visibly uncomfortable.
