Music still filled the halls when Mistril decided she should take a break and go into the outer garden, which was one of the few open spaces. The moon was shining over the forest warmly as if it knew it was a special night. Trees were whispering to each other and wind was sending messages from one corner of the forest to the other. Most wood elves were inside the hall celebrating but some were doing the same in their own personal spaces. Song and laughter filled Greenwood and it made the elleth smile.
"It sounds beautiful, doesn’t it?"
Mistril spun around surprised somebody else followed her idea and walked out for fresh air. But she tensed when she didn't recognize the face.
"I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you sensed my presence." The ellon apologized.
"No, I guess I was expecting someone else. You're a warrior." She concluded by how the elf in front of her didn't seem to enjoy parties much and still had his knives hidden in his clothing. "Not quite your place inside, is it?"
"Do I seem that unhappy?" He asked jokingly but seeing how she was so serious he sighed. "I feel weary. We haven't had a battle in a while and even orcs have become foolish. I feel like this style of life does not suit me." He admitted easily in front of her.
"What is your name?" She asked, approaching him.
"Maerdor. I used to fight alongside my king before peace settled in. I am both happy and sour and even on this special night I cannot mimic joy." He said looking up at the moon with melancholy.
"I know peace is better than war. I'm not sure what I've gone through or if I had gone through anything at all but war brings so much pain and loss and-" she stopped, the eyes of the red headed elfling coming back into her mind. Mistril tried to continue but her heart was breaking at the thought.
"Who did you lose in war?" Maerdor asked seeing how she knew too much not to have felt it.
No! Father! Father, we have to- but everywhere she was looking, she could only see swords clashing against each other. It was gruesome. People she had known were slain while others were trying to survive and run. Spinning around she came to see another red haired elf but visibly older than the last one. He was putting up quite a fight but he didn't see it coming, didn't even blink before a huge orc decapitated him.
Mistril looked at her hands, blood covering them and most of her clothes. She felt sick to the stomach and without any preparation, she vomited.
"Are you alright? What’s wrong?" Maerdor asked the elleth once he saw her crouch and throw up.
It was really sudden. One moment they were talking and the next she looked to the side with a frown before she vomited.
He tried to soothe her by patting her back but the feeling of disgust made her feel even sicker.
Maerdor helped Mistril return to her room and then left her when she asked to be alone. The warrior nodded and complied but instead of returning to the party he went to the healer’s quarter.
"Maerdor, why so worried?" The healer asked calmly finding the warrior pacing in front of his room.
"It's lady Mistril. We were talking in the garden and then she felt sick. I helped her to her room and hoped I would find you on my way back."
Gweluven glanced at the corridor towards the back of the Halls where her room was. He wondered if maybe she remembered something again and if she took the concoction already.
"I'll take care of it." assured Gweluven with a gentle pat on Maerdor’s arm.
In the darkness of her room, Mistril was squirming in her own skin. She could see the two red haired elves die over and over again and the clash of weapons became so much more vivid in her ears.
Battles. She had seen battles before and they must have left a deep impression on her. Looking down at her hands, she too noticed how poignant the runes on her wrists have gotten. Placed next to each other they seemed to match into a word. Even weirder was how she knew what it meant and it didn't seem to faze her much.
A knock drew her attention away from the words and pulled down her sleeves, covering them from whoever was interrupting. The door opened and Gweluven entered looking at her intently.
"You seem to know every time I get sick."
"That's because we worry about you. It is not safe for an elf to go through such pain so many times in two days." He explained coming and sitting next to her.
"They're memories. I don't want to remember but they flood my mind at times."
"I know. You should drink the mixture Hinnorbes prepared and rest." Gweluven said, eyeing the woman attentively.
"I already did, hoping it would calm me for this party. It wasn't strong enough." She said, opening up in front of the healer once again. "I'm anxious that I will make a fool of myself in front of a whole kingdom, one by one."
"There is no need for you to feel anxious at all. Lean on Miluinir if you feel the need; he's by your side in order to ease your pain, no matter what form it takes." Gweluven advised her. "You looked happy dancing with the others at the banquet."
"That's- as long as they don't notice my marks, everything is fine." she muttered, finally giving away the real reason of her worries.
"Those marks on your wrists, I have seen them too. Is that what made Edenith wary of your presence?" Gweluven asked knowing she already gave an answer in the moment she mentioned them. "Do you know what they mean?" he added, curiosity getting the best of him.
Mistril thought carefully about how to respond as she fidgeted nervously. In truth, the marks were not easy to spot for someone who didn’t know or didn’t look particularly for them but Gweluven and Edenith already saw the marks and that was unnerving.
"The meaning of these..." she sighed heavily. “I was hoping you could tell me what they are and what they make of me."
"Rest," was Gweluven's answer before he left silently.
Next day Mistril woke up at the insistent knocking on her door. The reason was Legolas who was expecting her to come along to his swordsmanship training.
“Why aren’t you still sleeping? It was a long night,” she replied groggily, rubbing her eyes.
“And it’s going to be a long day, believe me.” He said, ready to drag her out of bed if needed.
Luckily, Mistril was fast in getting ready since she wasn’t the type to braid her hair or dress in complicated robes. She simply let her hair fall naturally and dressed more or less like a guard, in long tights and a long green tunic.
On the way to the training grounds, Legolas started to slow down and glance over his shoulder often.
“What’s wrong?”
"I'm not as good with a sword as with a bow." Legolas said on the way.
"You don't have to be good at everything. Concentrate on what you improve at fast." She said, having the vague idea that someone told her that before.
Surprisingly, the one teaching Legolas swordsmanship was Maerdor. He smiled at the sight of her healthy face and nodded in greeting.
"Good morning. Glad to see you well." The swordsman started before he turned to Legolas, his eyes getting serious. "Prince Legolas."
"He's always so formal." Legolas whispered not so silently to Mistril.
"That's because he's the prince." Maerdor teased him by doing the same. "So! Have you practiced, my lord?"
Legolas mumbled something under his breath on the line of too busy or not enough time for everything. Maerdor narrowed his eyes at him but let it slide.
Legolas and the sword were not very friendly to each other. It was from the moment he grasped the handle that Mistril noticed it was not the same as with the bow. He wasn't in control and he didn't want to be. The sword was harder to maneuver than pulling out an arrow and shooting it.
"Why don't you like fighting with a sword?" She asked when Maerdor decided they should take a break.
"I’m not quick on my feet and I get tired easily. There’s too much to think about when I fight with a sword," Legolas replied but had to add more for the elleth to understand, "It also makes me sweaty and it looks far from elegant and noble."
Maerdor coughed in the background but Legolas didn't seem eager to change his opinion.
"I believe swords can bring people hope. Think about it as if to dance. If you catch the rhythm, it will be easier and you won’t get tired at all," She said having a faint memory of a beautiful elfish sword sparkling in the sunlight.
"But they are troublesome to carry around and take a lot of space. I haven't seen anyone that could hide their sword from view." Legolas continued complaining.
"That can apply to the quiver and bow too." Maerdor interfered. "It's not the sword, my prince, but the one using it that makes a difference."
Legolas pouted and turned to Mistril for help in the argument but she took the side of the swordsman.
"Why don't you try, Mistril?" Legolas started, seeing how he might see something interesting.
Mistril seemed surprised but eager. She got up and went to Maerdor, her eye searching for a sword that would suit her. Most elfish swords are light and well done but none seemed to appeal to her. In the end she chose one of medium size and felt empowered for some reason. Just holding it was sending shivers up her back, as if she held the future of the world in her hands and nobody could harm her.
"Well?" Maerdor seemed just as eager seeing how she might actually know what she was doing.
Mistril turned to the warrior with newfound seriousness. Her eyes darkened a bit and her attitude changed. Legolas was watching closely and so was Gweluven but from another spot.
Mistril did not wait for Maerdor to attack but did so herself. Their swords clashed against each other before she spun around and kicked him behind his knee. Maerdor was surprised that she could kneel him so fast. Maybe he should take her seriously. And he did by attacking her, unleashing more strength than he originally intended. Mistril looked like she was dancing, swaying the sword as if it was a stick. She used her whole body not just her hands and she looked like she could go on forever without a sweat. Maerdor's eyes narrowed at her and he applied more force, trying to destabilize her but Mistril duck and swayed and blocked like a professional.
"You've done this before," he said when he had the chance to speak before their swords clashed again.
"I had seen better, I’m sure of that," she replied in a smug tone. With a quick spin she wrapped her legs around him and swiftly pulled him on the ground, blocking the hand holding the sword. "I win."
Legolas clapped as he ran towards the pair with new found desire to spare. Mistril gave him her sword, feeling proud of her little victory.
From his spot, just a few feet from the training grounds, Gweluven did not seem happy.
"I believe she fought in battles not just witnessed them. The way she moved was not one of a novice." Gweluven informed his king as soon as possible.
"Do you believe she is a threat?" Thranduil said coldly, seeing how it wasn't his choice in the first place but Legolas'. "My son likes her. I wouldn't like him to be in any type of danger."
"My king, her past may be dark and that darkness may still reside inside her, asleep for now. You had seen her wrists and she is aware they are not to be taken lightly. But she doesn't represent a threat and she seems to fight her own will by pushing her memories back." Gweluven continued, taking Mistril's side to his king's surprise. But the healer cared more for Legolas and the prince enjoyed spending time with the stranger.
"My lord, Gweluven," Faervel approached the two with a bow for Thranduil. "If I may, I have been informed by Maerdor that lady Mistril might like a bit of adventure. I'd like her to join the guards on their patrol." He said in his usual scornful expression. It was odd to see Faervel, the head of the woodland army, second in command to the Elvenking, sketch any expression but distrust and dislike.
"Let her go with Maerdor since they seem to have battled once. But have him report to me directly everything she says and does." Thranduil ordered before going down the corridor.
"Is that a good idea? What if goblins come down from the mountain?” Gweluven asked Faervel as they retreated.
"She is not a child, no matter how much you try to see her as one. She could be as old as me and you for all we know." The strict commander replied, going straight for his office near the library.
Thranduil was walking to Legolas' room when he saw the subject of their late distress stand on a bench looking at her hands. Her short orange hair was hard to miss and she wasn't exactly an elf he could avoid forever. She was a guest in his kingdom and he had to be sure she wasn't a threat but she didn't seem to be aware of the rumors about her situation.
"What are you doing?" He asked approaching her. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed how she particularly took care to hide her wrists. "You will be going on patrol from tomorrow onward. Faervel will inform you in the morning and you will take every round until I choose what to do with you."
"What about swords?" She asked looking up at him.
It was the second time Thranduil saw her so close and he could see his past in her green eyes. It was like all that loss and darkness were returning to him but also the good times with his father and the time he met his wife.
"King Thranduil, you're leaning in."
The glaze over his eyes vanished and he realized he did lean in too close to her. Their noses were almost touching and yet she didn't lean back or move her head to the side. Staring at her, he saw a quick flash of amusement cross her face and knew she was taunting him. Taking a step back, he remembered her question.
"What about swords?"
"I'd like to have one if I am to go on patrol. I need to protect myself," She said looking more excited than Thranduil expected.
"You will get whatever Faervel gives you."
He was ready to leave when Mistril rose and stepped towards him.
“Does that mean I can remain here? Can I start a new life in Greenwood?” she asked, hoping he will not surprise her in a negative way.
“You’re free to do as you choose,”
His answer made her smile just like she did during the banquet, her eyes sparkling with joy and light. Thranduil almost smiled too but stopped in time, grunted, and left.
The next day, right before the sunrise, the guards met in front of the gate so they could go outside. Mistril was not very happy, though. She got a set of dark leggings and a green tunic. That was all and it was really little compared to the others. Also, her weapon was...
"A dagger," She stated feeling suddenly like the king was looking down upon her skills.
"Two daggers," Faervel said placing another one in her hand. "They can be deadly if you use them well." He added without an ounce of sympathy.
Mistril glanced at her hands before she looked up at Faervel. He turned his back to her and walked to his partner. Farvel was incredibly muscular and had broad shoulders compared to other elves. While many warriors had softened up in time of peace, it looked like Faervel was naturally in a state of continuous battle. Thinking more about how imposing and respectful he was, his image blurred around the corners and Mistril could swear there was someone alike yet different in his place.
"Are you ready?" asked Maerdor dragging her from her dreamy state. "We will partner up and take the northern part."
"What are we waiting for?" She asked when she realized everybody gathered but nothing seemed to happen.
"The gates do not open unless the king decides so," Maerdor answered, arranging his tunic.
He looked a bit messy compared to the last two times she had seen him but it was not even dawn yet.
"Is he even awake? He seems like a late riser," she muttered to herself grumpily but just then the doors opened and the guards walked into the forest.
