Music was still filling 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 man 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. "Not quite your place inside, is it?"
"Do I seem that tortured?" 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?"
"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 slayed 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? Did you drink too much or ate too much?" 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 sooth her by patting her back but the feeling of disgust was making 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 healers quarter.
"Maerdor, why so worried?" The healer asked calmly finding the warrior pace 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 kingdom 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 were. 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 she turned her hands so they wouldn't jump to the eye. 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, curiousity getting the best of him.
Mistril thought carefully how to respond as she traced her left wrist. In truth, the marks were fain and she could hide them if she tried but Edenith caught sight of them once and she knew they existed now.
"The meaning of these..." she sighed heavily. "I was hoping you could tell 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.
"I'm not as good with a sword as with a bow." He said on the way into the forest.
"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 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 when 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.
"It makes me look bad." Legolas replied but had to add more for the elleth to understand. "It 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 are majestic. Their glint can bring people hope." 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."
"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 seemed to side with 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 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 but Gweluven did not seem happy.
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