"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 commander of the woodland army, 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 once again?" 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."
She made it sound so common.
"You will get whatever Faervel gives you."
But he sounded so vague.
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 Maerdor for example. While the melancholic warrior 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 already 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.
The forest of Greenwood was silent. Mistril had gone out several times but only around the kingdom, never outside the borders. Now, they were one step in and one out and the difference was felt in how nature was acting around them. It felt like nature was watching, not interfering but just watching. A breeze moved Mistril's hair softly and she closed her eyes, listening in for any type of sound coming from fauna or flora. What she heard was a person pulling out an arrow and firing it in her direction.
"Don't lose yourself into the sight. The enemy can be anywhere," was the friendly advice that followed.
That was not Maerdor but the archer Tudor. He waved at her with a lose smile before someone walked up behind him. It was an elleth with long brown hair and brown eyes and she was dressed the same as Mistril, only her clothes fit her better. Her eyes landed on Mistril and gave a quick nod as sign of acknowledgement before she pushed Tudor forward.
"That's Hathelwen. She's an archer too."
"She seems very strict."
"She's an angel compared to Faervel." Maerdor explained listening for any sign that the subject he spoke of was near. “I only heard stories from when he used to fight for King Oropher. It is said that he continued the fight at Dagorlad even after he got severely wounded. He denied aid from healers and killed hundreds of orcs with the blade that wounded him.” Maerdor added, his eyes widening at the scale of his own words.
"What happened at Dagorlad?" she asked innocently. Maerdor stopped and stared at her with an incredulous expression. "What?" she was genuinely confused and curious.
"The war happened. It was the greatest and most horrific set of battles that Middle Earth has ever seen. There were many casualties from both sides." Maerdor explained still finding it hard that she didn't know. "I know once it ended, elves from everywhere decided not to talk about it if possible but haven't you heard any stories about it before?"
"Even if I did, I can't remember."
Maerdor frowned before he opened his mouth and spoke words that he should have not.
"Consider yourself lucky." the tone of his voice was almost as if he was envying her condition, even though there was no need to.
"So the advice would be to keep my mouth shut in front of Faervel?" She changed the subject and the mood along with it.
“You cannot begin to imagine what lies behind Faervel’s calm façade.”
Nothing happened afterwards and time passed incredibly slowly during the first half of the day. Mistril leaned against the tree and listened. Except the other elves moving around and whispers here and there, nothing was out of ordinary.
By the time they returned, she was hungry and felt like sparing with somebody just for the fun of moving around. Her muscles were numb and her eyes felt sore but everything else was fine and no memory surfaced for the next few weeks. It was as if she finally settled in this new environment and having Miluinir close to her side made her loosen up.
"Are you enjoying the life of a guard?" he asked while they were in the library on one of the days the king trusted they wouldn't set anything on fire.
"It's boring but that's better than being attacked." she said, partially hoping a battle will ensue at some point.
"What about archery? Have you gotten on Legolas' level yet?"
"No," she replied right away, "I need 150 more years to get to that level when I can also move while holding a bow and arrow. I'm afraid I'll hit somebody if I do as much as breathe." she added, self aware of how much of a beginner she was. "My hands tremble a lot."
"I noticed. Even when we were trying to coerce you into being a healer, or a helper, your hands would start trembling worse than the patient. Does it happen when you go on patrol as well?"
"No. But sometimes Tudor finds it amusing to scare me by firing arrows at my body."
Miluinir frowned which brought a content smile on her face. He was worried for her safety and it looked genuine besides, the concoction given to her by Hinnorbes seemed to diminish the constant state of anxiety she felt and life became quite joyful.
"I'll inform her of your trembling hands and she will prepare something for that too. Hinnorbes is exceptional at chemistry."
"She looks like she would make a wonderful mother."
"Of course she does! Her son is as tall as I am and he is only 100 years older than Legolas." Miluinir explained laughing at her shocked face. "We're the same age but I never married. I like being a wondrous elf."
"Have you ever been outside Greenwood?" Mistril asked eyeing him suspiciously. He seemed to know nothing but the forest he grew up in.
"Yes, of course! I've been to Esgaroth!" he said proudly which made the elleth scoff. "It's enough for me! The world is wide and beautiful but it's also dangerous for an elf like me. I'm a healer not a warrior." he added, pulling his precious hands close to his chest lovingly.
"Can you hold a sword?" she asked bemusedly which only made the healer glare at her in offence.
"Of course I can! My father is a craftsman. He works down at the store with my brothers."
"I guess you were the rebel that decided he is far too delicate for such hard work." that was a statement not a question and it sounded even worse in Miluinir's ears.
"My hands heal while theirs create and forge weapons, among other things. I prefer to save people rather than make the mean of their death." Miluinir explained, having a valid point that impressed Mistril, especially because she could see passion in his eyes.
"I wish I could remember my family. That's the only memory I want." she mumbled feeling like she just damped the mood but Miluinir wrapped an arm around her should and patted her in a friendly way.
"You have all the time in the world. The king seems to have decided you are safe and you can live here for as long as the Valar wants."
That would have been nice, they both thought, but the king had moods and he had advisers, Gweluven and Faervel among that very limited group. But Miluinir succeeded in sending her off to her patrolling duties with a positive attitude, which was not fit for Maerdor, who liked her better when she was brooding.
"Maerdor, what's around Greenwood?" she suddenly asked, jumping into a tree for a better view.
"It stretches from the foothills of the Grey Mountains in the north to the North Undeep in the south, and from the east edge of the vale of Anduin to Erebor.” He replied playing with one of Mistril’s daggers.
"Where did I come from?" She asked receiving a curious glance. "What direction did I come from? Where was I found?"
"From what I heard, you most certainly came from the Misty Mountains and if I were to guess, you were probably going to Esgaroth. Goblins found you and didn't think much what to do with you." He said nonchalantly.
"Do you think that maybe I was their prisoner?"
"I don't know and I can't say. But if you knew how to fight then maybe you did escape." Maerdor said not convinced of his own words.
"I wish I could remember bits but everything is so blurry."
"What can you remember?" Maerdor asked moving closer to the tree she was in.
"War. Red haired elves dying. Fear and panic and...orcs."
"Usually orcs do come with fear and panic." Maerdor commented almost getting hit by another dagger. He raised an eyebrow surprised at how precise she threw it. "Try now and think about it. What do you see?"
Mistril closed her eyes and listened to the wind. He was soothing her with songs by flowers and leaves but there, in the very back, she could hear screams. They were horrible, very low in tone and among them there were swears spoken in many languages. If she were to try even harder, she could hear a soft voice, telling her that everything will be alright, but if she were to be sicnere, that was probably her own desire.
"Nothing much," She replied before she jumped next to him. "You said it yourself, lucky I am for not remembering the pain."
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