For an elf 100 years pass in the blink of an eye. Mistril got used to going on patrol every day and even helped Legolas with his training. In those 100 years the prince grew both in height and in skills. The bow became his favorite, as expected, and he started to join the guards whenever they had to go out.
Mistril learned a lot about wood elves as well. The Halls had a very complicated system and if she wasn't careful she could get lost. Although her room was so remote, she had the favor of occupying one of the few rooms in the Halls; it wasn't that remote either after she learned of the innermost cell and other places hidden in case of an attack.
After a while wood elves warmed up to her too and let her see their houses in the forest. They were spread all around either made on the trees or inside them. It was marvelous seeing such abodes and she wished she could live there too. Once Hinnorbes opened her door to the newcomer, many others followed mostly because Mistril seemed to be fit for the type of work that Miluinir strongly disliked: handy work. She could repair anything and she almost begged the king to let her work at the forgery.
"Why would I trust you near a fire based job? Last time you almost burned down my library and did burn important documents." he said coldly, looking at her with skepticism.
"But I talked to Miluinir's father and he said he will be watching me for the first few days."
"Miluinir's father is under my command, Mistril. If I deny you access, he will comply." he couldn't believe she was so persistent when she was a sheep, all yes sir no sir only 100 years ago.
"But I talked to Legolas and-"
"I am your king and I decide, not Legolas. Do not use your companionship with my son to gain favors."
"You're not my king." she hissed, regretting her words as soon as they came out but still not showing it.
"Then you may as well leave my kingdom, where my word is rule and your statement could send you to prison." he replied, visibly growing angry although his face was in the same scornful expression she found him in.
Mistril tried her hardest not to growl; instead, she hurried out of his sight and went out into the kingdom. She could understand why Faervel would run into the forest when he was angry because she wanted nothing else but to scream and punch something.
It was on a particularly interesting day of patrolling the grounds south when she decided she should ask Faervel her curiosities.
“There are many rumors concerning your warrior past.” She started walking by his side.
Faervel was a tall elf, comparable with Thranduil and Gweluven. They were also the oldest wood elves to live in Greenwood and they seemed to share a type of melancholy that was not coming from circumstances but from deep within. While all three of them had very different personalities and ways to deal with their emotional wounds, it did seem like at the end of the day, these three were always spending more time alone rather than blend in with the rest.
“I heard you fought alongside the king’s father. Oropher was his name, right? He led you to this place and because he gave you a safe life, you all followed him to battle against the enemy.”
She was speaking about a tragedy with a tone that sincerely pissed him off.
“You don’t know anything and they don’t either.”
“What about the story about you slaying hundreds of pests at Dagorlad with the sword that wounded you?” she asked without the slightest worry that he will get angry.
Faervel was almost sure who told her such stories so he wasn’t surprised she finally asked. She looked like a curious person, one without a filter which was exactly the kind of people he hated. Gweluven was the one that could answer in riddles and could shift the attention off important and sensible subjects. Faervel was a bold person and it was hard lying to her so he did the opposite.
“And? What do you want me to say?”
“Dagorlad.” She said, her eyes staring at him with more than just curiosity, “I want to know about Dagorlad.”
Faervel took a long look at the woman in front of him. She stopped and waited for her superior to give her the information she wanted.
“Dagorlad is a grand, treeless, open plain between the Emyn Muil and Cirith Gorgor.” He answered.
Mistril was expecting more but Faervel didn’t give any details about the battle he fought in or its repercussions. He walked forward and continued to keep a few feet distance from her just in case she had other questions. From behind him, Mistril could see how he was different from Maerdor and Tudor; he had medium silver hair in the first place, and his eyes were icy blue. Dressed in his light armor, with his back straight and the tight atmosphere around him, Faervel felt like a frozen river.
On the other side, Gweluven was the definition of warmth yet Mistril always felt this apathy towards strangers oozing off him. Gweluven was incredibly loyal, to the point he’d lay down his life in front of Thranduil but to those outside Greenwood –elves or not- he kept a wall. ‘No sympathy for those who are not our own’ that was a way of simplifying his character.
Walking down the halls towards her room, Mistril thought about Dagorlad. She could ask Gweluven about it, or if she felt brave enough even Thranduil, but it wasn’t the same. Faervel was a warrior through and through and could give her details that could explain why she felt like she knew that place.
Someone was following her, lurking in the shadows ready to attack. When that happened she didn’t flinch but turned to look her perpetratror in the eye.
“You asked Faervel about Dagorlad?” Tudor asked, showing himself. “Are you out of your mind?” he asked although his tone was leaning more towards amusement rather than surprise.
“I can’t remember a great deal of what happened in the last years. I cannot even remember my own childhood so of course, I want to know.” She explained. “If Faervel won’t tell me then maybe I should ask king Thranduil.”
Tudor’s eyes widened, those grey eyes looking at her with amazement.
“Why not ask me or Maerdor? We fought at Dagorlad too.”
“Really?” she asked eyeing the archer suspiciously. “How old are you anyway?”
“Old enough! Just because I look young doesn’t mean I am you should know that better than anyone.” Tudor said narrowing his eye at the woman in front of him. He had noticed how she had this way of looking down at the elves that held no high ranking. Maybe he was mistaken but those green eyes were so cold and distant at times.
“Fine then. Tell me.”
“It was horrible. I fought for King Oropher but we weren’t the only army; the Last Alliance between Men and Elves, that’s how it remained known in history. I will never forget those moments when I thought death to be the only way we would leave those grounds.” He stopped and frowned, memories coming back to him. “The Enemy was strong and patient. I was with the archers and to be sincere, we were in a safer position than the others. Our commander died in battle, as did many warriors.”
“What happened to the enemy?” she asked.
“He came out from his fortress, eventually. The Black Gate opened and this dark creature walked out, his power greater than anything we have seen before.” He shuddered, “There were many vicious creatures that followed him. They had their heads covered by black helmets but I heard their black eyes were glinting with malice.”
“You heard? Weren’t you there?”
“I wasn’t in the front lane. My main problems were orcs and men of wild nature. Maerdor was there, fighting alongside Faervel. He saw something that scared him on that last night. Faervel too.”
There was a long pause in which Mistril waited patiently for the archer to tell her details about this fearful beast. Tudor was looking ahead, remembering the sight he had watched long ago.
“What?” she asked seeing how Tudor didn’t have any intention to continue by himself.
“I don’t want to know. I prefer to think Sauron was the worst darkness could create.”
“Tudor,”
Once Mistril left for her room, the archer was called by his king.
“My lord,” He bowed and then he realized one small detail, “How long have you been here for?” Tudor asked seeing how Thranduil could have been there all the time, listening to his and Mistril’s conversation. From his expression alone it was hard to figure out.
"What did she ask you?" Thranduil asked approaching the archer as if he was floating under that long robe.
"She's curious about the war but that it is to be understood since she cannot remember it." Tudor answered, finding himself defend Mistril.
"And what did you tell her?"
Tudor caught the glint in Thranduil's eyes and realized quickly that his king was very involved into Mistril’s life.
"I told her what I saw and how it felt. It was only my point of view over a tragedy that we moved on from." Tudor replied in the same manner he would have talked to Faervel.
"How did she react?" Thranduil pestered, his face never changing and tone never letting out what was indeed in his mind.
"Normally. Was she supposed to react in a certain way?" The archer asked eyeing his king suspiciously.
But Thranduil didn't answer. He left swiftly on the same way as Mistril, his steps heavy as if he was going into a battle. Tudor sighed as he watched his king act oddly for the first time in a while. Mistril was a bundle of curiosity but her interests lied only in the subject of battle.444Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡXH1xYw4kDr
