Chapter 6: Chapter 6

It was the middle of summer and although the sun was shining brightly over the forest, some nights were quite breezy. Such was this particular time when it started to rain heavily around noon and it continued the rest of the day. The Halls were especially cold, even with every hearth lit up.

Mistril was in the library, reading with her feet as close as possible to the crackling fire inside the hearth. Her eyes were shining in the light as a content smile contoured her face. She found a romance novel written by a famous author from Gondolin, long dead and probably forgotten by the youth. Mistril, too, had almost forgotten about the elvish stories that her sister Lirneth loved to read and then recount them to her older sister.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself,”

The distant yet polite tone was unmistakable. Thranduil approached the space that Mistril arranged for herself –which was just an armchair brought from who-knows-where and placed in front of the hearth with a wood hassock nearby, full of books and war documents. The latter made the king raise an eyebrow since he still didn’t know much of her past and her intentions in his land.

“I am only reading, nothing else,” she responded, already having sensed his suspicion. “Those documents are about the Last Alliance and the battles that followed.”

“Why are you interested in those events? What are you searching for?”

Mistril couldn’t help but chuckle and put aside her novel. She looked up at him and she paused, surprised by how royal he looked. No, even more than that, he looked so flamboyant and modest at the same time. His hair fell slightly on his face since he was looking down at her, his robes were of a dark blue color but not as impressive as the ones he usually wears during daytime or important meetings. But the way he was looking at her, the firelight bringing a bit of warmth to his usual cold eyes, all these elements made Mistril forget about her sassy comment and quickly turn her head towards the hearth. She was aware that her heart just skipped a beat and unfortunately it was not related to her usual condition.

Thranduil stood there like a statue, patiently waiting for her response. He noticed the sudden change in her mind, it was visible all over her face and her attitude, so he was curious about what she was about to say.

“As you well know, I have vague memories about my past and some of them are related to one of those battles, or maybe several battles. Something happened at Dagorlad, something more than what is related to Sauron.” She said, shuddering as the name rolled out her tongue. “I know you believe me to be a spy or some sort of dark omen and I honestly don’t know if that’s right or not. But I want to find out. I want to know if I am indeed a danger to you and the rest of the elves,” she finished, not once looking at him.

“What do you remember?” Thranduil asked, surprising her with his more docile tone. Mistril glanced at him with amusement.

“Not much. I remember there was a battle where many elves died, but it was long before Dagorlad. I was young back then, my hair was long and red just like my siblings. An elfling was killed in front of me, and I believe that was my sister. An orc cut the head of one of my older brothers and to be honest, I do hope the rest of my family survived. I hope they are safe in Valinor.”

When talking about her family, it was odd because there was genuine sadness but at the same time, her emotions were still very controlled and well-dosed. It was just so hard for the Elvenking to read her mind.

“What do you remember about them?” He asked, trying to see more of an emotional response.

“Lirneth was a lady of the court, like Edenith. She was talented in music, calligraphy, and dancing, she had a-“she stopped and frowned as new memories surfaced, “She had a lyre that she used to carry everywhere because people just loved listening to her play. Our mother used to joke that Lirneth was good at dancing while I was good at fighting elegantly.” Mistril laughed at the silly memory and looked up at Thranduil with joy, “I was horrible at dancing, at playing the harp which mother loved, at pretty much everything around the court. My desire was different. My desire was…”

Thranduil leaned in, already having leaned against the armchair as he listened to her. Hearing her speak of more mundane subjects proved to help her remember the little things. However, that didn’t explain her dark marks.

“I suppose your desire was to annoy the king.” He tried to loosen up the atmosphere since he noticed the way she stared at her marks.

“There was somebody, not the king, which I probably annoyed a lot. I can’t remember his face but he used to shine in the sunlight. He was shining all the time, actually. What about you?” She asked, turning to him eagerly. “What do you remember from your young days?”

“Nothing of importance.” He cut her immediately.

“Come on, you must remember your parents, your friends, you must have had at least one friend.” She added, unconsciously grabbing onto his arm. Thranduil was taken aback but he didn’t seem to mind. “Did you not have friends at all? I can somewhat see that,” she said, teasing him further.

“I have known Gweluven and Faervel ever since I was an elfling. I did play but I was more interested in becoming a respected ellon. My days were well spent.” He finally replied, recalling his happiest days. “I used to try and run away from my lessons, much like Legolas, and my father would always scold me. I did not want to become king, not so soon and under such dire circumstances.”

Mistril could understand him very well. He had to become a leader in the midst of war, which was horrible. It was a huge burden and he probably never complained, no matter how difficult or sad he was.

“Have you ever cried?” She suddenly asked. The way she was staring at him made him reply almost instantly.

“Yes but my feelings didn’t matter, my people did. There was no time to mourn, no time to be weak. There were many casualties, many strong warriors died on Dagorlad. It took a long time until the emotional wounds healed. I could not sleep for a long time without replaying that scene in my mind. It still haunts me at times.”

It was quite clear he was speaking of his father, King Oropher, who died at Dagorlad and his death was a show-off. Interestingly enough, she could see that particular memory as well. She was there, watching as the king’s head was cut off in front of his son. It was heartbreaking but she didn’t feel anything. She was just an empty shell and her only purpose was to serve her master. She looked down at her wrist once more, at the meaning behind those words –dark slave. A servant of Mordor. She shuddered and decided to push these thoughts to the back of her mind.

“Have you ever cried?” Thranduil asked in return.

“Yes.” She said looking at the fire. “I cried and screamed and yet the pain did not stop. It became worse until one day, it all stopped.”

“What do you mean?” He asked seeing how her light started to flicker like crazy. “What stopped?”

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“Hope. Love. There was nothing but cold darkness.” She replied and looked at him, surprising Thranduil because her eyes were grey. She blinked and the color of autumn leaves returned but the king had already witnessed it.

That was one of the few times when they didn't fight. But it was also the first time when Mistril recognized to herself that being alone with Thranduil was comforting in a different way than when she was with Gweluven, Miluinir, or Legolas. 

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For an elf, 1000 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 1000 years, the prince grew both in height and in skills. He became a great archer, 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 1000 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." Thranduil said, using the same authoritarian tone as he did with his son. 

"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 the 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. 

Not even a few minutes after Mistril stormed out, somebody else approached the king warily. 

"Is this a bad time, my king?" The chief of guards, Argus, decided to announce his arrival since he saw how angry Thranduil was as he poured himself a glass of wine.

"No, it is a good diversion. What happened?"

"There are rumors that have reached as far as the lands of elves that something has been put in motion." Argus started, glancing at the ground before he looked up at his king's expression.

"You don't mean the ones about the dwarves, the ones that do not matter to us." Thranduil scowled as soon as the words came out.

The Elvenking had a strong dislike for the whole kind, but Thorin Oakenshield was incredibly stubborn. It was only natural that one with such pride as him wanted to reclaim the gold in Erebor all the riches that were not all rightfully his. 

“Should I double the patrols, sir?” The chief of guards asked, looking rather worried and tired.

“Is there a need? We only have rumors for now. There is a dragon sleeping in Erebor. It would be foolish to enrage him and cause destruction, although I suppose Oakenshield doesn’t care of the repercussions to the lands around the Lonely Mountain.” Thranduil scorned at the pride and greed of dwarves. “Any other problems?”

“Well- there are dangers closer to us, sir. There is dark magic surrounding the land, animals are dying and the forest itself is closing in as if trying to suffocate the evil. People have already been instructed to stay inside the borders and not wander south.”

“And…?” Thranduil asked knowing there was more.

“Orcs have been seen going south. They destroyed several camps of men and although they do not come close to our borders, their number increased over the last months. We lost a few archers patrolling the southern border but not to orcs but to some sort of giant spiders. Their torn-up bodies were found southeast, near a cave. We brought them back but if we send more, it may happen again.”

"I'm sure we can send somebody well-trained." The king said, having an idea that could help him in more than one way.

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