Chapter 7: Chapter 7

 

Mistril was not at all surprised to hear that she was ordered to go patrol the south border with Faervel. The shocking factor was Faervel being there in the first place. Since it was a rare opportunity, she decided to make the most of it. 

“There are many rumors concerning your warrior past.” She started walking by his side.

Faervel was a tall elf, comparable to 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 the circumstances of their lives 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 blending 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 person he hated. Gweluven was the one that could answer in riddles and could shift the attention off of 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 your experience at 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' was a way of simplifying his character.

---

Walking down the halls towards her room, Mistril thought about Dagorlad. She could ask Gweluven about it 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 perpetrator 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 other people.”

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 line. My main problems were orcs and men of wild nature. Maerdor was there, fighting alongside Faervel. He saw something that scared him 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. She has been researching it for a while now," Tudor answered, finding himself defending Mistril.

"And what did you tell her?"

Tudor caught the glint in Thranduil's eyes and realized quickly that his king was very involved in 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 the same 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 in 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.

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Mistril herself knew that for an elleth it was strange to find no interest in anything but swords and past traumatic events but she couldn’t control herself. She wanted to know all there was that made the Elvenking act so overprotective. 

But now she could feel that Sauron was not the same shadow that seemed to be watching her every time. His name sent shivers up her arms and down her spine but there was somebody else who seemed to have a grasp on her loyalty. It became a routine for her to think while looking over the forest through her window. It was dark outside but the moon was shining brightly like a source of hope.

"Sauron," she mumbled, feeling fear creep up her spine.

As she repeated that name, she felt a shadow elongate next to hers and she froze. She turned around and followed it up to someone moving in the shadows of her room. It lured her in and without a second thought she went up to him.

It was a creature she had seen before, she had talked to before and she had definitely bowed to at some point. She was scared of him but not to the extent she would have sacrificed for him. Just like before, it wasn't Sauron.

"You should not disappoint me in this battle or you will return to that cave." Hissed the cloaked man, his voice once human and raspy but now it was just a screech.

She remained staring at him with a sense of gratefulness. What that was for she couldn't say but whoever he was, he offered her an opportunity and she took it.

Two knocks drew her attention and the dark form vanished.

"Yes?" She called out expecting Gweluven since he used to visit her at around the same time.

Surprisingly, Thranduil's face appeared from around the door and he entered the room as if it was his own. He didn't sit but walked to her and looked into her green eyes.

"I'd like you to stop inquiring about an event that you did not take part in. If you have any curiosities that cannot be refrained, ask me directly. My warriors do not need to remember the past." He said as elegantly as possible.

But Mistril didn't seem impressed. She was, on the other hand, surprised that he gave her an alternative instead of shutting her out completely.

"It seems like your father was a well-respected king. Everyone speaks highly of him, king Oropher."

"Of course they do. He was their king as well and a king is respected." Thranduil emphasized something Mistril decided not to do. 

"I think I saw him before, at Dagorlad or not, I can't really remember. But if he looked anything like you, then I am sure I have seen a great king fighting, his white hair moving around as he tried to protect his people. He was dirty and tired and yet he was so resilient..." She said looking ahead with admiration for the man in her image.

"What makes you believe that elf was my father?"

"It was him. Even before, when you spoke of him in the library I could clearly see that moment when he was killed. That was king Oropher. I was there one way or another," She explained before she looked at him, "You do not believe a word that comes out of my mouth." She stated not necessarily waiting for him to agree. "Why are you so hostile with me? I've been living here in peace for more than 1000 years and yet you still doubt my intentions. I befriended Legolas out of respect and gratitude for saving my life not because I had later intentions! Why can't you look at me and see me for what I am?!" She shouted feeling pressured by all the glances and all the whispers she had seen and heard. It was horrible to feel like an outcast among your people.

Thranduil's eye twitched as he finally lost his calm façade. He grabbed one of her arms and forced it to her eyes.

"Do you see this? This is the black language, used by no one and nothing out of Mordor. You know what it says, don't you? It's a mark that binds you to them." He hissed before he pulled her closer. His eyes were full of hatred and his whole face was a sneer. "How can I trust an elf that came from that place?"

"You don't know anything about me." She hissed yet she wasn't angry.

If anything, her heart beat slightly differently. She looked at his face and noticed little details that she had never seen before. It was the first time she looked at him as an elf rather than the king. He was very handsome and his skin, just like hers, was only briefly touched by time. It was also the first time she looked into his eyes. Those grey eyes made her feel like a flood of emotions was about to take her along. Those eyes have seen war at a young age and he had to take the crown when he wasn't confident enough to decide the future of his people. She could see that he had fought long to keep himself in check all the time and there were times when he suffered and felt helpless.

Being so angry, he didn't realize how much of his true self he let her see.

"You should leave." She whispered, feeling like her heart might explode soon.

He growled or maybe that was a scoff- sounded the same in her ears- before he left in a hurry.

---

Thranduil felt a bit perturbed now that he could think more clearly about it. She looked at him differently than before; there was no amusement, no teasing. Instead it was like a huge depth of emptiness which was exactly why he felt a bit off.

When he walked into his room, the first sight his eyes met was a bow.

"Legolas, what is it that you want?" Thranduil asked, pushing the bow aside as his son let him in.

"I heard just now that Faervel wants to send Mistril patrol near Dol Guldur."

"And?" Thranduil asked nonchalantly.

"You cannot allow it! You know well that in the past year men have been talking about orcs going in and out of there."

"What do men know..."Thranduil scoffed.

"If you send her there, worse rumors will spread. Her wrists...they will believe she's also involved with orcs."

"She could be for all we know."

Legolas narrowed his eyes at his father but didn't utter another word. It was infuriating seeing the king act so stubborn.

"Be wise, Legolas. You found her wounded just outside Greenwood yet she was on the Elf Path. Our forest was not chosen randomly."

"That was more than 1000 years ago! She proved to be a good fighter and a good friend."

"Do you know what those marks mean in our language? They translate to Dark Fire. There were rumors when I was just like you about bindings that do not leave you to die. If touched by the dark fire, an elf will not be welcomed to the Halls of Mandos or in Valinor."

"And you believe such ancient stories?" Legolas asked rising an eyebrow suspiciously.

"I didn't until I saw her."

"She is not evil," Legolas repeated the statement that he has been saying ever since he brought Mistril in.

"And she couldn't die either, could she? You didn't save her, Legolas. Her soul was sent back."

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