As always, should any member of the MF (Mirkwood Force) team ( including this author) be caught or killed, the secretary will disavow any knowledge of their complicity, their ruthless savaging of Tolkien’s work and their blatant insertion of characters of their own creation into Tolkien’s world. This agency, at all times, acknowledges the rightful intellectual property of The Lord of the Rings as belonging to the Tolkien Estate, New Line Productions and anyone else who may own a piece of the pie. We (the author and the voices she hears in her head) fully acknowledge the Professor as the sole master of Middle earth. We (see above) are merely running amok.
A very special thanks to The Ranger Meckinock for her invaluable assistance in ferreting out plot holes. That ranger is a credit to her kind. Not even Aragorn had her patience and skill...nor could he wield a sword through a story as deftly as she does her blade, the sword Emily.
Never to be forgotten or unappreciated, a special thank you to Orophin’s Dottir. The Dottir is patient and encouraging, not to mention, a lot of fun. And she is the undisputed Queen of the Comma.
And just for good measure, a thank you to daw the minstrel for answering far too many grammar questions. And to Nilmandra (that sweet adorable child) for allowing me to post here against her better judgment.
Chapter One: They Deserved It
"What is he going to do to us?" I asked, hopefully, with an aura of confidence. Even misplaced confidence was better than none at all...sometimes. And it was a pertinent question, if we considered it rationally. We needed direction. If I could lighten the tense air of impending doom that had settled over my cousin’s chambers, we might hit upon some course of action that would garner some results...in our favor, of course. Certainly, we were in trouble, but this was not exactly a foreign state of affairs. We had blazed this trail before. Now all we had to do was explain why it was not our fault and hope Uncle was in a reasonable mood. I certainly hoped he was in a charitable humor on this day. In fact, cherishing this thought was my life’s work at that moment. "It is not as if he will throw us in the dungeon," I announced, with a fair amount of certainty, although one can never tell what Thranduil might do when truly angered.
Legolas’ head snapped up as if an unseen string was tied to the top of his head. "Of course, not. Do not be a fool, Daeron." He sighed heavily. "That would be too lenient."
Bravado, my enigmatic friend, was still clinging to my fragile resolve as I squared my shoulder at the indignity of having to suffer the fools who had been our target. After all, they were the problem, not us. Obviously, Legolas did not share my optimism that his adar would see things our way. He could be so gloomy sometimes--all too often with good cause, I am sorry to say. Only at first glance did we look guilty of a crime. We merely had to be sure Uncle got more than one view of what had happened. Uncle was the primary adult we had to sway to our way of thinking, but my older brother is also a difficult subject to lead. He has been sorely influenced by the king and has an annoying tendency to blame my attempts at confidence on childish bluster and the ill-conceived righteousness that only a dim-witted 30-year-old elfling can muster. Personally, I do not think I am all that dim-witted. I just call a worm a worm. "They deserved it!" I alleged, righteously, of course. "You know they did."
"What you and I know and what Adar will deem justice may be leagues away from each other," Legolas moaned. The look on his face stopped me cold.
Legolas had a point there. Perhaps my brother was right; I was just spouting hot air. It was not an idea that I cared to embrace, but suddenly, the worm turned, and my feelings of self-confidence waned to the point of being nothing more than a mere thread that suspended me over the hot coals of certain death. The most articulate sound I could come up with was to utter a pitiful moan. Legolas was right; the king rarely sees things in the same light as us. Still, had Thranduil no sense of justice where silly, puffed up elleths are concerned? It is bad enough that these two particular elleths are allowed to live, but to be given a free hand to torture us is surely going too far.
Isilya and Míriel are the misbegotten names their parents have given these terrors of the woods. How can you take two such ridiculous beings seriously when all they do is flounce around the Green, fluffing out their gowns as if bees were hiding in the folds and looking into the river every few minutes to adjust their hair?
We call them Fluffy and Flouncy. They think they are so grown up, being all of two years older than me and three older than Legolas. They started the whole thing. They always do, the little pris-pots. But, it is always Legolas and me who are granted a private audience with the king when they get what they deserve.
"Well," I started, hoping for a kernel of my previous optimism to take root again, "if we just explain to your adar..." Before I could plot any further on my tale of woe that would surely sway the king to our side, Legolas laughed out loud and rolled his eyes before flopping down in the chair before the fireplace.
"Daeron, you do not have the sense of a river rock."
I had to think about that for a moment. On one hand, river rocks are highly intelligent. They do what they are supposed to do, know their place, cause no trouble, and abide happily with the running waters. On the other hand, that is not me at all. Maybe, he had a point, even if I did not particularly like it. Since I had no viable defense, I sat down in the chair opposite him to think this through. Then, it dawned on me--I did not start this!
"You loosed the first arrow!" I yelped. He was, of course, first in line for guilt, by virtue of delivering the first blow. "You are the one that hit Fluffy."
"I admit," he scowled, "my aim was slightly off."
"Slightly off! Where were you aiming?"
"The hem of her dress." His eyes widened in mock disgust. "She moved!"
"I would say!" I crowed. "That was not where your arrow fell."
"And just where were you aiming?" he demanded, apparently not at all ready to accept all the blame.
That was a good question. My skill with a bow is somewhat debatable even on my most accurate days. Since my accuracy of arrow was not to be lauded, I thought I could surely make a good excuse. "At Flouncy!" It was an obvious answer. Not too heavy on detail, I admit, but it was generally accurate.
"Obviously," he quipped, not falling for my evasive explanation. "But where did you intend for your arrow to land?"
Very well. "At her feet," I told him, begrudgingly.
"And you question my skill?" he snorted.
I snorted back at him with my best disgruntled warg imitation or, at least, what I imagined a warg would sound like if his cousin were snorting at him. "This whole discussion has nothing to do with skill, but with who started the whole shooting episode," I told him, feeling pretty smart for figuring him out despite his earlier insinuation that I lacked the intelligence of a rock. "And now, we have to come up with something to tell your Adar, or we will not see the light of day until we come of age."
He snorted again. "Adar already knows what happened, Daeron. There is no way out of it. The best we can hope for is to live another day and to try and stay out of Fluffy and Flouncy’s path. It merely makes Adar more angry if we make excuses. Just agree with whatever he says."
I did not like that idea. The maidens still started the whole confrontation, and I saw no justice in going to the dungeons without, at least, a say in our defense.
While I pondered my next move, there was nothing to do but wait. When Aldamir, Legolas’ oldest brother, had caught us in the act, his tirade could be heard all the way to Lake-Town. With such a commotion as two screaming elleths, a bellowing commander of the troops and our noisy attempts to flee the scene, we were quickly joined by Aldamir’s second in command, Seregon, also known as my older brother. We were apprehended with little incident since we were out-weighed and out-elfed. They are such sticks in the mud sometimes. It makes me wonder if they were ever young. There has been no sign of it for as long as I have known them. So as to follow the customary procedure, we were hauled into the palace, told to clean up and dress appropriately to be taken to the king, then left to think over our crimes. Which was exactly what we were doing, but with the usual slant being directed at trying to figure out a plausible excuse. ‘They deserved it’ was losing its appeal.
"I know!" I exclaimed. "We will tell your adar that they besmirched his honor, and we only did what any good subject would do." I folded my arms in satisfaction. "We shot them."
Legolas shook his head. "We used that one last month, and as I recall, Adar was not too impressed with our methods of defending his honor." He leaned forward to catch my eye. "It only got us in more trouble for lying, Daeron. Do not cross Adar."
I threw my hands up in disgust. "Then what do we tell him? That we pelted the dumb elleths with our arrows because they just happen to be a blight on elvendom?" Besides, they were only practice arrows. They were blunted and padded and used only for form and aim, but they did put a sting on the receiving end if the recipient happened to be an Elf. It was all we were allowed except on the practice fields. Perhaps it was not the brightest solution to draw even practice weapons against the maidens, but it all happened so quickly that it seemed reasonable at the time. Suddenly, it occurred to me that all sharp objects may soon be a thing of the past once this was over. We may not even be allowed butter knives at meals. This could be viewed as something of an unforgivable transgression. It was not as if our masters had not spent a great deal of time telling us that weapons were not to be trifled with, even practice ones.
Legolas was no help. He merely rubbed his face with his hand and then straightened his tunic. Yes, it was plain to see; we were in serious trouble.
Before I could come up with any more bright ideas, a terse knock sounded on Legolas’ chamber door. Without waiting (as any polite Elf would do) Aldamir swung open the door and motioned us to our feet, which was unnecessary since we both shot up like our leggings were on fire. "Come," he commanded as if we were some of his troops. "Adar will see you now."
Like two beaten puppies, we followed him down the corridor of the family wing until we reached Uncle Thranduil’s office. Well, thank Eru for small favors. At least, we would not be dragged into the throne room for all of the court to witness our demise. My heart was pounding like a smith’s hammer as I brought up the rear. I should be used to these joyous little visits with my king and uncle, but I simply cannot seem to get past how those veins in Thranduil’s neck bulge out whenever he is angry. It makes him look as if he is on the verge of erupting like Mount Doom. Not to mention that the doors to his private office had suddenly taken on the look of the Black Gates. Not that I have ever seen the Black Gates, but I have a vivid imagination when I am going to meet with the Dark Lord of Mirkwood.
Aldamir knocked upon his adar’s door, and when we were given leave to enter, he motioned us in. Once we had cleared the doorway, he retreated and closed the door. Coward. One would think he would stay to defend his youngest brother and cousin. But he scampered out of there like a squirrel with a prize nut to bury. He would be sorry, I thought angrily, when he found our limp bloodied bodies stretched out on the floor of Uncle’s office. I hoped I would bleed all over his pristine tunic.
I was allotted little time to plot my bloody revenge as my eyes came up to see the king seated behind his intricately carved desk. One of the first things you learn in court is that the one in power sits. The ones facing sentencing stand like wind-battered willows waiting for that last gust that will take them to their knees. I refuse to grovel on my knees, unless Legolas does it first. I also noted that we had not been offered a chair. I braced my feet slightly apart so that, hopefully, I would not topple in the fury of the Storm Thranduil.
The king was uncharacteristically silent. That worried me no small amount. His fingers were steepled, and he tapped them lightly on his ever so gently dimpled chin. Calm gray eyes looked us over like two gamey hens that he could not decide if they were worthy of his pot or not. Slowly, he leaned back into his chair and clasped his hands at his waist. "Is there any explanation for this behavior?" he asked, quite calmly, I might add.
I started to open my mouth to tell him just what demons were living under the trees of our fair woods, when Legolas bowed his head and said, "No, my lord."
My mouth continued its downward trek, and I turned to look at my cousin. I could not believe this. No matter what he had said in his chambers, I could not believe that he was going down without a fight, without one word uttered in our defense. Cowardice must run in Thranduil’s side for surely it did not come from mine. I am not a blood relative of Thranduil’s. My adar was his closest friend from the time they were elflings. They fought side by side at Dagorlad. When Oropher was slain and Thranduil crowned king, Adar became his troop commander, overseeing the protection of the realm. It seems that Thranduil not only cared for my adar, but also had eyes for his younger sister. She is now the Queen and Legolas’ naneth. When Legolas and I were mere babes, Adar was killed in a fierce confrontation with a group of orcs near the southern borders. No one talks much about exactly what happened, but I think it was some sort of scouting mission that went awry. Since Aldamir was of age and had been serving the realm as a warrior for many years, he was promoted to commander. He appointed Seregon as his second. The king’s middle son, Erelas, serves as a field captain. I often think that Legolas and I serve merely as amusement, though the king was not smiling at that moment. With no support from my companion, I closed my mouth enough to be able to mumble, "No, my lord."
The king’s gaze remained fixed upon his son. "Look at me," he commanded. Legolas’ cheeks flooded like the dam of a glowing pink river had been released as he raised his eyes to meet his adar’s. "I cannot imagine what possessed the two of you to do something as ill-conceived as using your weapons upon two elleths." I, of course, could tell him, and as I started to do just that, he raised his elegant hand in warning. Once again, I closed my mouth. I admit it; I was frustrated that I could not tell my story, although looking back, I can see where my excuses were rather lame. "Nor," he continued, "should I have to tell you the dangers of such folly. You could have seriously harmed one or both of the maidens." He leaned forward to prop his elbows on his desk. "I cannot imagine the two of you do not know this." When we made no reply, he prompted us with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes, my lord," we both intoned.
Very well, I would have to give the king that point; it was not our most brilliant solution. But the elleths still deserved our wrath. Surely he could see that. I could not let such an important point pass, without at least trying to get the king to see reason. Our choice of recourse might not have been the best, but recourse certainly should be addressed. "Uncle," I said, venturing into the troll’s den, "these two elleths are always calling us names and making all manner of fun of us. They have no upbringing," I announced, actually feeling quite proud of myself. I know how much importance Uncle puts on such things as protocol and proper breeding. He would surely see that his son, a prince of the realm and I (though I have no real title, I am blood related to his Queen) were suffering mistreatment of our stations.
"I see," Thranduil said. "Therefore, you thought it appropriate to behave as if you had been raised by orcs?"
That was not the path I thought he would take. "No, my lord," I said, trying to steer the sympathy back in our direction. "We were not. But it was appropriate to defend our honor." I could have sworn I heard Legolas groan. It was not the same defense we used last month! This was different.
A fist slammed down on the desk, and the vein suddenly came out of hiding. It took every bit of my meager courage to not bolt for the underbelly of the sturdiest piece of furniture in the room. "Your honor!" Thranduil roared. "What honor is there in attacking two defenseless maidens because they have teased you? What honor is there in taking up arms against another Elf?" He flung his arm wildly into the air. "What have your tutors been teaching you? Do you know nothing of the kinslaying?"
Legolas, as shaken as he obviously was, tried to calm his adar and take another course of action. "Yes, Adar, we do know. And it was, indeed, something to never be repeated. We have no defense for our behavior. We were wrong. We can only beg your pardon and forgiveness."
Well, that left me with little to say.
"It is not me from whom you should seek pardon, but the maidens and their parents." He leaned forward again, just for dramatic effect, I suppose. "And this you will both do. Today. Aldamir is waiting for you. As you leave me, you will go to the maidens cottages and beg the forgiveness of these two and their parents. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, my lord," we both bobbed in unison. My stomach was churning as if I had eaten sour persimmons. Apologize! The Valar might as well have gone ahead and struck me down. I do not know why I was surprised. It is the kind of thing that Thranduil would do to make our lives even more miserable. Was it not bad enough that we had to live in the same forest as two creatures from the bowels of Arda? But to have to beg for their forgiveness was almost more than I could bear.
With a grand flourish, he rose like a sea creature from the depths. "Do not ever let anything like this happen again. I will not tolerate it. If the two of you should ever repeat such a transgression, the penalty will be severe beyond your reckoning. Now not only will you set to rights your transgressions with the maidens, but you will then retire to your chambers and stay there except for meals, lessons and training for the sum of two weeks. You will not visit between one another and will see each other only at those times which I have just appointed." With a look far too smug for my liking he added, "Your naneths will also wish to speak with you." Though he did not say it, I could see the thought sitting with satisfaction in his head; he was glad to not be in our shoes when that time came. With the flick of a wrist, he ordered, "Go."
As we started to leave, he stopped us. "One more thing. You will have no weapons in your possession outside of training. Give them to Aldamir."
That would kill Legolas. He is so attached to his bow, I would not be surprised to find out that he sleeps with it. I can do without my bow. I am just passing good with it anyway, though my recent performance would belie the fact that I had ever picked one up. But my knife! It is like an extension of my arm. For as long as I can remember, I have been intrigued with the feel of a blade, the song it makes as it cuts through the air, the sturdy weight of it in my hand and against my thigh. The fact that I am exceptionally good with a knife came as no surprise to my naneth. She has been taking them away from me for as long as I have had memory. While it is true that my knife is so dull that it would cut hot jam only with brute force, it is mine, and I had no inclination to be parted from it. And I do sleep with my knife. I would not get a wink of sleep for two weeks. Feeling tears welling in my eyes on behalf of both us, I nodded, just as I suppose Legolas did, though I dared not cast a glance to him for fear I would break down and wail like a baby.
Just as Uncle said, Aldamir was waiting in the corridor, along with the posted guard and much to my dismay, my brother. Once again, Aldamir spread his hand out in invitation for us to make our way to the Great Doors. I had never noticed all this hand waving before. Were we suddenly plagued with a bevy of gnats or some other fell insect that must be swatted from our path? To our misfortune, I knew that was not the case. It was a show of the power they wielded over their inferiors. My face burned with indignation; I did not like being the runt of the pecking order.
Once we had cleared a distance from the guard I turned to Seregon, highly irritated that he had come along to watch his only brother be humiliated at the hands of our tormentors. "What are you doing here?" I demanded, as though I had some right to make demands. Never show weakness. That was my motto. I could not let Seregon think that his unnecessary presence had gone unnoticed or that I would give in to the pressure of him towering over me. "Should not you be counting bread crumbs or something useful?"
The hand that hauled me up by the arm was so fast that I did not even come close to dodging it. The toes of my right foot barely touched the floor. I had apparently touched on a sore spot.
"Careful, little one," he snarled, his lips spread thinly over his teeth. He had a slightly demented look about him that immediately made me wonder at the wisdom of my not-so-innocent inquiry. "You have trod on dangerous ground already this day, and I will not hesitate to take you in hand myself." Suddenly, he shook my arm until the power of the motion reverberated all the way through my body. My teeth clattered like dry bones. "Do you think of no one but yourself? How do you think it makes Naneth feel when you are hauled before the king more often than the worst miscreant of the realm? If you do not learn to curb your appetite for mischief and unguarded words, you will find that I know how to wield a quiver strap over your backside."
I drew back as far as I could while still dangling like a hooked fish. As a rule, Seregon is pretty dull, but not cruel. Never have I heard of an Elf beating an elfling. Surely, he was not serious. He looked serious. My fear got the better of me, and I struggled against his grip. "Let me go! You would not do that. Naneth will not allow it. Uncle will not allow it. You are just trying to frighten me."
"Do not be so certain, Daeron," he growled. "There is a first time for everything, and we all weary of your foolishness."
Aldamir laid a calm hand on the shoulder of my irate sibling, and that was all it took. Seregon released me with such suddenness that I stumbled several steps before I could gain my footing. There was no doubt that I had a look of disbelief carved on my face, but when I looked at Legolas, I knew that Seregon had been as angry as I had thought. My cousin had the look of a deer that had just realized that the nice hunter with the bow had not dropped by to compliment him on his antlers. "Come," Aldamir commanded in his best I am in charge here voice. "The hour grows late, and I have more tasks than this to complete before evening meal."
I thanked the Valar that Aldamir was on hand to stop Seregon from shedding blood. Mine, to be specific. Seregon and Aldamir are of the same age and are as close as Legolas and I have ever been. They have been serving the realm for far longer than Legolas and I have been alive. In reality, they were serving for a long time even before we were even thought about. Not only is Aldamir Seregon’s commander, which gives him authority over his underlings, namely my brother, he is far less inclined to go off like one of Mithrandir’s fire shows than Seregon. I suppose it could be said that Seregon has a short fuse, at times. I have a knack for lighting it. It is a talent, I suppose. Aldamir has a fuse, too, but it takes a bit more fire to light his. I can bear witness to it. It happens. As it turns out, when one is igniting into a fiery ball, the other is usually fairly calm. This day was Seregon’s turn to shine.
Since my tunic was now bunched up nearly over my right ear, I took hold of what little dignity I had left, righted my askew clothing and fell in behind.
We crossed the Green and the bridge, then turned right onto the path that led to Míriel’s cottage. I tromped along (unhappily, I might add) watching the well worn path. Occasionally, I glanced over to Legolas, but he seemed intent on the job of just getting one foot in front of the other. Far too soon, we came upon a small clearing that sat in front of several neat cottages. The trees whispered in the breeze, and I swear they were chuckling at our predicament. Flowers stood tall and small in a riot of color and fragrance. A few honey bees buzzed lazily around their upturned faces. The rich smell of loam and wood, late summer and coming evening, lingered like the perfume of a beautiful life. It was a lovely day to die of humiliation.
We stopped at the second cottage and after a not-so-gentle nudge from our wardens, Legolas and I stepped toward the cottage’s stoop. I watched in complete horror as Legolas rapped gently on the door. Without a second thought, I took a half step back, leaving my younger cousin to take the lead. Míriel’s mother answered. "Legolas! Daeron!," she smiled with far too much gratification, I thought. I would avow, she was expecting us. Over our heads she nodded to the two older Elves waiting at a discreet distance. "My Lords," she smiled.
"My Lady," Legolas said, his voice clear, but obviously lacking in real enthusiasm. I, of course, took this as a moment to start practicing guarding my tongue. "Daeron and I wish to offer our sincere apologies to you and to Míriel for our behavior earlier today. We behaved foolishly and unkindly, and we are most regretful. I beg you to accept our apology."
With that nice neat little speech finished, she opened the door wider until we could see a smug Míriel standing just to her back. Her eyes gleamed like a snake that had just spotted a plump little mouse that had no idea he was going to be a between-meal bite. Her whole body drew up to give the illusion of being far above such little elflings as these pathetic excuses who stood on her doorstep. With a terse flick of her hand, she swept her hair over her shoulder.
"Míriel," her mother said, "Legolas and Daeron have come to apologize."
Míriel’s mouth slanted into a smirk that would give Eru the chills and nodded her head. True to form, she then fluffed out her dress until the folds were draped just right. "As well they should," she quipped. With another regal dip of her chin, she smiled as if the mouse had indeed been a pleasant treat and said tonelessly, "Apology accepted."
Míriel’s mother turned back to us. "I realize that your youth sometimes precludes thinking through actions, but I hope the two of you will think twice before doing such a thing again. It was a very dangerous thing to do. As it was, no one was hurt, and this is best forgotten."
Míriel gasped as if someone had just sucked all the wind out of her bodice. "Not hurt!" she shrilled. "I have a most unbecoming bruise in a most delicate place!"
I wanted to burst out laughing, but even I am not that dumb. Still, I took great satisfaction in knowing that she would think of us every time she sat down.
Her mother held up her hand to stay her indignant offspring. "As I said, there is no serious damage done, and this is best placed behind us."
Legolas had gone from pale as a wraith to red as a glass of Darwinion. I did not know if he was dying to laugh, too, or if he was merely dying a slow and painful doorstep death. "Thank you, my lady," he stammered, bowed his head and stepped back. I followed suit, and then nearly ran to the safety of our brothers, who might be angry, but they would never allow Míriel to gut us with a shrill tirade. She really did deserve it. Perhaps not an arrow, but something that would wound her dignity as she had been gifted with an overabundance of self-regard. Mud might have worked nicely. That would have perturbed her and made her dress difficult to fluff out properly. Oh, how I wished it had been mud. I bemoaned the loss of my knife once more for good measure.
Grateful that the cottage door had closed and we had completed the task of groveling at one maiden’s doorstep, I stood stock still trying to regain my bearings. I was not finished when Seregon poked me between the shoulder blades to get me started on down the path to Isilya’s cottage.
Her father is one of the King’s personal guards, and we see him often standing around the Great Hall or at the door of Uncle’s office. It is hard to say what kind of Elf he is. He does not exactly chatter with us as he is on duty when we usually see him. But I imagine he has to be a fairly good warrior to be one of the King’s personal Fifteen. The Fifteen are hand selected by Thranduil, Aldamir and Seregon, but mainly by Thranduil. Most of them have been with the King since long before any of us were born anyway, so there is not much selecting going on. You probably have to die to get out of that duty. As far as command goes, they are officially under the command of Aldamir, as he is the commander of all the troops, but in reality, they answer only to Thranduil. They are a fierce bunch and not subject to being much fun. I do not think even Aldamir would cross them. It is a given that Legolas and I try to stay out of their way. It is another rule of mine that one does not willingly anger an Elf with a sword.
Isilya is a quieter elleth than Míriel. It seems to me that Míriel is the one who always cooks up their little plays against us, but Isilya tags along and does nothing to prevent her friend from setting into motion whatever devilment springs out of her deranged head. I even think there are times when Isilya feels bad for us, but Míriel is so busying fluffing that she never notices. All in all, I think if Isilya was not in the company of Fluffy, she might not be so bad, as far as elleths go. Still, she keeps bad company, and so it is the case that she is tainted twice: by her association with Fluffy and by the fact that she is an elleth. She cannot help the elleth part, but I do wish she would lose the excess Fluff.
How this place was ever called Greenwood the Great, I’ll never know. If it was so Great, then why was it that it took so few steps to arrive at our accursed destination? It should have been called Greenwood the Hop, Skip and a Jump. Mirkwood was far more appropriate at that moment. When we reached Flouncy’s cottage, Seregon took me by the arm again and turned me around to face him. "Since Legolas made the last apology, it is only fitting that you offer this one."
"What was wrong with the way he did it?" I asked, honestly curious as to why Legolas would be removed from his position as chief talker when he did such a fine job the first time.
"There was nothing wrong with the way he did it," Seregon snapped, his eyes having that dangerous glint that I knew bode ill for me. "He has done his duty, and now you will do yours."
"What!" I cried, unable to back down from the challenge even though he did wear a sword. "Was I not here? I did my duty."
His hand closed over my forearm like a steel grip, as he snatched me close enough to look straight down into my eyes. "You will offer the apology this time, Daeron, and I will brook no more of this foolishness. You will not hide as a coward behind your younger cousin’s back." He gave me a gentle shove as he released me. "Now go."
With nothing else left for me to do other than obey or be slaughtered with a quiver strap, I kicked up as much dust as I could until I reached Flouncy’s door. With Legolas at my side, I chanced a glance over at him and saw that he looked on the verge of losing his last meal. I hate to admit it, but I did feel a little guilty about letting him do all the hard work. But he is the King’s son after all, I told myself, and far more is expected of him in the area of diplomacy; the practice would not hurt him. As I looked into his eyes, I did find myself suddenly feeling a bit protective of him. He is younger. So I did what any self-respecting senior relative would do and took the lead.
When Isilya’s mother came to the door and after I had thanked Eru excessively that her father did not, I repeated Legolas’ speech word for word. Why not? It was a good one. Isilya came forward, but said nothing. She merely nodded her head, looking nearly as embarrassed as we did. When everything was said and done and all grievances settled, Legolas and I returned to our brothers for the trip back to our prison for the next two weeks.
After a hasty gathering of our weapons and their surrender to Aldamir, I did not see Legolas again until evening meal. I did, however, see my naneth. And heard her. My naneth has a wicked tongue when provoked, and she repeatedly pointed out that I had provoked it. I would never admit it to Legolas, and I would rather bleed to death slowly than let Seregon know, but she can still bring me to tears. When she was finished with me all I could do was hiccough. She reeled me in for the kill when she went on and on about how disappointed my adar would be in me that I had been so careless about something as serious as the sacred trust and skills of a warrior. I want to hear anything anyone is willing to tell me about my adar, but that is not one of the things I usually have in mind. I sorely miss an Elf that I can remember nothing about, not even how he looked. I have to admit, I am often slightly jealous that Legolas has his adar. Not that I want anything to happen to Thranduil, nor do I want Legolas to be without his adar; I just wish I had mine. Despite the fact that Thranduil is the one who usually doles out my punishment, I know he does so as not only king, but also as a stand in for his best friend and his wife’s brother. That is what my naneth says, anyway. She says it is because Thranduil loves me like one of his own sons. I suppose that is true since I get the same punishment as Legolas when we get into trouble. I wonder sometimes if he feels guilty about how adar died. Naneth says that Thranduil feels a great responsibility for everything that happens in his realm. It seems to me that since adar was under the command of Thranduil at the time he died, then Uncle would feel bad about whatever it was that he sent him to do. I feel nearly as bad for Uncle as I do for Seregon and me...and Naneth, too. We are all without Adar now.
Then we got to the trust issue. Naneth certainly knows how to drive a point home. If Thranduil can deliver a scathing sentence, she can make it seem like a holiday. When the Elves were awakened, did the Valar immediately gift naneths with the ability to shame their children to within an inch of their lives? Very well, I deserved it, but I did not have to like it. "Trust," she said, "is something that takes ages to build and only a second to destroy for all eternity." My seconds were building up, she pointed out. How could Aldamir allow me into the novices next year if I could not be trusted to handle a weapon with the proper respect? I had not thought of that. I wish I had, and I would not have shot Flouncy. There is nothing I want more than to be a warrior. It is all I have ever wanted. It is all Legolas has ever wanted. What good is a knife wielding baker? And who wants to bake muffins for the rest of his life? Not to mention, for an Elf that is a very long time to poke blueberries into batter. The thought that I might not be allowed to cut anything other than slices of bread brought me nearly to tears again. This new show of remorse brought Naneth to the responsibility part. I swore on a letter opener (since it was all I could get my hands on) that I would not ever do anything so foolish again. I would be responsible. I would be trustworthy. I would not shame Adar ever again.
"Do you think Adar can see me from the Halls of Mandos?" I asked, feeling terribly sick at my stomach that this Elf I idolize in absentia might have seen the whole sordid affair where I had dishonored him.
Naneth smiled sadly and said, "I think he would be very proud of you right now, Daeron. It takes a very strong young Elf to admit his mistakes and to do all within his power to correct them. It is most important that one learns from his errors and does not repeat them."
I assured her I had learned my lesson. It was true. I would never point a weapon, no matter how blunted, at another Elf, even if I did consider them the enemy. Next time, I would rise above the occasion and walk away...or throw mud.
The only good thing to come out of it was that she hugged me close, dried my leaky eyes, and kissed me gently on the forehead. Not that she did not hug and kiss me regularly, she did. But I rarely appreciated it unless I was in fear that she no longer loved me. I worried about that a lot, but it always seem to slip my mind until I was standing before her sniffling like a cranky babe. I pledged an oath to myself that I would remember.
By Legolas’ red-rimmed eyes at evening meal, I would say the Queen did her duty as the Valar-gifted naneth, too. He could barely eat. But, he did with Thranduil watching every bite that went into his mouth.
The whole meal passed from misery into wretchedness, and I was grateful when we were, at last, excused to go to our chambers. My naneth and I share an apartment of two bedrooms with a sitting room between. Thankfully, Seregon has chambers down the corridor and around the corner. At least I could avoid him. With little else to do, I put on my night clothes and climbed into bed. That is not to mention that I felt like pond scum. Oh, how I missed my knife. I must have begun to drift off fairly soon, as all the apologizing and crying had left me far more tired than I had realized. My door was slightly ajar to let in the light of the sitting room lanterns, and so I could hear the soft stirring my naneth made as she walked around the room and shuffled things about. I thought I heard a soft knock to the door, but I was too far headed into sleep to know for certain or to care. I heard soft voices in a conversation that mainly consisted of my naneth telling someone something that I imagined they may not have wanted to hear. I thought this because she was using the same tone of voice she had used with me earlier when she wielded her gift from the Valar. I was too tired to investigate. Within a few minutes, I felt the bed sink slowly at my side, but I had no strength or will to open my eyes completely and focus, so I just stayed quiet and still. A hand gently pushed my hair from my forehead and a soft kiss was planted there. I choked up again as I heard Seregon whisper, "I am sorry, little one. I am too impatient and promise to guide you better. I love you, little brother."