Part One: Concerning Friends...

 

“Hey! Not fair! You can climb better than me, this game isn’t fair!”

 

“So? Climb better!” having dispensed this useful nugget of wisdom, the grinning face, framed in the palest of fair hair, pulled away from Sil Gathien’s line of vision. She blew irritated air between her lips and persevered. The tree was very old, with many knots, whorls and crannies. There should have been no problem in climbing, and, indeed, her companion was already reaching the summit, many feet from the forest floor. Maybe she shouldn’t have claimed she could do anything as well as the next man, when the next man had been him. He was the better at climbing, and she would have to swallow her pride and admit it. But then, she was much better at running…

 

“Lell’ias, please, stop!”

 

There was a rustle of leaves and laughter from over her head, but nothing else. No helping hand, no conciliatory gesture. Sil Gathein fumed, and used the resulting and useful annoyed strength to heave herself up, over, and onto the branch, straddling it. No one there except her, of course, should have known better than ask a prince to show any manners-

 

“YAR!”

 

“Eek!” She scrambled for the branch, and ended up clutching it in a very undignified embrace, spread eagled along the length, arms and legs wrapped around its width, her eyes glued shut, her heart pounding. The ground was such a very long way down…

 

“Oops, er, sorry, Silith”

 

Opening one eye, she glared at her green-clad companion, “Next time you do a stupid stealth-leapy-thing, do it on solid ground and not when we are dangerously high in the air, would you?”

 

“You’re only calling it stupid because you didn’t hear me coming.”

 

“No, I am calling it stupid because you are stupid.” She sat up and attempted to pick slivers of mossy growth from her dark brown clothing with thumb and forefinger, and managed, despite being ruffled and still a little anxious, to look dignified.

 

“Hmm… name-calling, the petty last resort of a narrow mind unable to engage with the facts of a conversation.”

 

Sil Gathien’s dark eyes looked up into the deep blue eyes of her childhood friend and playmate. There wasn’t much between them in years, certainly nothing in terms of an elf’s lifetime, but Legolas insisted on playing the older one, looking down on her from all the accumulated seniority of a mere one hundred years.  Now he perched, nonchalant and careless on the balls of his feet on the wide branch, heedless of the gut-wrenching drop to either side. His lovely face masked itself in solemnity, but his eyes gloated and sparkled. Gods alone knew why they hadn’t killed each other years ago, and their friendship was a mystery to many. A constant stream of jokes, antagonism and jibes stretched away behind them. Legolas played the arrogant older brother. Sil Gathien; the tomboy little sister. Yet they were bonded together as tightly as twins sprung from the same source, the same womb. Legolas’ father remembered that when Sil Gathien was born a hundred years after his son’s birth, Legolas had smiled for the first time in his life. Sil Gathien had forgotten that when Legolas had fallen down a ravine a hundred years later and broken his back, many miles away she had screamed in pain. She did remember she had been the first one to find him, and had spent three days and nights with him until help arrived, talking to him, easing him into rest and making him forget the pain. But these were outward signs only of an inner mystery. None of the elfin leaders, even with their combined wisdom, could fathom what it was that made the pair so tight. Legolas was pure elf blood royalty, as fair was the sun or a moonbeam, light, merry and proud. Sil Gathien was half elf, half human, as dark where Legolas was fair, and she was small for an elf.  Running through her dark hair were twin strands of purest silver, starting from behind her ears the running length of her hair. She always tied her hair up, covering these strands for the most part and her dark brown eyes hid more than they told.

 

“Chalk and cheese” muttered Lord Elrond, in whose household they resided. The other elf elders could only agree in silent bewilderment.

 

“I find your condescending attitude to be most off-putting my lord.” Legolas looked mock-shocked. Only Sil Gathien could make a title sound like a dirty word.

 

“Indeed? Then maybe my lady should be more realistic about her abilities, and not go trying to keep up in what she cannot do.” From anyone else, this would have hurt; Sil Gathien had a full quotient of elfish pride. From Legolas, it was a barbed par for the course.

 

Her eyes flickered to one side, and looking back she lowered them demurely, and clasped her hands before her on the branch.

 

“Maybe you are right, Lell’ias.”

 

Legolas was caught short having a discreet gloat. “I am?”

 

“Yes, my lord prince. Perhaps I have been too over confident in my abilities and did not account for such obstacles in my preparation.”

 

“Ah, yes, um, maybe you’re right, Silith, er”- Legolas felt pangs of concern. He had watched from above the entire time, Sil Gathien had never been in any danger of falling; he would have seen and caught her. He had only been baiting her for fun. This sudden agreement and submissiveness was unnerving. She should be still protesting and annoyed; she should be continuing the games they played.

 

“What I mean to say, my prince-“ she giggled. She actually giggled. Legolas no longer felt so safe as he had done. Balancing on a tree branch thirty feet from the ground was nothing compared to Sil Gathien acting…coquettishly.

 

“- I mean, now that we are a little more alone, I don’t want to ruin this moment with fights and silly games. Um, I have started to, um, well, the girls have been talking-“

 

“And since when do you pay attention to them, Silith? You’re my friend, yes?” Legolas could feel icy fingers of panic starting to creep across his chest. He felt the same when he passed by a group of elfin lovelies, and they giggled behind their hands and waved slender fingers at him. Thank goodness for Silith, she wasn’t a girl, she was his friend, and he was always relieved to have her company. Now she was displaying, all at once, and in a place where he couldn’t run, signs of, of- girly behaviour. It was worrying. Elves sometimes matured very quickly, literally in a space of a year or so; maybe she was catching up on lost time. Even so, this was fast even by elfish standards. He’d certainly never seen anything in her before to denote that she was thinking in that way. He’d matured early, and his lusty explorations back when he was just a slip of seven hundred years old meant he was no stranger to any of that, and he had to admit he did enjoy it with the right person, but Sil Gathien was his friend, his companion, and his escape. Aww, this wasn’t fair.

 

“Er-“ he nervously cleared a suddenly choked up throat.

 

“Oh- I did not mean to make you uncomfortable, Prince Legolas, but, well, I had to ask, as I am curious, well, er- is it true?”

 

“Um, what?”

 

“The girls say- and I have been known to talk to those of my own sex, sir- they say that you are the wisest, kindest, gentlest and most passionate of all the elves. I have known you many years. I have formed my own ideas on your many qualities-“ despite himself, Legolas’ youthful pride swelled and he felt a rush of pleasure at the compliments.

 

“Do they? Have you? Well, what qualities do you think I have?”

 

“Well-” Sil Gathien untied her hair. Legolas had rarely seen it down, and he’d forgotten how thick and soft it was. She ran idle hands through it, as if gently scratching her scalp, or innocently re-arranging it, or equally innocently inviting it to be touched, stroked... Her other hand dropped to the neck of her tunic and passing through the flap at the neck, pushed it back a way as if she were hot. All this while she stared to one side, her profile presented for his attention, a dreamy look in her eyes. Legolas swallowed and tried to ignore the heat rising in his chest and throat.

 

“Well, I have always thought you were gentle, and good, and an excellent bowman. The best, definitely, your aim is second to none. I have heard Lord Elrond comment on it.” Legolas grinned.

 

“And then, beyond what I have shared with others, there’s what I have seen of you” she turned to look at him, and he was caught in the dark pools of her suddenly warm, quickened eyes. He thought he was going to drown in those depths of deepest brown. More disturbingly, he realised he wanted to. He’d never realised that ‘you’ could be the most intimate word in the world. She dropped her voice, and leaned a little closer so he was obliged to do the same to hear. “I have watched you for years. I dared not say what I thought, but, the line of you face” -she drew a finger down his jaw- “and the curve of your ears”- her hand rose and smoothed over the tips of his ears. Elf ears are very sensitive. Legolas gave a soft whimpering groan. Dropping her voice still further, they moved closer and closer together, Sil Gathien drawing him in, line by line. “-They haunt my thoughts. And your eyes are so blue, so blue. I have trouble sometimes wondering where the heavens are because I think I see them in your eyes more often than in the skies, and the skies are just pale pretenders to the hue of your eyes, Legolas. Heaven belongs in your sight. I have thought, too, when I am… alone- about your lips, soft and warm. I see them smiling and mocking and talking, but I think on them, I do, I do, and I wonder, I want- I- I- think I-” now their heads were very close, their mouths a breath away. Despite himself, Legolas closed his eyes.

 

The forest seemed to still, to become silent, the world turned on a heartbeat, and the heat was rising between them-“I- think- I-” He never saw when her eyes snapped from soft and inviting to mischievous delight, and he had not one moment to react when she grabbed his hand, pushed him off the branch and swung him in a wide arc, using his own body weight as momentum, until he slapped into the side of the tree- right into a large spill of sticky honey-sap, a thick protective cushion against being crashed against the trunk, but incredibly sticky. Then she released his hand, and he remained there, stuck fast to the tree.  Ripped from a moment of near exquisite emotion, Legolas could only give a yelp and then a shriek as he realised his predicament.

 

“Good gods, Legolas, you fell for that one fifty years ago! And every decade since then- it is true, elfin men are lead not entirely by the head that is attached to their neck!”

 

Sil Gathien pulled her head out of his line of vision and began to climb carefully down the tree. Legolas blew irritated air between his lips.

 

Part Two: Enter A Messanger, Stage Left

 

It was a lovely day in the woods. Warm, but with a slight riffling of a breeze, early summer seemed to be promised with every breath that whispered along the glades and paths. Soft shards of sunlight fell in fluted pillars among the twittering undergrowth. Small animals frolicked. The playful breeze turned the trees silver as it tickled the leaves and tipped them upwards towards the sky, exposing their paler bellies. An elfin maid sat demurely upon a low branch of a broad, well-appointed tree within a wide and sun-drenched clearing. She sat up alert and straight, legs together, the ankles neatly crossed, twitching her tunic into place and gently combing her hair out before twisting it up its brunette and silver tresses into a bun at the nape of her neck. A passing human might have been surprised at her small stature and the mercurial expressions that flitted over her face: indications closer to the moods of man than of elfin nature. But then, considering there was a young male elf stuck, spread-eagled to the tree trunk just above her, sputtering with frustration, they might well have had enough to be surprised about as it was.

 

Having finished with her hair, and idly playing with the twig she had used to comb it with, the lady flicked odd pieces of bark off her knees and spoke- apparently to the clearing.

 

“This is how it’s going to be. You know damn well you aren’t getting down from there until I tell my little friends to help you, so you are going to tell me everything I want to know, and I will see if I feel like speaking to my friends.” A soft humming droned into her ear, and turning to that side, she saw the fat, busy shapes of a small advance guard hovering gently before her. They danced a question, and she replied in a soft buzzing undertone that brushed up her throat from somewhere deep inside. The bees swirled in answer, and flew away.

 

“How do you do that?” Legolas’ curiosity momentarily overcame his current predicament enough to create speech. “I mean, I’ve seen you do it before, but how do you do it? I don’t think even Galadriel or Celeborn can manage that”

 

“I don’t know, I just- speak- to them. And don’t change the subject”

 

“*Fft*”

 

“The same to you. Now, let’s see, shall we begin at the beginning? First of all you are going to list all your pranks since your last confession, and then apologise for them. Then we will tot up who has done more, extra points for style, and they will be King for the day and the night, and have to do all the other one says. I get five extra points for catching you so magnificently with this effortlessly fantastic little number-”

 

Legolas made a rude noise

 

“- And that just lost you five points before we even started. That really wasn’t wise, you know. So- first; the bread roll incident. That, I believe, was your first since last month.”

 

“You want all of them?”

 

“Yes, all.”

 

Legolas sighed. This could take some time. And those were just the ones she knew about.

 

Pacing sedately down a path in the same wood came a smart and regal entourage. Solemn and powerful horses, hung with a rich livery that dripped with ethereal silver designs, their necks elegantly curved against the ornate bits on their bridles, and a glow of lively intelligence in their eyes, trod as though on parade. Their sheer joy of living rolled in their long limbs and the muscles in their flanks. Those that rode them were no less worthy of note. The sunlight poured into the paleness of their skin, nested in the curls of their golden tresses, and it seemed as if it was gathered up and reflected back three times more brilliant that the initial rays shot from the heart of glowing orb above. Silver singlets of strange and arcane design adorned their broad and noble brows. The fabrics of their cloaks were rich with designs picked out in silver and gold of leaves and swirling representations of possibly now trees, now spirits, now something else entirely, and these seemed to move, as if alive, across the surface of the cloth. The leader was wrapped about in a deep russet red the colour of new blood or the first, strident leaves of autumn. His small train rode a few paces behind him, attired in darker shades of greens, blues and the unknown colour of twilight. The leather of their boots shone in the bright light, and where a bow, a scabbard or a quiver of arrows momentarily came into view from a shifting fold of cloth, the weapons gleamed in a sprightly fashion. Everything about them, from their poise to their dress bespoke a graven dignity that was born eons before men were even starting to think about moving on from rocks to fire, and would continue long after men were dust in the wind.

 

“By Elbereth! I’ll be glad to get shot of you, you ridiculously uncomfortable creature,” Haldir of Lorien muttered under his breath, shifting his ragingly sore rump from one very tender spot to one that was still mostly unbruised. His mount seemed about as enamored of him as he was of it, and snorted, tossing its head and flicking horse-snot straight into Haldir’s face.

 

“Garrk! ‘Racho le! You son of a mule!”

 

The horse snickered and stepped up its pace to a trot, jouncing Haldir and causing him to cry out an involuntary curse that made the very rabbits blush at the side of the path, and caused his companions to look shocked, then begin to snigger. They were all tired, weary and very, very travel sore, Haldir above all. Lorien elves rarely ventured out by horse, being supreme marchers. “Why, oh why, did Lady Galadriel chose this form of transport, I will never know,” Haldir muttered darkly, reigning in his frisking mount and steadying their progress to a more sedate speed, and one more conducive to the well being of his abused bottom half. Lords alone knew if he’d ever walk the same way again as it was. As if sensing his thoughts, the horse whinnied and tried another head-flick, but this time he reined it in sharply.

 

“Try that again and you are dinner, hoof-boy.”

 

“Naco nin”

 

Haldir did a double take. Did his horse just tell him to do what he thought it said?

 

“Oh, go blow the wind, then, you stupid idiot. You can hang there until after lunch if you’re going to be like that”

 

No, that definitely wasn’t the horse. Haldir motioned his company to follow, and treading carefully, they turned off the path and towards what looked like the opening to a sizable clearing, at the center of which was a large tree, a small elf maid and an elf prince in a rather sticky situation.  Haldir raised one eyebrow. He’d been warned to expect this; Elrond was really letting things go if these two were allowed out with no supervision.

 

“Legolas, son of Thranduil, the Lady Sil Gathien, I presume…”

 

Sil Gathien had been having a splendid morning. She hadn’t had this much fun for some time. Once chores were over, a day off beckoned. So, a brisk walk in the wood, a flirtatious trick on one of the most gullible elves she’d ever known, and now revenge- sweet, innocent, simple revenge. Even the bees were giggling.

 

“- And the hedgehog incident?”

 

Legolas opened his mouth, took a breath to protest, and then stopped, frowning. “Actually, that wasn’t me.”

 

“Oh, come on! You can’t not be responsible! I mean when it went-”

 

“I know.”

 

“And then it-”

 

“Quite.”

 

“So if it wasn’t you, Mr I’m-All-Innocent-All-Of-A-Sudden, who the heck was it?”

 

“Lord Elrond.”

 

Silence in the glade.

 

For some time.

 

“You know, that is low even by your standards.”

 

“Hey! You know he likes his wine, right?”

 

“Well, yee-ees-”

 

“- Well, he got a bit- well watered- that night, then- then the hedgehog-kind of- in- of- and then-” Legolas dribbled into uncomfortable silence.

 

Sil Gathein was staring straight ahead, her eyes wide in wonder. “The things one learns. Ok, so that one is off the list, but I know there’s at least one we haven’t discussed.”

 

Legolas made not a sound. In fact his lips were pressing together, and a flush was spreading up his neck at a fair rate. Innocently, Sil Gathien chattered below him, mapping out the route to his shame.

 

“-And she is very pretty and witty, so I cannot fault you there, and asking her to the dance was nice. Dancing with her best friend was not. Kissing her best friend was, on reflection, suicidal; I think you’ll have to agree. A ‘little bird’ informing her what was going on was- shall we say- just spectacularly bad-or just very good- timing. I particularly found fascinating the amount of time it took to get the purgative out of your system. You know, the purgative in the wine she gave you? I never knew that one could be the washroom that long. I hear that purgatives are a speciality of ‘little birds’… and there we go, Prince Legolas, Son of King Thranduil, once we count this little trip down memory lane, we realise that that makes…five times that you have been lead by the breeches right up the creek, no, this one makes six. Six times. Quite the ladies’ elf, aren’t we? Do you have any comments to make, on the topic?”

 

“Bloodywomen”

 

“Aww, c’mon, be a sport, give the home team something to work with here.”

 

“Bloody women, you’re all the same”

 

“Please speak clearly, Legolas, muttering is a sure-fire way of leading to misinterpretation and thereby offence.”

 

“Bloody women, you’re all the same.”

 

“Oh, did a cricket just chirrup? I’m sorry, did you say anything?”

 

“You women! You’ll be the death of me! I’m just having some fun and being a young free spirit-”

 

“At the expense of a woman’s dignity each time! And it’s been at least eight times you’ve done this to a girl! Have you no idea how it feels? Legolas, this is one of your worst traits, you have to grow up!”

 

“Silith, this isn’t funny any more- get me down, I’m serious.”

 

“So am I! I’m immune to your charms, but there are quite a few elf maids who are not, and you cannot go around doing this! Even the nobles in my father’s province behaved better than this- and you’re supposed to be one of the fair kindred!”

 

“Silith, get a grip, these are silly games that all men and women play!”

 

“Not on my turf- and don’t use that name- talk to me properly, Legolas O’ Th’ Greenleaf, or I will make you sorry.”

 

“Resorting to threats? Tush, tush, little Silith.

”

“Don’t you dare tease me like that!!” Sil Gathien took a deep breath, paused, counted to ten and started again.

 

“Legolas, Lell’ias, please, I want to make you see that it isn’t right. It doesn’t matter what age you are, once you are a man you have a certain responsibility towards others, including those you court-”

 

“It’s just some fun-”

 

“-And let me finish, please. I don’t care if you think it’s fun. You men have no idea how hurtful it is. It might be nothing to you, but those girls are crying their secrets into their pillows because of men like you!”

 

“Well, thank goodness, then, that pillows cannot speak or else the whole world would veritably drown in stilted, maidens’ tears, and we would all be awash with thin, brittle and hopelessly unrealistic dreams!”

 

“Well, better to have dreams than have none at all!”

 

“And what do you mean by that?”

 

“I mean you- heartless, soulless beast- you don’t dream, you could never dream!”

 

“I do dream! I so do, and you are wrong, Sil Gathien, you are always wrong, I dream more deeply than a half-blood like you could ever dream.”

 

Sil Gathien stepped back from the tree, shocked, the colour draining from her face, her eyes wide, and her lips frozen apart in an attitude of disbelief. This was how they had begun, so many years ago. Her mother, a commoner elf, had died trying to save her father, a Duke from the world of men.  They had lain at her feet among a wreckage of their home, a small palace in a small principality on the boarders of Rohan.

The people had fled from the black, bestial creatures that had attacked with no warning, fled before their wave of destruction and death like surf breaking on the shore. They ran to the palace, where the men had made a brave last stand. Just a small child by either elf or human standards, Sil Gathien had stood and watched it all happen. She had seen her mother take up a sword and cut a swathe, the women following her lead- better to die at once trying for a victory than be trampled and raped. So she had seen her mother fall, and she had made not one sound, but watched the maelstrom around her with a child’s huge eyes and huger silence. Her mother’s blood had mingled with her father’s on the stones, and their hands had convulsed into one last kiss of the fingers. She wanted to scream, to cry out, why did you leave me? Why did you selfishly die? Cries that she made still in some of her worst dreams, some of her loneliest nightmares.

 

Then she had stood forth, exposed by the falling bodies of men and women. Then the creatures had turned on her, but she did not move, nor cry out, nor back down. She stood before her people, her small arms outspread, motioning them back, a cold fire of regal defiance in her eyes. If blood should be spilled, it would be hers, and may hers in its falling seal a wall between the creatures and her people and save them. Don’t let them die. Don’t let them all die. Then from her throat, for the first time in her life, there came the buzzing hum that summoned her little friends. The bees heard her, and from the east, the west and the south they flew in, furious, murderous, the biggest swarm that had ever been. The sky was black with their bodies, and this new night hummed with the aggression of a million, million warriors growling under their breath. They flowed around her, dancing their wings over her skin, soothing its trembling, and then swept forward, over the creatures, throwing their tails at skin, eye and ear, mouths and throats, stinging, stinging, stinging. The creatures howled, a sound of pure pain and terror, and fell by the dozens. What they were, no one knew, and no one wanted to investigate. Their bodies were dragged onto the plains and torched. Sil Gathein still remembered the stench in her dreams. Her mother and father were buried together. The principality came under the protection of Rohan, and Sil Gathien came to Lord Elrond’s house because her mother had been descended from the house of his people.  She had no other kin who wanted such a strange and terrifying child, nor one who did not appear to age as men do, but on the contrary seemed to gain grace and slightness of being that were distinctly elfin in their nature.

 

“’Tis the blood of her elf mother. ‘Tis not all human, than one, most pecu’li’ar.” But what the grizzled, gossiping old men of the taverns of her old home could not have known- what she would not know for many years until the wise teachings of Elrond were to show her the way to remembering- was what the swarm had said to her that day with its drone and its wings. That one great deed of bravery, one that surpassed the hearts of both elves and men, could be rewarded, and in her heart of hearts, she had chosen life. Even the gods find good use in the smallest of messengers.

 

Legolas had met her some years later when he came to study at the house of Elrond. As his father’s heir to the kingdom of Mirkwood, Thranduil felt that the boy should have some of the wisdom of the world, and respecting Elrond’s wisdom and the excellence of learning in Rivendell, he had dispatched his son there to gain an education of ideas before he came home for an education of ruling. Legolas’ and Sil Gathien’s first meeting had not, on the surface of it, been a great success.  Legolas had called her ‘half blood’ and sneered. She had called him an arrogant son-of-an-Orc. They had had their first pitched battle, become fast friends and their squabbles been the bane of Elrond’s life ever since.

 

Sil Gathien backed away, her skin blanching white, then flushing red as her eyes pricked with painful tears. Legolas moaned softly, all to aware suddenly of what he’d done. Such jibes are one thing when we are young and foolish and naturally unkind, and just as naturally fast healing, but when we are grown they can cut to the heart and cause terrible pain.

 

“Sil, Silith, oh, Valar, Silith, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

 

“This is just you all over, Legolas! You don’t think! At all! You just do whatever you want- you, you pig!”

 

“Hey! I was going to apologise! You want me to apologise for the others as well, all right, I do, I apologise for everything I’ve ever done! Does that make you feel better?!” He glared daggers at her.

 

“Of all the-! You arrogant, festering, son of a ditch rat!!”

 

“Descending to bad language, Sil Gathien? Hardly the language of a lady. Ah, but then you’re not a lady, are you?”

 

“Shite-stick!”

 

“Wart-boil!”

 

“You self-satisfied, over-inflated…man of a-a-a- MAN!”

 

Legolas laughed. “Well, there’s a surprise!”

 

“Go boil your privates!”

 

“Naco nin”

 

“Oh, go blow the wind, then, you stupid idiot. You can hang there until after lunch if you’re going to be like that”

  

It was then that they realised they were not alone.

 

“Uh, hi, Haldir, oh, um- Greetings, fair wanderer, and welcome to the province of the Lord Elrond, uh-” Sil Gathien’s curtsey was rusty to say the least.

 

“Blessings lie fair on your path, Lord Haldir.” For an elf stuck to a tree, Legolas was doing a good impersonation of dignity.

 

Haldir felt there was nothing more to add.

 

Part Three: The Finest Behind in Elfdom

 

“-elp!”

 

Sil Gathien, along with most of the female population in that part of Rivendell was engaged in surreptitiously peeking into the chambers assigned to the Lord Haldir. Poor Haldir, he wasn't having an easy time of it. Dismounting had proved... tricky... and throughout his interview with Elrond, he had winced and smothered soft groans, although seated on layers of the softest cushions.

 

Sil Gathien had had the honour of being there because she had had the pleasure of escorting him in. So had Lell'ias. But he found it hard to concentrate at that first greeting, since he was still daubed here and there with honey sap, not to mention being the object of attention of a handful of love-struck bees that had followed him in.

When finally addressed and directed by Lord Elrond, Sil Gathien had smoothed down her pristine clothing, curtseyed and led Haldir out to his rooms. Lell'ias had remained behind for a tongue-lashing, his gloom sunk in the tiny cloud of bees now circling his head like a living halo.

 

Poor Haldir. Once taken to his rooms he had been presented with a cooling, soothing bath complete with balms for his sore behind, but was still having difficulty moving, hell, it hurt to breathe. He had dismissed the servants, preferring, perhaps from a manly, or even Lorien-elf-induced pride, to attempt to manage alone. But if the soft yelps coming from his room were anything to go by, it wasn’t an easy task.

 

“-eth!”

 

It was perhaps as well that he didn't know about his furtive audience of admirers. Saddle sore he might be, and swathed in a robe as it definitely was, it was now a clear consensus among the serving women that Lord Haldir of Lorien had a cute butt.

 

There was a scuffle down the corridor, and Sil Gathien, from her perch at the fanlight above Haldir's chamber door, looked down in annoyance. If they didn't shut up, they'd all get caught.

 

“Sssshh!”

 

More scuffling, and muttered whispers. With a soft curse, Sil Gathien dropped as light as a cat and padded over to the huddle of maids. “What is it?”

 

“Oh, Sil- we- er- ointment for Lord Haldir's-uh-y'know.”

 

“Fine, give it to him, he looks very uncomfortable. Very fine nonetheless… but uncomfortable.” She was aware that they were all staring at her. She hastily wiped away the dreamy expression, and glared forcefully at them. “So what's the problem?”

 

“Uh, it needs- applying. We're all a-bit-um-shy-er-“

 

“Oh, for goodness' sake!” Sil Gathien grabbed the pot and strode to Haldir’s door, knocking smartly thereon before she had a chance to think about what she was doing. “Enter” a strong tenor bid her come. Gulping as the first pangs of realisation struck her, Sil Gathien numbly opened the door and entered.

 

Haldir stood there, leaning at an angle against the mantelpiece. “My lady, what can I do for you?” His voice had a rough edge to it, as if he was holding in some great emotion.

 

“More like what can I do for you,” muttered Sil Gathien, her eyes widening at the expanse of firm chest that Haldir's loose robe, hanging as it was unheeded, revealed. She heard a faint giggling, as did Haldir, who looked up, frowning, unable to pinpoint it. Sil Gathien whirled around, glaring at the fanlight, the crannies, the corridor peep-holes, and there was an abrupt cessation of giggling, followed by a few thumps and bangs as the maids leapt away and ran up the corridor. Her whirling had taken her full circle, spinning as she was in a smooth arc on one heel, and so she ended up facing a perplexed Haldir again.

 

 “What was-“

 

“Oh, you know, very drafty old place this, makes lots of weird noises. Um- I come with-balm, er, for your-” Sil Gathien gestured to her own behind then gestured the pot towards Haldir.

 

A look of relief passed over his face. “Oh, thank you! A healer, lady?”

 

“Sometimes.” It wasn't a complete lie. She did know how to make this particular cure-all balm, although most of her healer duties consisted in the donkeywork of stirring the large pots of bubbling ointments and lotions in the final stage of their preparation.

 

“Thank you, and the Valar bless you” Haldir winced, and turned his back on her.

 

“Right, well, I'll leave it here, then” she placed it on a side table and made to leave- quickly.

 

“No, please, healer, stay. I mean- could you please help me apply it? Only, it's so tender, I don't think I have the nerve to touch it.”

 

The flush that was creeping up Sil Gathien’s throat threatened to overwhelm her to the very roots of her hair. Did he have to ask in that very soft, sensuous Lorien accent?

 

“Uh, sure, yes, um-” Nervously, she approached, picking up the pot and advancing on his back.

 

Well, it was a greasy job, but someone had to do it, so pull yourself together, girl. She squared her shoulders, and managing by some miracle to make her voice sound steadier than it actually felt, she calmly unbound the lid and coolly asked him to lift his robe. This he did, and despite her now close proximity to possibly the finest butt in Rivendell, Sil Gathien winced in deep sympathy for the wheals and rawness that stretched across Haldir's tortured behind.

 

“Blessed-! Those are some fine sores you have, Lord Haldir.” Tentatively, then with easy, even strokes, she began to smooth on the ointment. Haldir hissed air between his unseen lips, his head buried in his arms, leaning on the mantle. Sil Gathien stopped “I am sorry this hurts my Lord-”

 

“It does” the whimper was so soft, she could barely hear it, but she could hear the sobs being choked back. Her heart went out to him, and suddenly it didn’t seem so impossible task at all.

 

“Well, I'm sorry, but it has to be done, and once it's done, it's done,” she added in a firm, no-nonsense, yet gentle tone she'd heard the Healers use.

 

“Thank you.” His voice now was as soft as the breeze lifting autumn leaves. For some reason, her mind was flooded with images of golden leaves, silver boughs and the freedom of life and air high above the ground. Lorien, golden forest, she murmured, although perhaps it was only a voice in her mind.

 

“You’re- you're quite welcome, my Lord. Nearly done, now.”

 

Once she was finished, she wiped her hands on a facecloth as Haldir lowered the skirt of his robe and turned to face her. She could see the faint puzzlement on his face that everyone who used this powerful, numbing, healing balm felt when it began to work- the pain simply melted away like a bad dream. He stood straight, and she realised how tall he was. He seemed to draw towards himself all the authority and gravitas of one of the Lords of ancient tales. His hair flowed around broad, strong shoulders, and his face lifted with a noble spirit. Gobsmacked, and feeling very small and insignificant, Sil Gathien found her voice was working before she was ready for it.

 

“Are all Lorien elves as handsome as you?”

 

Haldir appeared to be as surprised by her question as she was, but his smile was like a delighted sun breaking into a May morning.

 

“Why, thank you, healer, but I am quite ordinary by the standard of any elf, whereas you-” he studied her a moment. “Half-elven?” he queried. Mutely she nodded. “Well, you are a more precious prize- you have a spirit quite unlike any elf or half-elf I have come across. Any and every life is important- and those who are truly alive are the most handsome, just as you are so very alive.” He smiled, and wiping the remnants of tears from his eyes, tears that suddenly made him less magnificent and more real, and gazed at her. She felt lost in those blue eyes. “Er, my lady? Healer? Uh, I would like to be dressed now for the banquet?”

 

Sil Gathien jumped with a start. “Oh, yes, sorry, right, yes- er- there’s the balm, should you need more- but you should be fine for applying it now, and, er, yes, well- cheers!”

 

She bobbed a curtsey and under Haldir's delighted eyes, left quickly.

 

After she was quite gone, he chuckled to himself, and pausing a moment, rang a small bell. A servant entered, and bowed.

 

“Please take a message to Lord Elrond. I have a request to make.”

 

Part Four: She Shall Go To The Ball

 

Haldir’s arrival at Rivendell (not to mention his admirable behind) had started a flaming flurry in the palaces and mansions scattered along the length of the valley-side, among those who actually ran the place, the serving lifeblood of noble living. Scuttlebutt sped on swift wings in the fading evening light into every nook and cranny, and the pages, squires, stewards and maids were in a mild uproar. Not only was a banquet planned for that very evening- the logistics of which had all the chefs working at a furious pace, the plate cupboards thrown open into organised chaos, and the servers rushing to heave formal livery from closets and herb-scented drawers- but there was also the darker shade of a Council being called between Rivendell and Lorien. No one called a Council unless the need was serious, and worry lay thickly in dark corners, reaching for the scurrying masses with icy fingers. However, Elves love the moment, and this moment was a feast of celebration between two major centres of Elvin life, with all local dignitaries and princelings and ladies in attendance, blazing the dusk with their colourful perfumes and robes. The blazing lights of the halls and the glow emanating directly from the faces of the elders helped to force the worries back into the darkest pockets a little while longer.

 

Hastening back to her room after her somewhat embarrassing and tongue-tied encounter with the now-legendary rear end, her face still flushed scarlet, Sil Gathien did not at first take in the full import of the presence of the page hanging about outside her door.

 

“Loitering with intent?” she joked at the young Elf, whose face she’d seen about and whose name she could just about have remembered if she had more time. Instead, she dived through the door into the room she shared with fellow maid-stewards Mellorn and Hall’orth, leaving the nervous sleeve-plucking, throat-clearing page outside, suddenly face to face with a wooden door, his message still-born on his lips.

 

Mellorn, an older elf more prone to dourness than joy, a holy terror in the kitchen, but a master at organising scatty young elf maids and keeping general order in the pantry, looked up from where she sat, mending a tiny tear under an arm of her formal livery.

 

“Message for you from Lord Elrond’s office.” Her eyes followed Sil Gathien’s now hesitant steps across the room to her bed, where the vellum sheet lay, sealed with red ink and Lord E’s own seal. The shrewd eyes narrowed.

 

“What have you been up to now, Sil Gathien?”

 

Sil Gathien, the envelope in hand, jumped slightly. “Why, whatever makes you think I’ve done anything wrong? Do I really have that much of a guilty face?” She tried to pass off her nervousness with a little levity. For answer, Mellorn raised one eyebrow and pursed her lips. Sil Gathien quailed inwardly. Mellorn’s face could have that effect.

 

As her elder, Mellorn deserved her respect, but Sil Gathien’s unusual position in the household meant that Mellorn’s orderly world had been turned upside down with the addition of this unruly and disorderly roommate. Although her father had been of high Human birth, Sil Gathien’s mother had not been of very noble Elvin birth, although still a distant relation to Lord Elrond. Sil Gathien’s very rare half-Elven status also provided another mutual bond with her Lord, and as a result, she stood now at the rank of household steward. There having been no area that needed her direct overseeing at the time she was appointed, Sil Gathien filled whenever a working group needed to have an official presence. Her light-hearted manner meant her group was less likely to be up to Mellorn’s exacting standard of production, and more likely to be found having fun while they worked; chattering, laughing, with a greater air of content. As a result, Sil Gathien had fallen into a previously uninhabited position of extraneous roving steward, and was just about every maid and page’s favourite; while Mellorn made it her life’s work to rota the most surly and uncooperative groups to Sil Gathien. As a result, there was always some tension between the older Mellorn and youthful Sil Gathien.

 

“What have you been up to, Sil Gathien?”

 

“Just- out- playing with Legolas.” She attempted an innocent approach.

 

Mellorn’s face pursed. “Playing with Prince Legolas? The day you two grow up, all respect to his highness, of course, and stop your antics, a lot happier this place will be.”

 

“Yeah, and a lot more boring!” The third roommate, the unusually named Hall’orth, entered, towelling her hair dry from her ablutions in the washrooms down the hallway. “And what is that poor, nervous page doing out there?” she grinned at Sil Gathien, dropped an unnecessary, cheeky curtsey to Mellorn, and settled onto her bed. “I think it’s great that Sil and the Prince can have such fun together.”

 

Mellorn spluttered into her sewing.

 

“No, really,” Hall’orth continued mildly, “they have all the time in the world to grow up, and he’s not exactly going to be needing to take up his role as heir of Mirkwood for some time, Valar willing. One day he will have to be a Prince and move far away and be sombre and distant, and Sil will be- well, her destiny is yet to be written. I think it wonderful that they have this freedom. Innocence should be treasured; friendship more so. And without them it would be a lot less fun around here.”

 

“We are not here for fun, Hall’orth!” Mellorn stood, shocked and affronted as only a career servant could be. She shook out her livery and added, “We are here to serve!” and with a glare at Sil Gathien, she flounced out.

 

There was a brief pause.

 

“Say, did the air in here just get a whole lot lighter? Maybe it was the removal of that enormous chip,” Hall’orth pondered, innocently. Sil Gathien giggled.

 

“Seriously, Sil, what is up with you at the moment? First you get to salve the finest butt this side of the Golden Wood, now a page is at the door- you do know that he’s waiting on a reply?”

 

Sil Gathien looked surprised. “No, I didn’t, I-”

 

“Well, read the letter, then!” Hall’orth busied herself drying and combing her hair, leaving Sil Gathien free to read.

 

Sil Gathien cracked the seal and opened the letter as if fearing it might explode. As she read, her eyes grew larger and larger, and her face drained of colour. Seeing her friend apparently distressed, Hall’orth became concerned. “Hey, kiddo, not bad news, I hope?”

 

“I am instructed to be at the feast tonight.”

 

“And?”

 

“Well, I’m going to be there anyway, of course-” she tried to shuffle the letter behind her back, but Hall’orth, already on her feet, was too quick for her, and grabbed the vellum from her hands. Holding back the slightly smaller Elf with one hand, she read aloud the dreadful summons.

 

“Lord Elrond, at the request of Lord Haldir of Lorien, desires that the Lady Sil Gathien attend the feast tonight as steward-hostess, with all due honour and respect. Please tender an answer to- holy rootlings, girlie! You’ve been invited to the ball!”

 

Sil Gathien’s odd position, giving her a rank of steward at a very young age, also came with other idiosyncrasies. Out of honour of their bonds of blood, Elrond had allowed her attend the classes that children of Elvin nobles took at his small, informal ‘college’. She also had an honorary floating title of ‘lady’. Although not strictly noble by Elvin standards, her human nobility was honoured, and her parent’s bravery, as well as her own, was remembered by the use of the title at ceremonial occasions. But she had never been raised to the point of attending formal banquets before. Always she stood in the household livery with the other stewards, overseeing, nudging and watching details; the oil that made the gears of an occasion run smoothly. Despite the leeway and freedoms she enjoyed- somewhere between a squire-student and lady-steward, Sil Gathien knew her place was behind the feast, and that was fine by her. This was quite unprecedented.

 

“At the request of Lord Haldir?” Hall’orth was crowing delightedly. “Oh, you’ve got a beau there- maybe you can be butt-ties, or he could ass you to dance; maybe he was impressed by your smooth ‘handling’ of the situation-”

 

“OY!” Sil Gathien made a lunge and snagged back the letter, marching to the door, her face burning. She yanked it open, surprising the nervous page, who had just got up the courage to knock. He blinked, swallowed and tried not to show how terrified Sil Gathien’s agitated battle-face made him.

 

Sil Gathien paused, took a breath and closed her eyes as if in pain. “Please inform Lord Elrond, with all due respects and thanks that I-”

 

“-Will of course be attending, and am delighted to be so honoured and considered.”

 

The page blinked from the furious Sil Gathien to the grinning face of Hall’orth, which had sprouted from Sil Gathien’s shoulder.

 

“Well, off you go, sonny.” The page seemed glued to the spot, aghast. “Like- now?” Hall’orth narrowed her eyes just a little and made ‘skidaddle’ motions with the free hand emerging from behind her friend. The boy took the hint and ran for it.

 

Sil Gathien managed to un-freeze only after it was too late the call the lad back.

 

“And just why did you do that?” the voice was icy, the jaw was clenched, her back radiated anger into Hall’orth’s face. Hall’orth spun her around and shut the door in one movement, before the already curious crowd outside got any bigger. She shoved her unbending friend against the wall.

 

“Because, you clot-for-brains, you do not go refusing an invitation from two of the highest lords in Elfdom! Great leaping honey-pots, Sil! Wake up and smell your destiny! You tell me so much about your noble parents- well, act your bloodline, for starters! You cannot have your cake and eat it with cream, girl! If you want to keep those freedoms you already enjoy, you’ll have to put in your dues as well!”

 

Sil Gathien visibly wilted under her friend’s wise words.

 

When she spoke, she had already lost her anger, and the voice was small, shy and a little lost. “But, I don’t know how!” The last came out as a wail.

 

“Bollocks,” was Hall’orth’s opinion. “Everyone can dance- and you’re pretty good at the household socials. Besides, if Lord Haldir asked for you, he’s unlikely to be ungentlemanly and mock you in public. And Lord Elrond would never let anyone do that to someone in his household- and I am sure he’s got a soft spot for you, anyway.” Sil Gathien looked less terrified now, but instead threw Hall’orth a sceptical glance at this comment. “No, I mean it, I think he has. You’ve been a good friend to Arwen, and she’ll be there. So will Legolas, and I’ll be hanging about the background. You will have allies! Now, what to wear?”

 

Then the thought struck them both like a lead clanger. “A dress!” All right, so maybe there was a problem. Sil Gathien disliked gowns, and didn’t own any, and she could hardly go dancing in leggings. The girls looked at each other. What on Middle Earth could they do?