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Chapter Text

1. An Unpleasant Assignment

The Wold, Rohan, Fourth Age 8

“I have decided you shall marry an elf this summer. A noble-elf.” Mother’s voice was calm and matter-of-factly.

Wynne stared at her in disbelief, nearly dropping the stack of plates in her hands. She had been helping her mother clear the table after dinner. “An elf? Why?”

“Well, seeing as you clearly did not inherit your grandmama’s beauty, I have realized we need elven blood to make sure your children shall not be plain as well.” She sounded like she was discussing which stallion to mate with which mare to produce the most desired offspring; as if her daughter was one of their horses. “In addition, I have good hopes you will catch the elf king, or at least the prince, which of course will be very beneficial for our status.”

“But we don’t know any elves… How–”

“Don’t interrupt! I have been informed by our dear relative Aragorn that the King of Greenwood leaves on a mission to hunt orcs in the Brown Lands for the summer, and for this quest he needs horses. He specifically asked for Rohirrim breed – and who has finer mearas than we? Nobody has. Well, so I made your father speak with dear Aragorn and tell him we would be happy to oblige. We have agreed to lend King Thranduil ten of our best, and they come with a groom. Someone who can tend to the horses and help the elves with whatever they need. And that groom is you .”

Wynne felt a chill at how definite that sounded. “But–”

“Will you be quiet, girl!” Mother pounded her fist on the table and Wynne stood straighter. “Your real mission will be to catch a royal elf – that would be the king or his son – and make him marry you, like I said.”

Wynne stared at her. A quest to hunt orcs sounded terribly frightening, but trying to make an elf king marry her even more so. 

“Mother, please. I can’t. I’ll do anything else, just–” 

A hard slap on the cheek silenced her. ”You will do as told! Béma help me, I swear you will be the death of me.” Mother struck her other cheek too for good measure. “This summer will be your twentieth; you are no little girl anymore. I was married at that age and already with child and so was your grandmama. I don’t understand what you are fretting about anyway! Have you ever seen a male elf before? They are exceedingly handsome.” She pulled out a chair for Wynne and sat down opposite. “It should be easy. You will be the only woman of the company, it will be just you and all those elf men. You will be close to them at all hours, sleeping in their camp, sharing their meals, tending to their wounds if they get any. If you play your cards well it will only be a matter of time before some – or all of them – are attracted to you! Men are weak. Show them a little skin and they won’t be able to resist you. Trust me on this. Elves are no different than stallions; a mare in heat will make them mad with lust.”

Looking down at her folded hands, Wynne tried to push back the disturbing images of mating horses that sailed up before her vision. She had seen it happen since she was a girl; she knew exactly what the stallions did to the mares and the thought of this happening to her made her feel sick.

“You must encourage them,” Mother continued. “That is, the two royal elves, King Thranduil and Prince Legolas, as their names are.” Standing up again she began to pace the room, speaking with increasing eagerness. “It will be the perfect alliance. Elven blood – elven royal blood at that – bred into the lines of the Rohirrim! Your offspring will be half elvish, long lived and beautiful. The future Lords and Ladies of Limliht will be famous!”

Wynne remained silent. Her cheeks still throbbed and she knew she would be struck again if she made more objections; Mother apparently didn’t mind if she was covered in bruises when she met the elves. She never hesitated to raise a hand against her. Perhaps she beat Father too, who knew?

“Elves are not accustomed to humans and you will use this against them.” Mother smiled grimly. “Undress before them, seduce them with alcohol – I do not care what you do as long as it is successful. If you become pregnant first and marry after, that is of no matter. Even if they refuse to marry you you will at least have a half-elven child of royal blood.” She sounded like it was the simplest thing in the world.

“They will get offended and send me away,” she blurted in a final attempt to stop the mad plan. “And then I would be all alone in the wilderness and get killed by orcs, or wolves, or trolls or… robbers, or…” She knew she sounded childish but couldn’t stop herself.

“Nonsense! They need the horses and they know it; they won’t send you away. They will think it is the way of humans and get used to it, and as time passes their lust will work its course. They shall not be able to resist you in the long run. Like I said; men are weak.”

Wynne felt bile rise in her throat at the thought of mating with an elf, or any male person. She had lived at home with her parents and grandparents all her life and never even talked in private to a man. They were large and burly, and, judging by the men she saw at the marketplace, ugly and stinking. 

As far as she knew elves were no better. Sure, according to Mother they were handsome, but then she probably thought human men were attractive too. Maybe Wynne was strange to think men ugly and disgusting but she just couldn’t imagine she would ever want one to mount her like a stallion.

A chill trickled down her spine as she tried to picture herself seducing an elf king, taking off her clothes in front of him to make him desire her. It would never work. She was no beauty and had no plump arms or soft bosom to impress him with. She had spent most of her life on horseback so her face was tanned and freckled from the sun and her body lean and strong. 

She was plain, just like Mother had said, and the elves wouldn’t look at her twice.

“I can’t do it. Please don’t make me!” she begged.

“This is not up for debate; it has been decided for a long time. You will go.” She had a threatening frown.

“I refuse! You don’t own me and I’m not a mare you can force to mate!” Her outburst surprised even herself. She never talked back.

Mother’s face turned white and she grabbed Wynne’s arms with fingers like claws, nails digging deep as she pushed her against the wall.

“You. Will. Not. Disobey me.” Her voice was low and deadly cold. “You will go to the elves and come back with an elf husband, or at least his child in your womb. If not, you shall regret it.”

Wynne’s head pounded and her vision swam. 

“When do I leave?” she whispered, all defiance gone. 

Compared to her mother’s fury even an elf in her bed was to prefer.

Chapter Text

2. Meeting the Elvenking

Wynne spotted the group of elves at a long distance. They had built a simple camp just offshore of the Anduin river and seemed to be waiting for her, lined up as they were in a semicircle. 

Almost despite herself she relaxed her seat, causing her gray mare to slow her pace and nervously toss her head. Vatna was sensitive to her rider’s emotions.

All the way here Wynne had tried and failed to think of ways to escape this trap. Should she run away somewhere and hide until the elves got tired of waiting? But ten mearas weren’t exactly inconspicuous and she could never abandon them. Should she try to fail on purpose? Just ride with the elves as their groom and never act out Mother’s instructions? But then she would have to face her wrath on her return and that was even more intimidating than marrying an elf. 

No, she simply had no choice. Her mother had willed this, and when she willed something it happened. Wynne must make the elves like her, somehow; there was no other option. 

One did not oppose Mother. 

Reluctantly she nudged Vatna to step into the cool water. The river was shallow here, with large stones peeking up at intervals, so the horses could wade over easily. 

At the other side she got a closer look at the waiting elves and the sight made her almost ashamed that she had doubted Mother’s description of their beauty, and instead mentally compared them to the ugly men at the marketplace. They were tall and looked strong but there ended all likeness with them. Male elves were indeed beautiful, strikingly handsome in a knee weakening way. 

Two of them were dark, with brown skin and raven black hair, one was a redhead and the final two were blond. All five had flawless faces; no wrinkles, no scars, no birth marks anywhere to be seen, and their waist long hair had intricate braiding on the sides of their heads. Unlike Wynne’s tousled, brown tresses, not a single strand of their hair seemed to be misplaced.

Even their clothes were beautiful, spotlessly clean despite having camped out of doors. Feeling conscious, she glanced at her wrinkled tunic, her hose with grass stains on the knees and her leather boots covered in mud and horse dung. 

Oh well, if Mother was right, she wouldn’t need clean clothes or smooth hair, all it would take was some nudity. 

Thinking about undressing in front of the elves made her cringe with embarrassment but she knew she had to at least try if she would ever succeed in getting one into her bed.

“Greetings, human, I am King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm, and you must be the representative of the House Örn. I had imagined you somewhat older… and male.” The blond elf that had spoken looked down his nose at her, which must have been hard considering she was still on horseback. 

His grandeur was intimidating; he wore the most elegant outfit of the group, a fur lined cloak over a tunic in a silvery material, and carried two slender swords in jeweled scabbards.

Wynne didn’t know where to look and clenched her fists hard to hide her trembling. “Greetings sire. I am Wynne Örn, daughter of Vinur, Lord of Limliht, at your service.” She made a slight bow and dismounted, trying not to wobble on her suddenly weak legs.

“I am pleased to make your acquaintance, my lady.” He looked like he was not pleased at all, taking in her simple clothing, weathered features and small stature, and immediately dismissing her as useless.

Sweet Vána, this would never work! He hated her already, her husband-to-be if Mother had her way. 

The king examined the horses, seemingly trying to find fault with them also, but this at least wouldn’t be possible. They were outstanding, even the pack animals. Wynne herself might be a disappointment but she need not be ashamed of her mearas, the famous horse breed of Rohan.

Despite this, the king did manage to find a complaint. 

“Where are the reins and saddles?” He sounded accusing. “I see you have saddlebags on the pack horses but no riding gear at all on the mounts. Why is this?” 

A wave of annoyance chased away part of Wynne’s fear. Who was this elf to question her competence as a horsewoman? Reins and saddles? Her proud animals would never have to endure the hard pull of steely bits in their soft mouths or the chafering of saddles, it was bad enough they must carry strangers on their noble backs.

“You won’t need that. These are well trained horses.” She tried to sound calm but the king’s disdainful look made it hard. 

“You want us to ride bareback like savages?” He somehow managed to sound even more arrogant than before. “If you are indeed a lady of the Rohirrim you should know it is impossible to fight on horseback without saddles.”

Wynne was almost bristling now and bit down a harsh answer. Had he just questioned her identity? If he wanted a saddle so badly he should have borrowed a coarse Gondorian carthorse instead of a meara.

The elf rudely turned his back on her to confer with a couple of the others in a foreign language. 

She glared at him. This was the elf king she was supposed to marry? There was no way she could go through with that! To be forced to endure living together with someone like him must be almost as horrible as facing Mother’s anger. Besides, he would likely not agree to it even if she was the last woman in Middle-earth.

The other blond elf approached her and stroked Vatna’s soft muzzle. “Your horses are beautiful. Do not worry; I am sure we can fight just as well on foot.” He lowered his voice and blinked mischievously. “Most elves prefer riding bareback, you know. Father is just afraid of getting hairs on his fancy clothes.” 

“I heard that,” snapped the king icily.

“You cannot deny it is true, though.” Chuckling, he dipped his head at Wynne. “I am Legolas, by the way. Pleased to meet you.”

“Pleased to meet you too, sire.” She bowed. This was the prince who was her second choice in marriage, according to Mother. He looked slightly nicer than the king and was much simpler dressed in a hunter’s green tunic with a bow strapped onto his back. 

Wynne appreciated that he complimented her horses, but she didn’t like his teasing smirk. As if he thought his father’s displeasure was just a fun game.

Thranduil had finished talking to the others. “I have a suggestion, my lady. I shall take the horses and borrow them this spring and summer as agreed, and return them by early fall. We can tend to them ourselves so your service will not be needed after all.” In his commanding voice it sounded more like an order than a suggestion.

“I can’t agree to that, sire.” She tried to sound polite but he made it very hard. “Where my horses go, I go, or we have no deal.” She tried to stand tall and look imperious like him. 

Perhaps if her hair had been long and flowing and her eyebrows as intimidating as his she could have succeeded. Now she probably just looked silly.

“The quest we will embark upon is not a children’s game, girl. We will battle vile monsters and ride long hours. It is no place for a young woman.”

Wynne’s stomach plummeted. Monsters? What monsters? Did he mean orcs, or… worse? Trolls? Dragons? 

Her mouth had gone dry but she couldn’t let her fear show. “My father and Aragorn apparently thought differently, for they assigned me this task and I am not afraid,” she lied. Somehow the elf’s condescending behavior brought forward an unknown source of stubbornness and pride in her.

“Suit yourself then. Remember I have warned you. If you fall behind or encumber us in any way I shall send you straight back and make do without the horses.”

She gave a slight nod, hoping that he wouldn't notice her shivering. Could she really manage this? What if the first sight of a monster made her so frightened that she panicked? If she was sent home it would be an absolute disgrace to her House. Not to mention how furious it would make Mother.

She would have to pretend. Pretend to be a fearless, independent woman, a woman of the world, who was not afraid to be among monsters – or royal elves, for that matter. She must act strong, as if she wore invisible armor. 

She imagined herself dressing up in chainmail, putting on a helmet with only a tiny slit for the eyes like a warrior, and the thought made her straighten her back and lift her chin. Was she not the daughter of a Rohirrim lord? Was her House not one of the finest in the Mark, and her Grandmama related to the most famous of kings, Aragorn himself? Distantly, yes, but still!

Growing up in her mother’s shadow had hardened her. How scary could a bunch of monsters be compared to her?

She could do this. 

Chapter Text

3. Choosing Horses

The remaining elves joined the party by the horses and introduced themselves. Galion was a sword fighter with a huge, double-handed sword, hence he looked a lot stronger than the other elves with bulging biceps under his brown tunic. Unlike Wynne he had no freckles, as one would expect with that red mane of hair, but his skin did have the pale, almost translucent hue that Wynne had noticed on ginger humans.

The final two, Nodir and Bronedir, were bowmen like Legolas, with long daggers in their belts as a backup. They were brothers, and their mother came from a settlement far in the south which explained their brown skin. Not that Wynne would have known; she had no idea what elves usually looked like.

After the short presentation the elves began to take down their tents and pack their belongings in a speedy, efficient way. When they were done it was almost impossible to see where the camp had been, so carefully did they restore everything. 

Their respect for nature made Wynne slightly less apprehensive of them. A creature who cared for the living things in their surroundings couldn’t be altogether bad. 

They didn’t carry much and their luggage fit well into the saddlebags Wynne had brought. The horses not chosen for riding would carry their packs, including her own bags. If need be, they could ride the pack horses; they were all equally suited for riding and alternating horses was a good way to spare their strength.

Wynne let the elves pick mounts among all the horses, except her own Vatna, watching them carefully as they did so. She was curious which ones they would choose. 

The king went first, daring the others to precede him with a stern look. Wynne had to hide a smile when he was done; the stallion he chose was the most headstrong of them all. He would have a handful with that one.

Galion was next up. He seemed to have singled out a huge gelding beforehand and Wynne nodded appreciatively. It was a good choice. Hlaupari was strong and fast and wouldn’t tire even with such a muscular warrior on his back.

The elf brothers seemed to care less what rides they got and soon picked two similar looking bays, both mares. One was a lot more active than the other, Wynne knew, but they would notice that themselves before long. 

Legolas took his time before he made his decision. He walked slowly among the horses, stroking their heads, looking them in the eyes and blowing softly on their noses. Finally he picked a slender, young mare in a pretty chestnut color. She had answered his exhale with a puff of air of her own, and then commenced to nuzzle his shoulder in a friendly way. It was clear they had both taken a liking to each other. 

Legolas was the only elf wishing to know what the name of his horse meant, which raised him even further in Wynne’s eyes.

“Her name is Stelpa. It means ‘girl’ in Old Rohanese,” she translated.

“Stelpa. Very fitting. I like it.” He stroked the chestnut’s forehead and traced her white star with his finger.

It was time to get going and the elves mounted their horses in a varying range of difficulty, used to saddles and stirrups as some of them obviously were. Legolas was an exception; with an elegant jump he straddled his mare and she didn’t even flinch. Already he and Stelpa seemed connected.

“How do we make them go the way we want?” King Thranduil managed to sound lofty and unconcerned despite his stallion’s wild capering and tossing head. “And before you make silly assumptions, I do know how to ride, but it appears you taught your horses unconventional commands.”

Cheeks heating, Wynne wanted to yell at him that all mearas listened to these commands and if he didn’t know them it was because he was an ignorant elf. But of course she could say no such thing or Mother’s plans would be ruined.

Instead she patiently instructed the group the basic verbal and non-verbal commands to make their steeds walk faster, slower, turn around or walk backwards. She doubted they would remember half of it but with Vatna in the lead the other horses would follow; she had a high status in the herd.

The company followed the Anduin south, heading in the direction of the Brown Lands where Thranduil said many orcs were still hiding. “Most of Sauron’s minions were defeated after the war but some managed to flee and scatter across Arda. Now they hide in uninhabited areas, waylaying and killing unexpecting journeymen.”

Wynne could only barely remember the dark times of the war, young as she had been, and she had never seen an orc.

But to Thranduil it seemed that hardly any time had passed. “Since the war ended I have assigned patrols all over Greenwood, or Mirkwood as it was formerly named. There is less evil there now but still not a year goes by without us finding another spider’s nest or orc den.”

“Are you not needed at home then, sire?” she asked. 

If something happened and they were killed, the people of Greenwood wouldn’t have anyone to put on the throne.

“We must all do our part in this, king or not, and I have a friend helping me out. Besides, my people are not so dependent on me as I perhaps would have wished. They will probably manage even better without my meddling.”

Was there a hint of a smile hiding in the corner of his mouth? Wynne was surprised; she had believed Thranduil to lack humor entirely.

oOo

They spent the better part of that day on horseback, making only a short stop for lunch. The elves managed the horses well, even the king despite his steed’s repeated mischief. More than once the stallion stopped mid-canter to graze a few mouthfuls of yellow grass but Thranduil miraculously managed to keep his balance and stay seated each time.

“You are a good horseman,” Wynne complimented. 

He only grunted in reply, annoyance showing plainly in his beautiful face. He couldn’t complain about the horse’s behavior as he had chosen it himself, for complaining would mean admitting he had made an uninformed decision, and it was evident he would rather have the horse throw him off before that happened. 

Thranduil appeared to be one of those persons who would never admit to being wrong; a bit like her mother, actually.

Nodir and Bronedir soon discovered the different speed of their bays, one being happy to join the front of the company and the other having a tendency to lag behind. Since the brothers preferred to ride in each other’s company, Bronedir at last had to change to a horse Wynne told him was the mother of Nodir’s. After that the journey went a lot smoother for the pair.

They camped by the Anduin late in the afternoon. The others put up the tents and started a campfire while Wynne tended to the horses. She checked each of them carefully with her hands, searching for warm or swollen limbs and pebbles stuck in their hooves. 

Before she rejoined the elves she gave Vatna a long hug. “Oh my sweet girl, what am I to do?”

The mare nuzzled her shoulder and huffed softly. 

Wynne blinked away the tears that had suddenly appeared. How could Mother believe she had even the slightest chance to make an elf king fall for her? Especially not a stuck up, self-important fellow such as this one.

She saw him standing barefoot with the other elves in the shallow part of the river, cleaning arms and face thoroughly in its chilly water. 

She realized this was her cue, her opportunity to show some skin as well. With slow, reluctant steps she proceeded toward the five elves, starting to unbutton her tunic as she went.

Chapter Text

4. Showing Skin

When she had removed her hose and tunic Wynne hesitated, fingers lingering on the hem of her linen chemise. Surely Mother didn’t expect her to get stark naked in front of the elves? The chemise was bad enough, it had a low neckline and reached only a bit below the knees, showing a great deal of bare ankle. Quite scandalous.

She drew a few long breaths to calm herself before joining the elves by the river shore. She mustn’t appear embarrassed. Mother had said elves didn’t know much about human customs so if she pretended this was normal woman behavior they wouldn’t have cause to question it.

Feeling extremely conscious, she advanced into the water and began washing her face. If it was red they would hopefully think this was because it was so cold.

“What on Arda are you doing?” Thranduil sounded more shocked than she had expected. 

“Washing.” She raised her head and met his bewildered stare. 

All of them stared, she saw, and the three light-skinned ones had become noticeably flushed.

“But… you are almost nude!” 

“I’m in my underclothes same as you. Surely you must have seen a lady in her shift before? You’re a father.” Wynne had no idea where that boldness came from but instinctively knew it was the right approach. 

Thranduil swallowed a few times, obviously at a loss what to say. Then he shrugged and continued cleaning himself. 

While she bathed in the chilly water, Wynne subtly peered at the others through her lashes. They kept throwing glances at her, she noticed, and started to feel rather satisfied about the whole thing. This had not been as mortifying as she had anticipated and she found that she liked drawing a male person’s attention. As plain as she was, that had never happened before.

oOo

In the evening, they gathered around the campfire, sharing a nice dinner of a special kind of elvish bread called lembas. It tasted sweet and aromatic and Wynne needed only a very small piece to become completely satisfied. 

They stayed up a while afterwards, resting and watching the stars come out. The elves took turns entertaining each other, beginning with Nodir and Bronedir. The brothers sang a duet, a slow, melancholy song about the many martyrs of the Ring War. Their vibrant voices were perfectly matched and intertwined in otherworldly harmonies. 

The light of the fire reflected in their dark eyes and no words could describe the combination of their elven beauty and the exquisite, bewitching tones.  

Wynne was enthralled, unable to tear her gaze from them, and when the song ended she was not the only one with tears in her eyes.

“I say, we need something more cheerful after this”, decided Legolas, and contributed with a series of anecdotes of his many adventures together with a dwarf named Gimli. Most of the time, it seemed, the two of them had competed about something or other, such as who could kill more orcs, or who was the greatest drinker. In Legolas’ version of the events he always won these competitions, but Wynne had pretty strong doubts about his truthfulness. There was an amused twinkle in his blue eyes and the hint of a smile on his lips that betrayed him.

When Legolas had finished his storytelling he turned to Wynne. “Your turn, my lady. Amuse us!”

Her mind turned absolutely blank at that and she was overcome with stage fright. She had no entertaining skills! She hardly knew any songs and had no funny memories to share; her life up to now had been utterly dull, mostly spent on the fields training the family horses.

“Maybe you can tell us something about your people’s history,” suggested Galion kindly, noticing her distress.

She nodded. That she could do. 

With a dry mouth she recounted the ancient story of the king Fram, son of Frungar, who reigned early in the Third Age, and who fought and slayed the mighty dragon Scatha. Fram’s son was less fortunate; he took on the task to tame the first ever meara horse, Felaróf, but perished in the process. Later his son Eorl the Young succeeded where his father had not, and ever since the mearas belonged to the Rohirrim.

“I remember that dragon,” mused Thranduil. “However, he was not all that mighty, as I recall. Rather small and soft-skinned. Not like Smaug. Now he was a sight to be seen. Terrible and beautiful!” He proceeded to tell the story of the dwarves, the hobbit and the bowman who contributed to ending the terror reign of that evil reptile. 

Wynne thoughtfully observed him while he spoke. She had known elves could grow older than men, of course, but that old? Did he really remember the beginning of the last Age, over three thousand years ago?

He didn’t look old, that was for sure. His long hair gleamed as spun gold in the faint light and there was not a single white strand. His eyes, shaded by the formidable eyebrows, were clear and bright, full of power and vigor, and his face was as smooth as a young man’s. She would have guessed his age to be around thirty, or thirty-five at the very most. 

Realizing how old he must be was intimidating. How could she ever hope to seduce someone that ancient? He must have met thousands of ladies in his days, each more beautiful than the other.

The night had become colder and quite dark. It was time to get some rest, except for Galion who offered to take the first watch. 

Wynne was appointed a tent all to herself while the others shared the two remaining ones, with the brothers and Galion in one and Legolas and his father in the other. They had expected Wynne to be male, she knew, and one of them would have shared with her. Because of her gender they now had to squeeze together three in a tent made for two. 

Oh well, that was their choice. Maybe with time she could persuade one of them to join her bed like Mother wanted. 

Now that Wynne knew what the elves looked like that prospect was slightly less frightening. She recalled Nodir’s and Bronedir’s brown eyes glittering in the firelight, and the gleaming, golden hair of Thranduil and his son. And Galion with his translucent skin and fair lashes was not far behind the others in beauty. 

She found that she actually looked forward to getting to know them all – and not only because of their good looks, obviously. She had enjoyed spending the day with them a lot more than she had anticipated, and the evening around the fire had been enchanting. Even the proud king had proved to be somewhat more friendly after a while.

She didn't look forward to the next step, however. Getting to know them and becoming friends with an elf was one thing, coupling with him quite another.

Wynne tried to picture herself with Thranduil, him naked and pounding his abdomen against her like a stallion with a mare, but it was simply impossible to imagine him in that role.

She couldn’t imagine him naked with anyone, actually. He was way too neat and elegant to get his clothes in disarray and become sweaty with exertion. But how else had he fathered Legolas? Perhaps he had adopted him.

She sighed heavily. Her secret quest was doomed. Mother would kill her, or worse.

A sweet sound dispelled her brooding thoughts. Galion had picked up a wooden flute and its soft tones drifted through the night. It sounded like a lullaby, but not one Wynne had ever heard.

Before she knew it she was fast asleep.

Chapter Text

5. The Brown Lands

The elves grumbled over sore legs and backsides the following morning; they were not used to riding a whole day and had exercised muscles they normally didn’t use. 

Galion explained that because their city was built underground they couldn’t keep horses there, with a few exceptions, such as Legolas’ late stallion Arod who had passed away the other year. Despite the lack of horses, however, wood-elves were generally as good riders as other peoples, for back when their forest had been safer they lived above ground and traveled a lot on horseback. Most elves alive today had been born in those more peaceful times, and riding was a skill one didn’t forget once learned even if many centuries had passed.

They breakfasted on lembas and it still tasted wonderful, but Wynne suspected she might grow tired of it in time if this was to be her only food the entire journey.

“Do elves ever eat anything else than this?” she asked Legolas, who sat on a flat rock next to her.

“Of course we do. Did you think we were some kind of birds that survive on bread crumbs?” He burst out laughing, nearly choking on his lembas. 

Wynne didn’t see what was so funny about her question. How was she to know? 

“What do you eat then?” she muttered sullenly.

“Same as you humans, I would expect.” Nodir gave Legolas a shove to silence him. “Greens, meats, fish. It depends on whether we are at home or traveling.”

“If we see game during the journey we shoot it and prepare in the evening,” Bronedir cut in.

“But are there any animals in the Brown Lands? I heard they were barren.” Wynne worried a little over the horses who needed a constant supply of fresh grass. 

“Since Sauron’s defeat the Brown Lands and the Dead Marshes have slowly come to life,” said Galion. “Grass has begun to grow back and even some flowers. It is not a flourishing garden yet, but it is getting there.”

After breakfast the elves took down the tents and packed everything just as efficiently as yesterday. When they were done Wynne couldn’t even see where the fireplace had been. 

The horses had wandered off during the night as they usually did but came back at a gallop in response to Wynne’s penetrating whistle.

“I love how well trained they are.” Legolas grinned at Stelpa who had come straight to him, buffing his hands in search of a treat. “I have only lembas, my girl, sorry!” He threw a sideway glance at Wynne.

She smiled despite herself. Perhaps he had not really meant to tease her before. 

oOo

That day they left the Anduin and headed east. As long as they were still close to the river, the nature was similar to that of Rohan; the short grass was lush, partly covered with last year’s withering strands, and spring flowers sprouted in bright yellow groups. Wynne felt quite at home.

She still took the lead on Vatna, keeping a slow pace that would allow the horses to graze every now and then. Who knew what food they could find later on? She wanted to save the grain she had brought for when it was really necessary.

“At this rate, we will get to the orc dens around the next decade or so,” Legolas dryly remarked during one of the stops. 

Wynne shot him a sour look and didn't bother to reply. That elf could be so annoying. 

When they entered the vast Brown Lands the grass became coarser and taller, reaching almost to the horses’ stomachs. But at least it was grass, and she knew they could eat that too if need be. 

She saw no flowers anymore, and not many other living things either. On a plain like this she would have expected the ground to be littered with marmot and chipmunk holes and the air to be humming with insects, but here there was just grass, extending endlessly in all directions. It felt eerie.

“Did you know there used to be lovely gardens here? The entwives tended them, but they are long lost now.” Legolas had made a habit of riding next to her for some reason.

“What are entwives?”

“Tree-herders. The male ones are called ents and the female entwives. Only a few male ones remain nowadays, in Fangorn Forest.”

“That‘s only a day’s ride from my home. Maybe I could go and see them.”

“You should. Fangorn is a magnificent forest.” He sighed and demurely added: “I miss talking to trees. I have not seen a single one the entire day.”

“Maybe you can talk to the grass,” she suggested.

“I did, but one was sleeping and the other did not have much to say.”

“Try a third one then?”

“There are merely two; one blue grama and one feather grass.”

“Really?” Wynne’s interest was captured. “So all of this is just two individuals?” She indicated the widespread prairie around them.

“Indeed. Dull, is it not? Those two were the only survivors of Sauron’s poison. All their children were killed, down to the last seedling. They expanded with runners instead, covering ground while they waited for happier times. But now they are too old to flower.”

“That is sad.”

“It is. But younger grasses are spreading from Rohan. In time they will cover all of this area, I am sure.”

“I hope you are right.”

They continued in somber silence for a while. Wynne mused over the evil that had overshadowed so many parts of Middle-earth. It was hard to grasp that a single person had managed to bring forth so much damage.

oOo

In the afternoon the elves pointed out the first sign of animal life since they had entered the Brown Lands, a herd of giant deer grazing in the distance. Wynne couldn’t see anything at all, for apparently elvish senses were a lot more sensitive than hers, but after another league or so she spotted them too. 

The deer were huge, with majestic antlers wide as barn doors.

”I used to ride an elk like these,” said Thranduil proudly. ”Took some dedication to train him but the result was quite impressive, if I may say so myself.”

Then his smirk turned into a shocked grimace. A nauseating smell had reached their nostrils, and at the other side of a small hillock they saw the cause: fifteen or so deer carcasses scattered in the grass. Their antlers, hides and the best parts of the meat had been chopped off, leaving the rest to rot in the spring sun. Clouds of flies aired when they came closer.

Wynne felt tears trickle down her cheeks. It was such pointless killing, such a terrible waste. “Who did this?” she sniffed. 

Thranduil picked up something. A black arrow, radiating evil. “Orcs,” he spat, squeezing it so hard it splintered in his fist. 

He had no time to say more. A terrible howl rose from behind the farthest carcass. A warcry. 

A gang of the most hideous creatures Wynne had ever seen jumped out from their hiding place and ran toward the startled elves. In no time the orcs were upon them.

Chapter Text

6. Fighting Orcs

Everything seemed to happen at once. 

The elves moved so fast their limbs became blurred. Jumping off their horses they drew swords and slender daggers, fearlessly meeting the attackers. 

Galion drove his two handed sword against an orc’s shield with a metallic clang, hard enough to make him sink to his knees, and Thranduil let his two slimmer blades slice the air with a whining sound as he approached a second one on light feet.

The archer elves swiftly circled their enemies and punched them in vulnerable spots with their daggers.

Two orcs were forced to back away under Galion’s onslaught and Legolas used the opening to run away a few yards where he could string and draw his bow. Soon arrow after arrow showered over the orc band.

The horses, now mostly riderless, took the opportunity to bolt. 

Wynne was paralyzed with shock and fear and when Vatna fled she promptly fell off, right in the thick of the tumult. She was instantly surrounded by yelling orcs, agile elves and the ugly smell of blood. 

In the confusion of trampling feet and weapons she lost all sense of direction. Curling herself into a ball, she tried to appear small and inconspicuous.

That was not a good strategy in the midst of battle. Almost immediately an agonizing pain erupted in her leg. She glimpsed a gruesome face with an arrow sticking out of its cheek and then the creature was on top of her. Blood from its wound darkened its thin lips when it bared a set of crooked teeth, preparing to bite. 

Instinctively Wynne pulled away and kicked it in its wrinkled face. Its nose cracked with a sickening sound and she was sprayed with a fountain of hot blood.

The orc doggedly came back, raising its short sword to give her leg another jab, but she kicked again and again. At last it was gone. 

She crawled away, slipping on blood and entrails, whimpering in fear, terrified she would be grabbed by orc claws again and get pulled back. 

Then she realized everything had become strangely quiet. 

Looking around in a daze, she saw dead orcs littering the ground, and among them the elves calmly cleaning their daggers and swords on the dry grass. 

She couldn’t believe it was over already. Where was the orc that had attacked her?

There. Right beside her, but only its limp body. Its head had rolled away with the arrow still sticking out. 

Had she kicked its head off? No, that was impossible. One of the elves must have decapitated it without her noticing.

Galion came over and helped her stand. “Are you well?”

“I’m fine, thank you.” She tried to walk in the direction Vatna had run, anxious to know that the horses were alright, but her legs wouldn’t carry her. A strange weakness had come over her and she sank to her knees.

Staring at her disobeying limbs in surprise, she saw a scarlet stain on one thigh. Had the orc bit her? 

She fingered the sticky hose and discovered a long rift in the wool. Then she had been stabbed, not bitten, and thankfully not very deep. Merely a flesh wound. So why couldn’t she stand?

“Let me help you,” said Galion kindly. He pulled her back on her feet and led her away from the blood and mess, back toward the hill they had first come over. 

After only a few yards she had to stop again. Bile rose in her throat and she bent over, retching heavily, but nothing came out. 

“Good thing we did not have dinner yet, eh?” 

It was Legolas of course. Even now, after everything, that annoying elf would come and tease her.

Wynne rose angrily, giving him a glare that only made him laugh more.

“I had better back off, or I too shall get a taste of those impressive boots of yours. You kick like a meara, my lady.” He made a mocking bow and wisely moved away.

Before they left the battleground, the elves piled the orc corpses together and burned them with the aid of lamp oil. They wouldn’t allow orc filth to poison the lands. 

The elk carcasses were too big to burn and had to be left to the flies and scavengers, even though it was a sad sight. 

“Typical of orcs to ruin anything of beauty out here,” Galion remarked demurely.

They were all tired, and not only Wynne had blemishes and wounds that needed tending to, but they didn’t want to stay anywhere near the horrible stink of burning orcs and rotting deer flesh. 

The horses had luckily remained within hearing range and came back as usual when Wynne whistled, and after about half an hour’s ride Thranduil decided it was enough and they made camp for the night.

The elves had lots of healing equipment, such as bandages, medical herbs of various kinds and pain killing tinctures. Wynne had similar articles for the horses in her luggage, and in addition Mother had given her two waterskins full of undiluted distilled spirits. One for medical use, but the other, as Mother had put it, was for ‘making the elves relaxed and easy’. 

Trying to seduce an elf was far from the things Wynne wished to do at the moment, but she unpacked one of the spirit containers to disinfect her wound. It hurt more now that the shock from earlier had begun to settle, and she suspected the dirty blade would cause a nasty infection unless she was careful. She picked out some sewing equipment as well, for though the cut wasn’t deep, the short ride had made the gash widen considerably. She needed a few stitches to secure it.

The elves were in various stages of undressing when she returned from the pack horses, and it took some determination not to avert her eyes in embarrassment. She must seem experienced and grown up and then it didn’t do to blush like a little girl. Instead she joined them and boldly rolled down one of her hose to bare her thigh wound. 

Carefully soaking a rag in the spirits she started to clean the cut, wincing in pain when the strong alcohol stung. 

“What is that?” Nodir took the waterskin and curiously sniffed it.

“It’s fire water. We make it from sugar beets, with yeast.”

“It smells like some kind of strong wine. I never heard of sugar beet wine before. And you use it to clean wounds?”

“That, and you can drink it as well. But it’s very strong. Mother mixes it with apple juice.” That was a happy memory. The thought of Mother’s apple cider made Wynne remember harvest time, when the kitchen was bustling for days on end and Mother, Grandmama and Wynne worked together, cooking and baking. Then they would gather some old neighbors and relatives and share the bountiful feast, eating and drinking all night long.

“Interesting.” Nodir tried the concoction on some nasty scratches where an orc had clawed his arm. “Ouch! That burns!”

“Yes, but then you know it works. I like to think of it as the disease burning away.”

Nodir nodded and went over to his brother. “Here Bron, try this.” He helped him clean a sword cut on one shoulder, laughing at his younger brother’s grimaces.

Her own injury forgotten, Wynne curiously watched Bronedir’s exposed skin. Yesterday when the elves washed themselves in the river they had worn long undershirts similar to her chemise, so she had never seen a male bare chest before, not even her father’s. 

Bronedir’s smooth, tanned torso reminded her of a horse in excellent condition; his rippling muscles tensing against the stinging liquor, his flat stomach and broad shoulders – all were signs of health and good constitution. 

Wynne rather liked what she saw and some unknown emotion began to stir in her.

She shifted her gaze to Thranduil who was tending an orc bite on his son’s hand. He had a bandage wrapped around his waist but the rest of his upper body was uncovered. 

He too had smooth skin, much paler than Bronedir’s, and despite his baffling age his body resembled that of a young stallion in its prime; there was not a hint of unnecessary fat or wrinkled skin anywhere on him. 

The odd feeling returned and Wynne couldn’t determine whether she liked it or not. I was a weird combination of agitation and tension, like one might feel right before a horse race.

He looked up and noticed her staring and she hastily returned her attention to the injury. It was time to stitch it and she hoped she could bring herself to do it. 

With shaking fingers she threaded the needle and sterilized it with the liquor-soaked cloth. Pinching the cut together and positioning the needle, she felt sweat break out at the thought of inflicting herself more pain.

“I can do that for you.” A bandaged hand gently took the needle from her. 

Letting out a relieved breath, she gratefully extended her leg. “I’d really appreciate it. Thank you.”

Chapter Text

7. Drinking With Elves

With a steady hand and nimble fingers Legolas made three neat stitches. He did it so swiftly that Wynne hardly had time to feel the sting of the needle. 

For once the elf was being nice, a refreshing change, but of course it didn’t last for long; as usual he couldn’t resist a joke. “I hope your nausea is better. We get lembas for dinner, your favorite!”

“Are you ever serious?” she retorted. 

“It happens.” He grinned. “Once every decade or so. But I am afraid there are still a few more years to go until the next time.” He cut the thread short with his knife and carefully wiped the blood off with a clean cloth before tying it with linen. 

His hands were big, yet soft and careful. Having him touch her thigh felt forbidden even though the reason was legitimate. If he moved only a little bit higher he would reach a very personal area. 

Her mouth went dry at the thought. 

Did he realize that too? She peeked at him, noticing a faint reddening of his bent neck. Maybe he did.

“There, fit to go. But I hope you brought extra clothes for your hose are a mess.” He took the soiled, torn stocking and inspected it critically.

“Give that back.”

He held it teasingly out of her reach, then laughed and threw it into her lap, dodging a kick from her good leg.

Bothersome elf! Every time she started to think better of him he did something childish and ruined everything.

oOo

The company gathered around a slightly bigger campfire that night, as if to let the light and warmth of it repel their distress and pain. 

During the meal they discussed the skirmish. Thranduil said they wouldn’t usually let orcs get the better of them, at least not such a small band. They had been taken by surprise today, distracted and troubled by the cruelty that had befallen the poor elks. 

“Something like this will not happen again,” he assured her. “The next time we combat orcs you shall witness some true elf capacity.”

Wynne had to hide a smile. Was Thranduil embarrassed? It certainly appeared so. He had allowed orcs to ambush his company and even got hurt himself, and as proud as he was he must hate to seem vulnerable. 

Maybe this was an opportunity to try her feminine influence on him? If she soothed his damaged ego and flattered him it might make him like her…

But doing that would take more bravery than she could muster. She still had the waterskin with distilled spirits; a few drops would calm her nerves. 

She took a mouthful, wincing as she swallowed it down. It burned her throat and the taste was none too good. 

Then she passed the skin to Nodir, figuring she might as well try it on the elves as well. He smelled it suspiciously, but shrugged and drank before passing it on. 

None of the elves seemed to mind the taste, quite the contrary. The atmosphere went from gloomy to festive in hardly any time and soon the waterskin was merely half full. Only Galion was obliged to abstain; he had been assigned the first watch that night, much to his apparent regret.

Bronedir and Nodir began to sing a cheerful song and were joined by Legolas. Galion accompanied them on his flute and Thranduil stamped a beat with one leather clad foot. 

Wynne felt the opposite of jolly. No matter how hard she struggled to enjoy herself, she kept seeing images from the battle in her mind. 

A frightful orc face with long, yellowing fangs, ready to bury themself in her flesh. A feathered arrow protruding from its cheek. A bent sword, coming down against her. Her foot cracking the orc nose, hot blood spraying her face. A cut-off head in the grass, oozing dark liquid into a puddle.

She must give herself something else to focus on, something that would make her forget the disturbing images for a while. It was time to take advantage of the effect the liquor had had on the elves before it was too late and they fell asleep. 

Drawing a deep breath she forced herself to go and sit close to Thranduil. 

He wore his shirt and tunic again but the bandage was visible through them. She decided not to mention it and try the flattery she had planned.

“I was really impressed how fast you beat the orcs.”

He had seemed a bit surprised when she sat down but now he relaxed and beamed at her. “We did, did we not?” 

Wynne wouldn’t have thought it possible for him to look more self-satisfied than he normally did, but apparently it was. 

“Yes, the fight was over in no time. They didn't stand a chance against you.”

“Elvish battle skills are uncex... unexcelled. It comes from centuries of practicing.”

Had he stumbled on the words? He must really be affected by the liquor then. 

Biting back her smile, she remembered Legolas bragging yesterday about how he had beat a dwarf in a drinking contest and how elves hardly ever became drunk. Well, obviously they did. Perhaps Rohan spirits were stronger than dwarven ale. 

“I wish I could fight orcs like you,” she lied; if she never saw another orc in her life she wouldn’t complain.

“Oh, we would not want you to do that. It is the males’ duty to protect the weaker sex and the females’ duty to brighten their days. You do us more service with your pleasant company and charm.”

His foot had stopped its thrumming despite the song that still went on as lively as ever in the background. His full attention was on her, his piercing, blue gaze trapping hers. 

She didn’t appreciate his belittling words at all – as if women were nothing more than an amusement to men! – but despite that, she felt his charisma work on her and her knees started to tremble. This was not the first time he frightened her. 

“You find me charming now, sire?” She tried to sound bold but couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. “You didn’t seem happy when I joined your company.”

“Nay, I did not. However, you proved your worth today by keeping calm and defending yourself as best you could. That did not pass me unnoticed. And I find you refreshing.” He smiled slightly. ”You are certainly very different from an elleth.”

“What is an elleth?”

“A female elf.”

“Have you known many elleth, s-sire?” She wanted to break eye contact but it was impossible. As if she was a hare hypnotized by the stare of a fox. 

Would he devour her like a predator?

“Nay. There was only ever one.” His penetrating gaze wavered and his eyes suddenly became deeply sad. “My wife, Legolas’ mother.”

Wynne was finally able to look away and release her breath. 

She wondered how long ago his wife had lived and what had happened to her but didn’t dare to ask. Whoever that lady had been, she didn’t envy her. It couldn’t have been easy to be married to him.

Chapter Text

8. Hard to Sleep

The singing and flute music went on for long after Wynne had excused herself and gone to bed in her lonely tent. 

She had abandoned all thoughts of another try to seduce Thranduil. It was obvious he still mourned his wife, despite the many years that must have passed since he lost her, and even if she somehow could make him want her that way it was unlikely he would allow anything to happen.

She suspected King Thranduil never did anything of an impulse. 

Besides, she didn’t even want to seduce an elf anymore; not him, not anyone else. It had been a bad plan from the beginning, one that had made her feel false and wicked. 

She remembered her resolution from yesterday, that she would act like she was strong and experienced. So little time had passed since then and yet she felt completely different now. Like she was another person. 

The elves were becoming her friends – even Thranduil though he scared her wits off at the same time – and she didn't want to pretend in front of them. 

Perhaps she should go somewhere else after the quest was over? Mother couldn’t punish her if she never came back home. Wynne could just take the horses and run away. 

But she knew it wasn’t that simple. There were evils other than orcs; human men in packs could be almost as bad, if the rumors from her hometown were true, and a woman living alone would be easy prey.

Sighing deeply, she buried her face in her blankets. There was just no way out of this. 

She moved fitfully in her bedroll, unable to sleep. Her thoughts kept alternating between Mother’s demands and the upsetting memories of the orc fight today. It had scared her more than she had believed possible. All had gone well, yet the shock refused to ease its grip on her. 

In the end she gave up sleeping and went back outside. The fire had burned down to red embers and all was quiet, not even a snore. But elves were probably too beautiful to snore. 

She spotted Galion on his watch, walking leisurely with his hands behind his back. 

How could he be so calm? Wasn’t he afraid another pack of orcs might sneak up on them?

She joined him.

“Cannot you sleep?” His pale face had an almost ethereal glow in the faint light.

“No.” She sighed. ”Too much on my mind tonight.” 

If Galion had been an older man like her father she might have asked for a hug, but he was an elf and hugging him would feel like touching an exquisite porcelain doll with dirty hands. She wasn’t worthy. 

“Shall I play something for you?” He picked up his flute.

“I’d like that. Thank you.” She sat on the grass, resting her forehead on her knees. 

Galion played a beautiful tune that sounded vaguely familiar.

“It’s from Rohan, isn’t it?”

“Aye. An old ballad about Fram and the dragon Scatha, written by his son. I was reminded of it when you told the story yesterday.” He resumed playing. 

Trying to relax, she let the music fill her feverish mind. 

She didn’t recognize that particular song but it was similar to many others she had heard. Back home, there were musicians who wandered from farm to farm to entertain the household with an evening of ballads and tales, and in return they got a warm meal, what old clothes the family could spare and in wealthier homes maybe even a few silver coins. Wynne must have listened to hundreds of ballads and folk melodies in her days.

It struck her that if Galion had learned the melody from Fram’s son he must have been alive thousands of years before Wynne was even born – and then this ballad could be the origin of all the ones she had heard as she grew up. 

The thought made a chill creep down her spine.

When Mother told her to marry an elf she had been frightened of the prospect of marrying anyone at all, believing elves to be like the human men she had seen. Their physical appearance had eased her apprehension on that part, but now it was their immortality that discouraged her. 

She was a human and would live a hundred years perhaps, maybe twice as many if she inherited Grandmama’s Dúnedain longevity, but elves lived forever. They were a completely different kind of being and as such they were unapproachable.

Galion’s music couldn’t soothe her anymore, rather the opposite. She had to make up a reason to leave; he wouldn't understand why he only made her more distressed.

“Thank you, I love when you play but I must see to the horses before they wander too far. The orcs scared them so bad earlier and I ought to make sure they are alright.” She made a slight bow and abruptly rose, hoping he wouldn't be offended. 

He only nodded in response and continued to play. 

Wynne didn’t have to walk long. The horses were grazing just behind the tents; it was still light enough to make them visible as gray shadows. She found Vatna and wrapped her arms around her broad neck, pressing her nose into the soft fur. The musty smell was comforting and finally her shoulders relaxed a bit. 

She wished, not for the first time, that she could abandon the quest and just go back home. Mother’s marriage assignment was both impossible and ridiculous, and now it was clear even her task as a horse keeper was too much for her. If today’s battle had scared her so, what would the next one be like, and the one after that? Wynne was useless. A burden like Thranduil had anticipated when she first joined him. 

She tried to muffle her ugly sobs in Vatna’s fur.

“Is everything alright?” A tall figure emerged from among the other horses. 

Startled, she backed away, but then she saw who it was. “Legolas. Please, not now. I’m not in the mood for jokes.” She hid her face again.

He didn’t reply at first but she heard him come closer. Maybe he was still a little tipsy, for elves normally made no sound at all when they moved.

When he spoke it was in a low, surprisingly gentle voice. “You did well. Everyone is afraid the first time they fight for their life. It will pass and the next time will be easier.” It was as if he had read her thoughts.

She kept her face against the mare’s neck but Legolas’ unexpected kindness made her feel a bit better. 

“Were you?” she mumbled. ”I mean, afraid the first time?”

“Very much. Terrified, actually. I soiled my pants.” He chuckled mirthlessly and she knew he was serious for once. 

“What happened?”

“I was only an elfling and it was a giant spider. It caught me by surprise and stung me with a poison to make me sleep. When I woke up I was wrapped in strong silk and unable to move, and above me the spider leered and gloated over what she would do to me and how tasty I looked. If not my father and his guards had come searching for me I would have become spider breakfast that morning.”

Wynne wondered how long ago that had been. Her grandparents had taught her history and hence she knew that monsters had only begun taking over Mirkwood in the latter part of the Third Age. Legolas must be much younger than Thranduil and Galion if there had been giant spiders in his childhood.

”I’m sorry that happened.” 

”Don’t be; it was a good learning experience. I have since lived through many worse things, and with less fortunate outcomes. I have learned how to handle it – and so will you.”

“Thank you for cheering me up.” She wiped away her tears and met his eyes for the first time. 

“Do not mention it. However, if you ever meet my friend Gimli, please keep it a secret a spider caught me unawares. I would never hear the end of it.” His normal impish smirk had returned. 

Wynne repressed an urge to hug him. 

For some reason he didn't remind her of fragile porcelain dolls at all, despite his handsome features and immortality. How come she felt more at ease with Legolas than with the others? 

Chapter Text

9. One of the Team

Wynne woke early the next morning. Nobody else was up, so after checking on the horses she decided to make breakfast to everyone. She was tired of lembas and figured it was her turn to provide for a change. Unpacking her pots and utensils, she cooked oatmeal porridge, made sweet mint tea and poured round crackers on a plate. Rohan hardtack was rougher and harder than lembas, but dunked in tea it wasn’t too bad. 

The smell of food got the elves moving. Pale and trembling they shuffled out of their tents.

“Ai Nodi, you had the last watch. How come you are not up?” Bronedir shook his brother who lay curled up behind their tent.

“Can you keep your voice down?” he whined, slowly pushing himself into a sitting position. “It was nearly morning anyway. I figured I could risk a brief rest.”

“This will not do; we are on a serious mission.” If Thranduil was hungover it didn't show. ”No more drinking for now.”

“But I never had a chance to try the sugar beet wine,” Galion complained.

“Trust me, you are better off without it.” Legolas had dark lines under his blue eyes, but strangely enough it didn't make him any less attractive. 

Wynne served the simple breakfast, and despite their condition the elves ate with a fairly good appetite. She received many compliments on the pleasant variation in diet. 

“I have not had tea in ages,” said Legolas, blowing on his mug. “I met hobbits some years back and during our stay in Rivendell they would make it every afternoon. I do not think they used peppermint though, their variant was imported from Harad I believe.”

“It’s a Rohan speciality. It makes your breath nice.” Wynne had missed having tea yesterday; it was such an integrated part of her morning ritual.

“If you drink fire water often I suppose you need it.” He grinned.

Wynne returned it, but then her smile waned as his words caught up with her. ”Did you say hobbit? You mean that hobbit?”

”Frodo Baggins, aye.” He glanced at his father, looking a bit apologetic. ”I was in the Fellowship of the Ring.”

Hugely impressed, Wynne sidled closer. ”What was Frodo like? Tell me everything.” Everybody had heard the songs and tales of the hobbit; that small, brave creature who carried Sauron’s evil Ring and destroyed it in the fires of Mordor. The Fellowship had escorted him part of the way – and apparently this teasing elf had been part of it? Amazing. 

“He was kind and polite, and most of the time very serious. The One Ring burdened him heavily. It tortured him.” Legolas’ beautiful face had darkened considerably, all traces of mirth gone. Wynne had never seen him that somber before. 

He was quiet for a moment, then composed himself. “He was given peace and healing in the end; now he lives out his days across the sea in Aman, the Undying Lands.” There was a longing tone in his voice.

”Let us speak about something else,” said Thranduil sternly, his face unusually emotionless and cold. 

oOo

That day they rode in a south-western direction. Legolas explained that they would criss-cross back and forth between the Anduin and one day’s ride east until they had covered as much of the western Brown Lands as possible and entirely cleansed it of orcs. There was no use continuing further east; that far from the river the ground was too dry even for orcs.

In time they would reach Emyn Muil, the southern mountains, and repeat the process there. 

They were not the only ones with that task. Small parties of Southern Rangers and men from Gondor were tidying up southern Ithilien and others did the same in Harondor. Both were countries that had belonged to Gondor in the past and that Aragorn intended to unite again. 

Later in the summer when they reached the Dead Marshes they might meet some of those other orc hunters. Or, formerly Dead Marshes… King Éomer of Rohan had ordered them restored and since the war his people had dug trenches and canals to drain it from its foul, haunted waters. Already a large part had been turned into fertile farmlands.

“What of Mordor?” Wynne asked. 

“I am afraid it is still desolate and uninhabited.“ Legolas' face went sad. “When the One Ring was destroyed, Mount Doom erupted and polluted lava and ashes covered the plains. I do not think it will ever be entirely rid of the enemy’s poison; even orcs still hesitate to go there. But we shouldn’t talk about such dreary matters.” He glanced at his father.

Wynne silently wondered why Thranduil hated that topic so much and why Legolas’ seemed so tense whenever it was brought up. But she supposed he had bad memories after all he had seen during his time with the Fellowship.

oOo

They kept traveling all day without seeing anything more interesting than grass. There were no animals and thankfully no orcs or other foul creatures either. The elves seemed much more comfortable on their steeds now, and even Thranduil and his head-strong stallion had seemingly come to some sort of understanding. He allowed the meara to walk slowly and graze every hour or so and in return the horse had ceased his bucking and sudden halts. 

Legolas and Stelpa had become increasingly attuned. The mare seemed almost like an extension of her rider, as if they were one being. 

It was unusual to see a non-Rohirrim horse and rider so well matched and Wynne couldn’t help start liking the elf a little. A person so fond of horses must be nice deep down, and besides, lately he had been a lot less teasing. 

After a few hours her leg wound became sore. It was located in the worst place possible; a spot that rubbed against Vatna’s flank with every step, making the stitches smart terribly. 

That bloody orc! If it must stab her, couldn’t it have chosen someplace less painful? An arm or foot perhaps. On a positive note, her annoyance effectively chased away her fright from yesterday.

oOo

At sunset, Wynne saw the glitter of water in the distance. They were back at the river at last. 

She was glad to be able to refill the waterskins and let the horses ease their thirst. They could only manage a few days with the water they could carry.

The elves were equally satisfied to be back and didn’t even have time to make camp before they had gone waist deep into the river, splashing their faces and washing their long hair with obvious bliss.

Wynne joined them, this time with no second thoughts about seducing anyone. She was just as pleased as them and even swam for a bit despite the chill. It was lovely to get rid of all dust and grit from two days of riding in dry grass.

When she came back to the shore, Nodir had caught a huge trout to everybody’s delight. He had shot it with his bow which was as unusual a fishing technique as it was impressive.

It was nearly dark when they finally had the tents up and a fire burning. They shared the fish, deliciously fried by Bronedir until it had a perfectly crispy skin and its rosy flesh was juicy and savory. For vegetables Wynne had pulled up some reed roots and boiled them; they didn’t taste much but were nutritious and filling. 

Wynne volunteered to wash the dishes afterwards. Lately she had begun to do more to help the company. The elves were assigned the nightly watches and would do all the fighting, so taking over some of the other chores was the least she could do. She didn’t like to feel useless.

Legolas followed her to the river.

“I can manage this,” she protested.

“It is only to be on the safe side. There might be dangers lurking by.”

At that, Wynne shuddered and made no more objections. 

But would there really be monsters this close to Rohan? Surely the Rohirrim border patrols would have taken care of them. At least she hoped so… 

Legolas sat on a rock and began to braid his golden hair, now dry after the bath, while Wynne worked on the greasy plates with a bar of soap. Warm water would have made it easier but it felt like too much trouble to heat it. 

Her hair kept blowing in her face and she threw a longing glance at Legolas’ braids. He usually wore one small fishtail on each temple and one larger braid that held part of his hair together at the back of his head. It looked both nice and functional. 

It was unfortunate she was so bad at braiding her own hair. No matter how hard she tried, the result was always a mess of knots and loose strands. 

“I wish I could make braids like that. I hate it when my hair falls into my eyes. Maybe I should just cut it real short.” 

“Nay, you must not do that.” Legolas looked shocked. “Short hair on a lady is unheard of.”

“I know. It would be very practical though.”

“If… If you would not mind… um. I could plait it for you?”

“Really? I would love that.” Wynne wondered why he looked so conscious. He had touched her bare thigh yesterday, but this was just hair. 

But then, elves were strange creatures.

Chapter Text

10. Braided by an Elf

Wynne left the dishes to dry and seated herself in front of Legolas. 

She loved to have her hair done. Back home, it usually was Mother or Grandmama who did it. Mother handled her hair briskly and it hurt when she untangled knots, but Wynne still liked it. Grandmama was more careful and made the nicer hairdos.

Legolas’ touch was completely different from theirs, however. He used a bone comb instead of a softer brush but despite that it didn’t hurt at all. He worked through her hair with gentle strokes, unwinding each tangle. Wynne closed her eyes with pleasure. 

When he began gathering the hair on the sides to braid it, a tingling sensation spread through her, a flutter she couldn’t define – like she was nervous, for some reason. 

Despite the growing darkness and her fatigue from the long day on horseback she felt far from sleepy. 

It was over much too soon and she stifled a sigh when she rose. Touching the sides of her head she felt three thin fishtail braids on each side and wondered what it looked like. It was too dark to use the river as a mirror.

“It suits you.”

“How can you tell? It’s pitch black here.”

“Elves’ eyes do not need much light to function.”

“You remind me of cats. Agile and graceful, and with night vision. Do you eat mice as well?” 

“Is this your way of thanking me for my effort? By mocking my race?” There was laughter in his voice. “Besides, you know what we eat. It is lembas. Only lembas.”

Wynne laughed too. “I knew you would say that.”

oOo

Except for Thranduil who had the first watch, nobody stayed up long that evening. The elves were more tired than usual after the improvised party yesterday and Wynne was exhausted from the previous night’s sleeplessness. 

She had no problem at all falling asleep this time; the hair massage must have relaxed her enough to forget her troubles.

She woke up well rested and with an almost hopeful feeling for the first time since she left her home. The worries that had hovered over her seemed more possible to overcome, as if Mother’s demands didn't reach this far. In addition, her resolution to cease the role-playing and be herself among the elves was hugely relieving.

It was a warm, sunny morning, so Wynne went to the river for a refreshing swim. 

Her wound prickled when the water reached her thighs and she decided to remove the bandage and examine it. It was sore and slightly swollen but the stitches had held and she saw no signs of infection. 

She swam a few paces before returning to the tents. The elves had gathered around the campfire and a lovely smell of roasting meat spread in the air. 

“Legolas felled three large hares on his watch tonight.” Galion moved over, making space for Wynne.

“Or you can have lembas”, suggested Legolas. “Ouch!” Wynne had given him a kick with her bare foot. 

“That lembas joke has become older than Thranduil,” said Bronedir.

“Ancient,” Nodir agreed.

“Do you call me ancient?” Thranduil’s voluminous eyebrows drew together.

“Not to your face, sire.” Nodir made a mocking bow.

Wynne still wore her wet chemise. She had considered changing clothes before breakfast but decided to let the morning sun dry it instead. It was better to save her only clean shift for a day when they were farther away from the river. 

She sat down and gratefully accepted a filled plate from Galion. 

He glanced at her exposed knees and quickly looked away. “Hrm, I do not think I will ever get used to the human way of dressing. Or not dressing, as it were.”

Her cheeks heated up. This was not the human way at all and she hated that she had made the elves believe that, but now that she had begun the pretense it would be weird to suddenly become modest. Besides, it was easier this way; they lived so close together it was hard to get much privacy. 

“It’s just legs. You guys have them too.” She tried to sound casual.

“We do. But… Well. It is not quite the same.” His pale face had become a bit flushed.

“Do not be a prude, Gale.” Nodir grinned. “Humans are very modern, you know.”

“Aye, you heard her. It is only legs,” Bronedir agreed. “Hers are much prettier than yours, though.” 

They laughed.

Mortified, Wynne pulled at the hem of her chemise, trying to cover her knees. 

”That was not funny.” Legolas frowned at the brothers, perhaps annoyed at them for stealing his role as jokester.

“Aye, no more of this.” Thranduil gave them a stern look. ”You embarrass the lady.”

Of course, that comment made it much worse and Wynne excused herself soon afterwards, hurrying over to her tent to get dressed. 

Perhaps a little modesty wasn’t so bad after all.

The elves silenced quickly when she returned; it was obvious they had been talking about her. 

Bronedir and Nodir rose. “Our apologies,” said the elder. “You have the right to dress any way you wish and we should not make inappropriate comments about it.”

“I am sorry I looked at your legs and said they were pretty,” said Bronedir, which earned him a shove from his brother.

“That apology was terrible.”

“I just meant we must not force her to cover up among us to avoid unwanted attention. I should have averted my gaze.”

It was relieving to know that they had not meant to make her uneasy, but as for looking… It was only fair they could do it too. After all, she had been scrutinizing Bronedir’s and Thranduil’s bare chests when they had had their wounds treated after the orc fight. The memory made her stomach flutter. 

“It’s fine. No harm in looking,” she managed, certain she must be blushing hotly.

oOo

They broke camp not long afterwards for another day’s journey east. 

Wynne enjoyed how the new braids kept her hair out of the way when she rode. They had held well during the night, and perhaps Legolas could remake them if they became undone later. She almost hoped they wouldn’t hold long; she had enjoyed it so much when he plaited them.

Around noon the elves spotted something unusual. The grass had become trampled in a certain way, an indication that someone had camped there recently. 

They dismounted, examining the ground closely for clues. 

“Looks like wargs.” Galion picked up a few strands of coarse, gray hair.

“And orcs.” Bronedir cleared what was left of a fireplace covered with dirt.

“Well then. This time we shall be the hunters and hopefully take them by surprise,” said Thranduil. “Come, let us follow their trail.”

“Aye!” agreed the others in unison.

Wynne felt a twinge of apprehension. It was time to face orcs again and she could only hope she would manage it better this time.

Chapter Text

11. Tracking Warg Riders

They followed the warg-riders until late in the evening. In Wynne’s eyes the ground showed no evidence at all of anyone passing and she had no idea how the elves could see the tracks, but apparently the elves' heightened senses helped them discern the slightest sign.

The trail first went further east, then south, then back west, forming a loop which would in time take them back to the Anduin again. Thranduil said these orcs must be a daring lot to come so close to the Rohan border patrols, or perhaps they were desperate. 

When night fell they stopped to make camp, not wanting to risk coming upon the orcs before dawn. That would only serve as an advantage to their prey, who typically were stronger and more dangerous in darkness. Their night vision was far superior to the elves’, Legolas said.

Wynne offered to prepare the evening meal and Legolas started to dig a pit for the cookfire.

“The rest of us should use the meantime to exercise,” Thranduil decided.

“Good idea; we must not let our muscles get soft and weak from disuse.” Galion flexed his impressive biceps. 

Wynne watched him admiringly. “They don’t look soft at all.”

“Show-off,” Legolas muttered from the fireplace.

The others went some way outside camp and were soon busy slicing the air with their swords and daggers, going through sword routines on nimble feet. It almost looked like they were dancing.

Her cooking temporarily forgotten, Wynne looked on. “Won’t they spar with each other?”

“Not with sharp blades, no.” Legolas put his small spade down and wiped his hands clean on the grass. “It would blunt the swords needlessly. Back home we practice with wooden replicas.” 

“Interesting. But here I’m forgetting my chores… this meal won’t cook itself.” She tore her eyes away.

“And I must make you a fire.” 

Legolas went over to the pack horses to fetch wood while Wynne hauled out smoked meat, hardtack crackers and a bag of dried peas, deciding she would make a filling soup. 

“This was the last of the firewood.” Legolas had returned with an arms load. “Tomorrow we shall have to resort to cold fare again. Back to good old lembas.” 

“Will you ever tire of that lembas joke? It wasn’t even funny the first time.”

“How come you smile, then?” His own grin turned into a grimace when he tried to strike a spark with the fire steel. 

“Are you hurting?” Wynne noticed a reddish stain on his bandaged hand where an orc had bitten him the other day.

“I am fine.”

“Let me see.”

He reluctantly put his big hand in hers and let her uncover the wound. A putrid odor radiated from the bite and the fleshy part of his thumb was red and swollen. 

“I know it looks bad but I am sure it will heal soon,” he said. “I treat it with ground athelas each morning.”

“Athelas… is that the herb I saw in your equipment?”

“Aye. Also called kingsfoil. It quickens the healing.”

“I must remember that and get some. In Rohan we mostly use fire water on wounds. Have you tried it on yours?”

“The liquor you shared the other day? Nay. Does it help?”

“It works wonders. Let me help you.” Wynne brought the spirits from the pack horse. Soaking a rag, she carefully washed the injury. 

Sweat broke out on Legolas’ forehead but he stoically remained silent.

“I’m sorry. Almost done now.” She wrapped a clean cloth over his hand and tied it securely.

“Thank you.” He put his good hand on hers and gave it a light squeeze. 

The touch made her chest flutter and she realized how close they sat; she could see the individual wool threads of his green tunic. 

When he removed his hand after an instant too long, she wished he had not.

“I should go light the fire.”

“And the dinner is long overdue.” She heard how breathless she sounded.

oOo

They left very early the next morning; Thranduil was eager to catch up on their prey, and not long afterwards they found the remains of another camp.

“We are closing in on them.” Bronedir had dismounted. “These are warg droppings, still fresh. They must have camped here yesterday, probably around mid day.”

That of course made the elves even more eager for speed and Wynne reluctantly nudged Vatna to maintain a ground covering canter. The horses were strong and in good condition, but it would be cruel to force them to keep up that pace for long.

Thranduil was pleased. “This is splendid. Thanks to your mearas we can move faster than warg-riders!” He beamed at her. 

Wynne returned his smile though he was stating the obvious, really; no other horse breed could beat a meara in a running competition. But getting any form of praise from Thranduil was rare, and the fact that he knew to appreciate her horses’ part in the quest made her own position safer too. He wouldn't so easily kick her out now.

It was almost noon when Thranduil finally made a motion for them to halt. “There is something near the horizon. It might be them.” He shaded his eyes with a hand.

“I see them,” said Legolas. “They sleep on the ground. Orcs and wargs together.”

“I see nothing,” grumbled Wynne, hiding her nervousness with mock annoyance.

Nodir felt the air with a finger. “The wind is south-western. We should come upon them from the north to hide our scent.”

They made a wide circle around the enemies, and dismounted when Wynne’s eyes still only perceived them as dark dots in the distance.

“We leave the horses here; we move more silently on foot and cannot fight on horseback anyway. At least not without saddles.” Thranduil turned to her. “Will you stay with them?”

“Sure,” she agreed, having absolutely no wish to see orcs close up again.

“See you soon.” Legolas grinned, eyes bright and excited. Then he and the others were gone, sneaking through the high grass until Wynne could neither see, nor hear them.

She sat down, waiting anxiously with the horses grazing around her. She had seldom felt so useless. What if they failed, and were hurt, or even killed? The thought of being all alone out here scared her, but the thought of losing any of her friends was even more terrifying.

She recalled Legolas’ bright eyes just now and shuddered. He must not die! 

It struck her that in almost no time she had gone from finding the elf annoying to actually liking him, bad humor and all. Had Mother demanded she made her pick of a husband right now she knew who she would have chosen.

A cry in the distance made Wynne jump in fright, and then it was joined by growls and other battle sounds. It had begun! 

She strained her eyes to see better. The orcs were milling about and recoiling from arrow hits, and she heard high pitched yelps from the huge, doglike wargs. A few of the beasts scattered and fled, others held their ground, trying to defend their masters. 

The confusion lasted only a moment. Soon the orcs charged against their attackers, some on wargback, others on foot. There were a lot of them, at least twice as many as the elves, maybe more. 

Numbers were in the enemy's favor. Was a surprise attack enough to outdo that advantage?

They met with a clash of steel, a little too close to where Wynne was waiting for her comfort. She could see them clearly now, the ugly faces of the orcs and the agile elves making the fight look like a dance. 

Her heart thrumming, Wynne dared not look away. She clenched her jaw so hard it hurt. 

It looked like the elves managed well so far, but it would only take one tiny mistake, one wrong step or a moment’s inattention, for something dreadful to happen.

A movement in the corner of her eye finally drew her attention from the battle scene and she gulped when she saw what it was. One of the wargs who had run off was now approaching the horses with a hungry glint in its yellow eyes. Thick drool dripped from its huge maw.

She didn't think. Instinctively she surged to her feet and ran toward the beast, waving her arms and yelling at it as if it were a cougar threatening the herd back home. 

Surprisingly, that strategy worked on wargs as well. The ragged creature started to back away, eyening her cautiously, and that bought time enough for the horses to be able to flee. 

The warg let out a bark-like sound and followed in their trail. 

Wynne looked after it, not really worried anymore. She knew it had no chance to catch up with the mearas as long as they were running.

Wiping her sweaty forehead, she breathed out in relief. That was a close call!

She was just about to turn her gaze back to the fight when a gnarled hand covered her mouth, effectively silencing her shocked scream.

Chapter Text

12. In Captivity

“Shush now, darling.” The voice was like a growl and its owner’s foul breath was hot on her neck.

“Oo she’s one tasty bite, ain’t she? Can I have a nibble?” A second orc came into her view. His dark face was nearly bald and he had a bent nose that looked like it had been broken repeatedly.

“Get off, Burz! She ain’t for eating. She’s leverage.”

“Lever-what?”

“Dimwit! If those freaking elves comes after us we can hurt her to make ‘em back off. Get me now?” 

Wynne whimpered and tried to squirm out of the orc’s grip, but instantly stopped when she felt a knife at her throat.

“Don’t move, luv! I love a frisky gal as much as anyone, but this ain’t the time or place.” His insinuating tone made her cringe.

The orcs quickly tied her hands behind her back and the first one flung her on his broad shoulder where she hung like a sack of potatoes. Then they ran at speed. 

Wynne’s position made her dizzy and disoriented and she didn’t know which way they went. Her terror mingled with guilt. How could she have let the orcs surprise her like that? 

The elves were exceptional trackers but her captors were on foot. Would they leave a visible trail now? And even if the elves somehow managed to follow, the orcs had said they would use her as a shield. She had just made the elves’ task to kill them a lot harder. 

Was this not exactly what Thranduil had meant when he warned her not to come that first day? She meant trouble. She was a burden. 

oOo

The orcs finally stopped, apparently to catch their breath, speaking to each other in a strange language. The speech sounded harsh and ugly and Wynne couldn't even tell whether they were arguing or talking friendly.

She was still hanging upside-down, and the blood accumulating in her head made the dizziness stronger. 

She tried to look around. Were the elves on their way? She couldn’t see anything but dry, dead grass and brown dust.

Then they were off again, still at the same fast pace. The orc shoulder became sweaty and the stink worsened her nausea. 

She couldn’t hold back anymore; despite herself she threw up, but the orc didn't even seem to notice, he just ran on.

It was hard to measure time under the circumstances so she had no idea how long the run lasted, but the orcs stopped eventually and flung her to the hard ground. 

When the blood left her face, she became even more giddy and threw up again.

“Oo, the little tidbit’s feeling sick, poor thing.” The orc sniggered.

“Yeah, and she ain’t gonna feel better later.” 

Wynne could see the orc that had carried her clearly for the first time. He was a lot bigger than the other one, with a gray skin color and a large silver ring in his nostril. His dark hair was coarse and twisted into a bunch of fuzzy braids. His pale blue, strangely human eyes were the only normal looking parts of his face.

The big orc squatted below a steep hill, pushing aside a cleverly disguised curtain with brown dirt and withered grass from the surroundings glued onto it, revealing a round door that he opened with a clawed hand. At the other side a dark path went into the hill and Wynne felt a musty, cellar-like smell. 

She shivered when she realized that was where they were going to hide. 

“Down you go, luv.” The big orc pointed. 

Wynne didn’t dare refuse; they were both stronger than her and armed. 

The hole was just as dark, damp and disgusting as she could have imagined. The path was only a few yards long, with a so low ceiling she had to crawl through in an awkward crouch with hanging roots eerily brushing against her face. It opened up into what felt like a slightly bigger cave, but it was pitch black and impossible to tell. 

The orcs soon joined her. They had a metal lantern that spread a weak light and Wynne could now see that she stood in a round room, perhaps ten yards wide and tall enough that even the bigger orc could stand upright. Boxes and sacks littered one side in an unorganized mess and at the other side were a long row of what appeared to be beds. The air reeked of stale food, earth and filth. 

This must be where the orc gang lived. She wondered what had happened to the rest of them. Had the elves killed them? She hadn’t seen how the battle ended and didn’t even know who won. 

What if the other orcs would come home soon and announce their victory? If so, Wynne would become orc dinner. 

“Now what?” asked the darker orc.

“Now we rest and wait for the others.” The big orc dragged Wynne to the beds and pushed her down on one of them. 

Her arms were still tightly bound, and a spear of pain that shoot up her shoulder made her whimper.

The orcs sat down on either side of her. She didn't like the hungry look in the smaller one’s face.

“Can’t we have a teeny weeny taste? Do we really need the whole of her for that lever– leverthingy?” He licked his black lips, showing a crowded row of sharp, yellow teeth.

“No, Burz, it ain’t gonna work if she’s damaged. However...” He had a calculating look in his blue eyes.

“Yeah? What, Lug?”

“We could have fun with her in other ways.” He let a callused finger trace her arm. 

Wynne desperately tried to back away but the dirt wall of the cave stopped her. 

“There ain’t nothing funnier than eating.”

“Well I have an appetite for other things too. Have some dried meat if you’re hungry.”

“Fresh meat is nicer,” Burz muttered, but still went over to the sacks and began rummaging among them. 

Lug turned his attention back to Wynne. “Now, darlin’, what shall I do with you?” He hovered over her trembling body and pulled out a long knife. 

She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting cruciating pain at any moment. But there was none; instead she felt him slicing the front of her tunic and chemise open. 

She couldn’t say whether that was a relief or worse than being stabbed. Tears of fear and humiliation filled her eyes.

Cold air swept over her bare skin as the orc exposed her chest. She became strangely passive, limbs numb and rigid. When he groped her breast with rough, callused hands she remained motionless.

“Ain’t you a pretty sight, huh? Now, spread those soft legs for me.”

When Wynne didn’t react he pulled them apart by force. 

She felt distant, like her mind had left her limp body on the grimy orc bed and was hovering somewhere above it. 

Someone was crying and she realized it was herself.

“Yukk! She’s freakin’ bleeding!” The orc jumped away. “Dammit woman, you should of said!”

“Did you get any on you?” Burz asked through a mouth full of meat.

“Luckily not.” Lug gave Wynne’s leg a kick. “You little witch thought you could curse me, huh?” He spat on the ground and sat down as far from her as possible.

Stupefied, she looked after him. Were orcs afraid of blood? How could that be? 

Then it dawned on her what he meant. She had her monthly bleeding and apparently that kind of blood scared them.

Saved by her period. That must be a first…

Wynne began to breathe a bit calmer and the strange numbness left her. She had been rescued in the strangest way imagined. Were other races scared of periods as well? 

She saw that she still wore her underpants, stuffed with the dried grass she put in them to absorb the fluids; the orc must have smelled her blood before he could remove them. It was a relief not to be entirely naked. She only wished she could close the front of her tunic too, but with her hands behind her back she was unable to.

The most immediate danger was over but the blood incident had only bought her a little extra time. They could still hurt her, or kill her. And what if she had to stay here for several days? Her cycle would soon be over and then she was fair game again.

Wynne hated how weak she was. Why had she not even tried to defend herself? She had just laid there, allowing the orc to have his way with her. 

Tears of shame and dismay trickled down her cheeks, and bound as she were she couldn’t wipe them off.

Chapter Text

13. Five Hunters

Grimly, Legolas released his last arrow, watching the orc slowly topple over as it pierced its windpipe. He shared a triumphant look with Bronedir. ”Almost too easy.”

He grinned, teeth flashing white in his tanned face. ”An amateurish lot. You hurt?”

”Not a scratch.”

”Same here.”

Nodir joined them, putting a few unused arrows back into his quiver. He had the habit of pulling out several at once and sticking them into the ground for easy access. ”Everyone alright?”

At their affirmative answers he looked relieved. He tended to be very protective of his brother. 

Legolas left them and went to check on his adar and Galion, who as sword fighters took a greater risk. 

Thranduil was wiping one of his swords on a dead orc’s pants. Thankfully he looked unhurt; the only evidence of his recent fight was a few hairs in slight disarray. 

”That will make it more dirty.” Legolas used a light tone to hide his relief at seeing him alive and well.

”Are you injured, son?” His adar’s features betrayed nothing so Legolas had to look at other cues to interpret his emotions: his hand clenching the sword handle; his strained voice; his eyes a bit too wide. 

Thranduil may be an expert at hiding his emotions behind a blank face, but Legolas had become an expert at reading him. 

”I am perfectly fine,” he replied.

Thranduil’s shoulders dropped an inch and he swiftly put the sword back in its scabbard. ”And the others?”

”Fine too.”

”Good. Let us return to the horses and tell the girl the good news.”

They jogged over to where they had parted. The horses were nowhere to be seen; they must have run away like the last time they fought orcs, and Wynne was probably hiding in the tall grass somewhere.

Nodir stopped abruptly. ”We are here.”

”What do you mean, here?” asked Legolas.

”This was where we left Wynne and the horses.”

A chill trickled down his spine. Empty. The place was completely empty.

oOo

It was Bronedir who finally found a clue about what had happened. “The grass is flattened here with several broken stems. Someone must have sat here for a while – very likely her. There are horse tracks nearby.”

“Where did she go?” Legolas took a few steps toward him.

“Don’t come closer.” Bronedir signed for him to stop. “You will ruin the tracks.” 

Legolas clenched his fists helplessly. Tracking was not his speciality but just standing here doing nothing when Wynne was in danger was pure torture.

Bronedir continued to scan the ground closely. “There! Footsteps leading away. She was running.” He moved in a crouch. “She stopped here and trod with a harder footfall. Either she jumped up and down or stamped her feet.” He inched a bit further. “Here someone walked up to her from behind. Two sets of feet. Orcs, would be my guess. They return the same way they came, now heavier than before. As if carrying something – or someone.”

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Legolas was already running in the direction he had pointed. The tracks were visible to him as well now.

He didn’t know whether the others followed but didn’t bother to turn and check. There was no time. If Wynne was in the hands – or claws – of orcs she would not be alive for long. 

This whole situation reminded him uncomfortably of a similar event during the Quest for the Ring when the hobbits Merry and Pippin had been kidnapped by orcs. Together with Aragorn and Gimli Legolas had tracked them across Rohan, and the whole time his head had been full of vivid visions of what the orcs might be doing to their captives. He had feared finding them in pieces, their limbs torn off and eaten while they were still alive and in excruciating pain.

Thankfully everything had gone well that time, but mostly because of luck. Wynne might not be as fortunate.

He struggled to dispel images of her body cut open, entrails spilling out as the orcs sank their fangs into her. 

That must not happen. He wouldn’t let it!

“Look!” cried Galion. “The horses.”

The sight of his sweet Stelpa chased away part of Legolas’ dismay and he swiftly mounted her. Since he was the one with the best control of his steed he took the lead so the other horses had someone to follow. 

Vatna fell in step with Stelpa. The sight of the riderless mare made Legolas want to yell and strangle someone. Preferably an orc. 

Again visions of the orcs hurting Wynne returned, increasing his anger manifold. He couldn’t really say why he reacted so strongly, but there was something about her that made him protective in a way he had not been since he became friends with Gimli. She reminded him a lot of that dwarf, actually. Small, yet strong – not physically like him, but mentally. Even though she had never met orcs or seen a fight before she joined the company, she had managed to keep her head clear throughout their first encounter, defending herself with her feet. And then afterwards she had hardly even flinched as he helped stitch her wound.

She didn’t fear his adar either, which was an even greater feat. Legolas would never forget how she boldly stared back at Thranduil when they first met, like a pigeon before a hawk, refusing to obey his demand that she returned home. It had been truly impressive to witness. 

Her bravery was not what he would miss most if they lost her, however. It was her friendship. Like with Gimli, Legolas enjoyed talking to her, making silly jokes to put a smile on her face and just generally be together. 

But they wouldn’t lose her. He would find her and mash her captors into a bloody pulp. And then impale them. And then leave them to rot or be eaten by scavengers.

Grimly he nudged Stelpa to increase her speed.

oOo

They had not ridden for long when the ground became harder and drier. Soon it was little more than bare, dusty soil with thin tufts of withered grass. 

Frustrated, Legolas slowed to a halt. “I cannot see the tracks anymore.”

Bronedir dismounted and crouched. “Me neither, the surface is too hard.”

“Damn.”  

”We have to continue in the direction they were heading and hope they did not change it,” said Thranduil. 

Legolas nodded reluctantly. There was not much else they could do. 

They continued at a slower pace, stopping now and then to check for tracks. After half a mile or so they finally found another footprint which reassured them they were still on track, but most of the time it was a guesswork. 

More time passed. By now Legolas’ jaw hurt from clenching so hard and he was squirming with frustration over how slowly they had to proceed. Stelpa tossed her head and huffed, becoming skittish by her rider’s worry.

”What is that smell?” Galion sniffed the air, steering aside. “It almost smells like… someone was sick.” 

Legolas felt it too now, a telltale sweet, pungent odor. “This way!”

Following their noses they soon found the source of the smell. A series of small puddles trailed in a different direction than the one they had been riding.

“That must be from Wynne.” Legolas’ heartbeat increased. She must be so afraid, and lonely. But at least there was no blood. At least she had not been hurt, or killed – yet.

They continued in the new course, even after the vomit had ceased, and after a while they felt the same smell again. This time the puddle was larger, located beside a hill.

“Where did they go from here?” Nodir mused. “Left, right, or across the hill?”

Bronedir dismounted. “If they left at all… look at this.” He pointed at fingerprints in the dust a little way up the hillside. Bending closer, he slipped his fingers through a crack. “A curtain. Clever! And there is a door behind.”

Legolas jumped down and ran over to him, tearing off the curtain and tossing it to the side. A solid wood door was revealed.

He scribbled furiously at the edges until his nails broke and his fingertips were bleeding, but it remained firmly shut. “Damn, there is no handle. Does anyone have a tool? My dagger will break if I use it.”

Galion fetched a hatchet from one of the packs. Legolas tried to use it as leverage, forcing it into the crack to pry the door open but to no avail. It didn’t even budge.

Cursing under his breath, sweaty and frustrated, he resorted to violence and began to chop the planks like a lumberjack.

The loud battering frightened the horses and they trotted away around the hill.

“Calm down.” Thranduil tried to take his arm.

Legolas brusquely pushed him away. He refused to be calm. This was too urgent for calmness. 

All he wanted was to destroy this hateful door and save Wynne.

“Open up,” he roared, ramming the ax into it again. “Open the door this instant or I shall tear it to pieces!”

Chapter Text

14. Elves to the Aid

After some time had passed Wynne began to feel very tired. She had no idea how it could be possible in such a scary and dangerous situation as this one, but somehow she felt her eyelids get heavy and she even drowsed off a few times. 

A frantic pounding made her wide awake. Someone was beating on the door she had come in through.

She heard a loud, very angry voice yelling imperiously: “Open up! Open the door this instant or I shall tear it to pieces!” 

It was Legolas! 

A flood of warmth surged through her. He had found her! In some mysterious way the elves had managed to track her captors all the way here. 

The orcs jumped to their feet and growled ugly words in their language, perhaps curses. Lug pulled Wynne up while Burz opened a door behind the sacks and crates that she had not noticed before.

They dragged her into another low passage, similar to the one they had entered through. Meanwhile the pounding increased behind them and loud thuds indicated that the entrance door was being worked on with something heavy.

The passage ended at another round door, very much like the first one. Outside she saw the open grasslands again. 

The orcs hauled her out and ran together with her for a few yards, crouching in fear of arrows. But their precaution was unnecessary; the hill was empty when they turned around. The elves must still be at the other side, unaware there was a back door.

It was frustrating to know that help was so close, yet so far away.

Then Wynne noticed the horses nearby and felt a glimmer of new hope. If she could call Vatna to her, she might be able to escape on horseback. But before she could try, strong orc hands grabbed her again. 

They didn’t lose any time. Lug threw her onto his shoulder and started to run and she had no way of stopping him, not with her hands still tied behind her back.

She got another idea. The elves were near and they had exceptional hearing. “Help! HELP!” she yelled on top of her lungs.

Lug stopped with another curse (presumably) and shook Wynne roughly. “Quiet, woman! I shall...” But he never had time to finish telling her what he would do, for now five elves jumped up from behind the hill, two with swords raised and the other three with drawn bows, metal-tipped arrows pointing straight at the orcs.

“Release her.” Thranduil’s voice was low and frostier than ice.

Lug and Burz quickly moved close together, hiding behind Wynne like a human shield. 

She felt the sharp point of a blade prick her neck. “Back off, or it’s bye-bye to the lady,” growled Lug.

“Yeah, we got knives and we ain’t afraid to use ‘em,” said Burz. “Frickin’ elves,” he added, and spat.

Everything came to a standstill. Only a few yards separated Wynne from her friends but it might as well have been a deep abyss. Neither of them could make a move or she would get killed. 

Her plan to call to the elves for help had amounted to nothing. 

Wynne saw frustration and anger in her friends’ faces. Legolas, especially, looked like he was boiling over; she had never seen him that furious before. Galion, Nodir and Bronedir trembled with pent up energy and Thranduil’s dark eyebrows were drawn so tightly together his eyes were almost invisible.  

What could they do?

Nothing, that was the dreary answer. The elves would be forced to let the orcs escape, and they would naturally take Wynne with them to guarantee their safety. This was exactly what she had feared all along. 

Unless… Her mind raced. What if she could somehow cause a distraction, something to make them look away? Only a brief moment would be enough. 

The horses! They must still be around.

She whistled her special signal and immediately the flock came galloping with pounding hooves. 

The orcs turned toward them, startled, and that was all Wynne needed to jump aside and roll away in the grass. 

Arrows zinged and the orcs howled. Then it was quiet. 

She lay with her eyes closed, panting heavily, still not sure it was really over. 

Then she felt someone cut her bonds and cover her with a blanket. She gratefully huddled under it, shivering like in a fever, while the elves cleared the corpses away and made camp right there on the spot.

As soon as her tent was up, Wynne rose and hurried into it, still wrapped in the blanket. She was desperate to put on new clothes. 

She knew the elves would have questions about what had happened but she really didn’t want to talk about it, or even face them. They had seen her with a ripped tunic and chemise, exposed and humiliated. She had proven how useless she was, how vulnerable and easy to catch.

When she unpacked her other chemise, Wynne’s hands trembled so bad she almost dropped it. Tears poured from her eyes. She wiped them off, but new ones replaced them. 

It took ages to dress, and all the while she cried so much that the new clothes were almost soaked when she was finished.

Then she sat on the bedroll, a thick cloak tightly wrapped around her, burying her face in her knees. She was safe now, then why did she feel like this? 

Another example of her disgusting weakness.

“May I come in?” Legolas’ voice was husky and full of concern. 

Wynne did not want him to see her in such a state, but also didn't want to be alone. 

He had understood her fear before, that time after the first orc fight. Maybe he would understand her now as well.

“Yes.” The word came out as a pathetic squeak. 

He closed the tent flap behind him and sat close to her. “I am so, so sorry.” He sounded devastated, anguished even.

Wynne looked up in surprise, peering at him through swollen eyes. “You are sorry? But I…”

“We should never have left you alone. So careless! So stupid! Because of our inattention they… they... hurt you.” His eyes were nearly black with fury. “I wish I could have killed those accursed monsters twice. Nay, thrice!”

It dawned on Wynne he must think they had done things to her. That Lug really had finished what he began and forced himself on her.

“They didn’t really hurt me.” She sniffed. “The ropes chafed a bit but apart from that I’m fine. I don’t know why I keep blubbering like this.”

“They did not?” He sounded doubtful.

“No. The big one tried, but… changed his mind.” Wynne preferred not to explain the reason for Lug’s hesitation. “And then you came.” 

Legolas visibly relaxed and without warning he hugged her tightly, almost painfully. She clung to him in return and finally felt the trembling subside.

“I am still sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. “We put you in danger and let the orcs scare you. You have every right to despise us.”

“You shouldn’t feel you have to protect me. Like I need a guard. I’d be a burden.” 

“Never. Your aid in this quest is invaluable. The way you manage the horses… the way you used them today to escape. It was impressive.”

He sounded sincere and his words warmed her.

It had grown dark in the tent and a pleasant scent of stew reached Wynne’s nostrils. Her stomach growled.

“Are you feeling well enough to get out?” Legolas asked kindly. “If not, I can bring you dinner here. You need to eat.”

“Thank you. But I think I’d like to go out. I haven’t thanked you all for saving me.”

“No need for gratitude. You managed well on your own. Had we not come you would have found a way to flee on your Vatna, I am sure. But I am glad you did not, for it gave me the opportunity to put an arrow in each of those filths’ heads.” Legolas’ smile was grim.

Wynne didn’t think she would have managed to escape; she remembered all too well the strange apathy that had overcome her, but she liked that he believed it. It was flattering that he seemed to think so highly of her ability to fend for herself. 

For her part, she was sure it was only because the elves had come she had woken up from her frozen state. Seeing them standing there on the hill, weapons drawn, had given her courage. 

Then she thought of something.

“By the way, how did you find me? The orcs seemed so careful not to leave tracks.”

“Do you really want to know?”

“Of course.”

“Well… at first we followed their footsteps but when we came to harder ground we nearly lost our way. Until we found this trail of… hrm. Vomit.” 

His grin went very wide at the wry face she made.

Chapter Text

15. Finding a Map

When Wynne and Legolas joined the others for a late dinner, Thranduil had a piece of dirty parchment in his hands. 

He looked up, greeting them with a nod. “Ah, there you are. I hope you are feeling better, my lady.”

“I do, thank you. And please, after all this, call me Wynne.”

“Of course.” He turned to his son. “Come take a look at this, we found it in the orc den.” He spread out the parchment on his lap. 

Galion offered Wynne a bowl of stew. “I took the liberty of using your supplies. I figured after this we could all use a warm meal.”

“Smells delicious. Thank you.” She sat down next to Legolas, eating without tasting the food.

He was examining Thranduil’s find with interest. “It looks like a map. There, the arrows seem to point out the direction, and those suns could mean days.”

“That is what we thought also,” Thranduil agreed.

Wynne looked over Legolas’ shoulder, trying to seem interested, but she was still too agitated. 

Every now and then the other elves sent quick glances in her direction and she knew they too must think the orcs had molested her. But how could she explain? Maybe she could ask Legolas to tell them nothing happened. Or, at least nothing too bad. The orcs had scared her, and Lug had ruined her clothes and touched her breast, that memory still sent chills down her spine. But it could have been much worse.

Now was not the time for explanations, however; the elves were occupied with the map and trying to decipher it. 

“What if those triangles are orc hideouts?” Nodir leaned over and pointed with a slender finger. “If this triangle is where we are right now, then that one up here could be where we were ambushed the other day – in the place with the elks. See, the direction is right. And the number of suns matches as well; if they travel on foot it would probably take that many days.”

“It makes sense,” said Legolas. “We never found that den, but naturally there must have been one.”

“We can investigate it on our way back.” Thranduil looked pleased. “If this really does point to orc dwellings the difficulty of our task will be greatly reduced. We shall ride to the first triangle tomorrow and if there are orcs, or an abandoned den for that matter, we shall know for certain.”

The others nodded in agreement.

“Then perhaps we should do something more cheerful,” Galion suggested. He had pulled out his flute. “Let us forget orcs for a while and have an evening of merriment and music!”

oOo

It really became a very pleasant evening and Wynne found that she actually could push down the dark thoughts for a few hours. But when she returned to her lonely tent the memories came back, as did all of the “what ifs”. What if she had not had her period? What if the elves had not found her? What if the horses had not been there? She kept playing up worst case scenarios in her head, events that had not happened but could have . 

Restlessly she turned this way and that in her bedroll.

Eventually she gave up sleep entirely, and just like that time after the first orc attack she sought comfort from her horse. Mounting Vatna she leaned back, resting her head on the meara’s croup and her feet on her neck, a feat she had learned in childhood when she had been spending more time on horseback than on the ground. 

On Vatna’s warm, comforting back, with the endless sky expanding above her, Wynne finally began to relax. 

Things would work out somehow. The elves had an orc map now so things would never get this bad again. And they were kind to her, first by trying to find her when she went missing and now by trying to soothe her with music. 

They had become her friends, something that had seemed unlikely in the beginning of their journey, and Thranduil had even agreed to call her by name. 

And Legolas… He had been so angry at the orcs! And so proud of her resistance. And then he hugged her. 

Something fuzzy and warm filled her chest when she thought about that.

The night was mellow, almost summer-like, and it didn’t take long until the rustle of dry grass in the breeze lulled her to sleep. 

oOo

The elves were eager to leave the next morning, curious to know if the map really would guide them to where the orcs lived. 

Wynne had made up her mind to be enthusiastic too and not let the thought of more orcs scare her. She had to get over her fears. 

They took a southern route, having settled on the closest triangle on the map to begin with. 

Legolas nudged Stelpa to fall in step with Vatna. “How are you feeling today?”

“Just fine. All good. Looking forward to watching you kick some orc butt.” Wynne tried to smile but it was a shaky attempt.

“I shall stay with you when the others check out the nest.”

“Don’t, I will be on horseback this time and quite safe,” she assured him. “I have realized that if I had stayed on Vatna I could have outrun both the warg and the orcs easily and none of this would have happened.”

“What warg?” 

“There was a warg that threatened the horses but I made it stop long enough for the flock to escape.”

“You stopped a warg?” He stared at her incredulously. “How?” 

“Well I… I guess I shooed it.” In retrospect that seemed like a rather stupid thing to have done. 

“You shooed it.” He looked like he didn’t know whether to be awed or annoyed. “You shooed a thousand-pound beast with huge fangs. One that eats people!” 

“That sounds quite impressive.” Bronedir had apparently been listening.

“What sounds impressive?” asked Nodir.

“Wynne scared away a warg barehanded.”

“Really? Aye, that is impressive.”

“You took a great risk, however.” Legolas still didn’t look happy. “Please do not do such a dangerous thing again. If a warg comes at you you must flee.”

“I disagree,” said Nodir. “Wargs chase after anything that runs. She would have been easily caught.”

That silenced Legolas momentarily. 

A while later, however, when the others were further away he brought up the subject again. “I think your plan to stay on horseback during orc encounters is wise. That way you can outrun most foes. But I meant what I said before. Do not try to be brave. There is no dishonor in fleeing.”

“Trust me, I like nothing better than staying far away from danger.” 

He smiled then, looking relieved. “Good. Keep that mindset.”

oOo

Around noon they reached the area marked on the map and the elves left on foot to search for the hideout. 

Wynne could see them easily from Vatna’s back; the open grasslands were good that way. Spreading out, they examined each hill closely, and it didn't take long before Bronedir raised a hand and waved for the others to come over.

Tensing, she shadowed her eyes with a hand to see better. 

They circled the hillock, obviously looking for other exits, and then positioned themselves around it. Nodir and Bronedir guarded one side, while Legolas, Thranduil and Galion opened a door at the other. 

They disappeared into the hill and soon Wynne heard muffled yells. The back door opened and three orcs emerged, only to be met by a hail of arrows felling them on the spot. 

Not much later Thranduil whistled and waved to Wynne, signaling that it was safe to come. 

When she got closer and saw the heap of dead orcs the elves had dragged out she felt the thrill of victory for the first time. This was how it should be done. Fast, smooth, everything going according to plan. All in all, the attack had taken only minutes. 

She saw the same excitement she felt herself in the elves’ faces. 

“It worked,” Bronedir exclaimed, triumphantly raising his fist to the sky. “The map was correct!”

“They slept when we came upon them.” Legolas proudly stacked five orc helmets beside the corpses. “I think I took most of them out before they even knew what had hit them.”

“Next time I go in first,” said Galion with mock annoyance. “Why should you have all the fun to yourself?”

oOo

After burning the carcasses they rode back to the Anduin instead of searching for a new den. Though the next triangle on the map was further east, everybody longed to camp near a source of water where they would be able to wash all the blood and dust from themselves and their clothes. 

Thranduil decided they could afford to take the next day off as well; they had been traveling nearly a week now and both the company and the horses needed to rest. 

And, they ought to celebrate the victory. 

“Do you still have any of that fire water left, Wynne?” he asked.

“Plenty.”

“Then tonight we feast!”

Chapter Text

16. Drinking With Elves (Again)

“So, now that we are on a first name basis, can I call you Thranny?” Wynne hiccuped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Absolutely not.”

“Aww why not? Galion is Gale, and Nodir and Bronedir are Nodi and Bron. Thranny would be perfect for you. And you ,” she poked Legolas in the chest with her index finger, “you can be Leggy.”

“If you call me Leggy I shall call you Lembas Lover.”

“Not funny.” Wynne scowled at him.

“I think it is hilarious.” Legolas' features were deadpan apart from the slightly upturned corners of his mouth. 

Wynne tried to poke him again but he caught her hand. She wanted him to keep holding it but sadly he let go, and she couldn't think of a plausible excuse to touch him again. 

Then she remembered his bite wound. “Is your hand better now?”

“It is. This fire water really has benefits.” He took a sip from his cup.

“I didn’t clean it for you yesterday, what with the orcs kidnapping me and everything. I can do it now if you want?” 

“Sure, why not?”

“Then let’s go to the river. You should wash it before I apply the liquor.”

Legolas followed her down to the dark stream, that now had a red tint reflecting the setting sun. She noticed with some satisfaction that the elf swayed a little in his gait.

“I thought you were so unaffected by spirits that you even beat a dwarf in a drinking competition. How come you can’t walk straight?” 

“I do walk straight. And look at my hand, steady as a rock.” He held out his good hand for her to see. 

She came closer, stumbling on a tuft of grass. 

“Now who cannot walk straight?”

“Ha, I never said liquor doesn’t affect me. It does. So you must support me.” Wynne took his hand and he didn't seem to mind. It felt strong and warm and covered hers entirely. 

She walked extra slowly the last few yards, making the moment last, but eventually she had to release him. 

As Legolas removed the bandage and began to wash, Wynne sat on the grassy slope just above the rough gravel of the shore. 

Music drifted from the campfire above; Nodir and Bronedir were singing again, accompanied by Galion’s flute. This time their bass voices were joined by a third, a baritone. 

With some surprise she realized it was Thranduil. “Your father has a lovely singing voice. Do you sing as well?”

“Sometimes.” He dried his hands on a linen towel and came to sit next to her.

“I’d love to hear it.”

“Maybe another time.”

“I take that as a promise. Now, let’s have a look at that bite.” 

The wound really did look better today. It wasn’t swollen anymore and a scab had begun to form. Legolas didn’t even flinch when she dabbed it with a spirit soaked cloth.

“I’m glad it’s healing so well.”

“Thanks to you.” In the twilight his eyes were dark and his intense gaze made her stomach flutter.

Wynne broke eye contact first.

“How about your thigh?” he asked. “Let me check those stitches.”

Her cheeks warmed at the mention of thighs. “Sure.” Still blushing she removed the strings that held her hose up, rolling one down a bit. It healed well and she had not needed a bandage the past two days.

Legolas examined it thoroughly, perhaps more so than was strictly necessary. She could see a vein on his neck throbbing faster, just like her own heart did. 

“Looking good.” He had become slightly breathless. 

Then he carefully touched the three tiny knots. Too softly. Wynne squirmed and giggled. 

That broke the intense atmosphere. “You are ticklish,” he noted, seemingly storing the information for future use.

Of course she then had to try to tickle him back but got no reaction at all. His face could have been sculpted in marble. 

“You are no fun.” She tried some more anyway, just to have a reason to touch him.

“You are wasting your time. Elves are beyond such worldly things as ticklishness.” 

His teasing smile made Wynne certain he did feel it; he just had strong self-control. She decided to try to catch him by surprise another time. 

“How is it going down there?” called Thranduil from the campfire. 

Legolas looked guilty. “Soon finished!” 

They hastily returned, taking their places around the fire. 

Thranduil regarded them thoughtfully, one eyebrow raised, but didn't say anything.

“So, a free day tomorrow then,” said Wynne. “That means we can sleep in. Any fire water left?”

The elf brothers began a new song, this one so well known even Wynne could join in. Her soprano was not all bad, she reckoned, and she liked to sing. 

To her delight Legolas also took part. He was a bass, which was what one might expect from his speaking voice, and a good one too. She really must hold him to his promise and have him sing to her privately sometime. 

When night fell, Wynne was more than a little drunk and unsteadily went to her tent. The drink had made her drowsy and she could hardly keep her eyes up when she undressed. 

But as she lay tucked in her bedroll she found that she still couldn’t fall asleep. For no apparent reason her heart beat faster and faster, and an uncomfortable chill rushed along her spine, forcing her wide awake. Orc faces paraded before her vision; those she were kidnapped by and the one with an arrow in its cheek. It was like a bad dream, but one she couldn’t wake up from. 

Sitting up, she tried to rub away the images, almost banging her head with her fists, but nothing helped. 

She wanted to scream in frustration. How long would this hopeless insomnia last? This awful, irrational panic. She hated it.

In the end she had to resort to the horses again. The air was more damp this close to the river, and a bit chilly, but it worked anyway. Within moments of mounting Vatna she slept soundly on the mare’s back.

oOo

Despite her talk yesterday of sleeping in, Wynne woke only a few hours later. She started the day with an icy cold swim that cleared her head nicely and chased away the headache that had begun to form. 

Legolas, who had the early morning watch, came down to join her.

“Oh, hello Leggy.”

“Good morning, Lembas Lover.” His face turned serious. “I noticed you slept outside tonight. Why? Even here, danger lurks.”

“I’m safe with the horses.”

“You have a nice tent. Why not use it? All that space to yourself while others – such as myself – must lay cramped and listen to my tentmate’s snores.”

“Thranduil snores? Really?” Wynne shook her head in disbelief. “I’d never have guessed.”

“He does.” Legolas nodded solemnly. 

“Maybe I can sneak in sometime and listen.” She laughed at his shocked look.

“You are evading the question. Why do you sleep on your horse?”

“I dunno, I just sleep better there.” Wynne shifted uncomfortably and dove back into the river to evade further questions.

When she emerged Legolas had finished bathing and was braiding his hair. 

She tried to use the water as a mirror but her dropping head made it difficult. She was sure her hair must look like the wiry end of a besom though; the pretty braids Legolas had made a few days back had almost disappeared under stray strands of hair. 

She undid them with some effort, losing a few tufts of hair in the process. “Can you plait my hair too when you are done? If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Of course, no trouble at all. I enjoy doing it.” He glanced at her bare calves and wet outfit and averted his eyes with an embarrassed cough. 

Wynne was glad her chemise was wide and nontransparent. 

When Legolas had finished his own braids and moved closer to begin on hers, she noticed that his undershirt was thinner than hers. The damp fabric clung to him and revealed the shape of his muscled chest. Being an archer, he must have very strong arms, and it showed.

She wondered what he looked like without a shirt and how his skin would feel if she touched it.

Just then he looked up, smirking. 

She realized she had been staring and quickly turned her head toward the river. A pair of black swans came serenely swimming down it. “I heard those used to be Sauron’s spies,” she said, trying to hide her embarrassment at being caught ogling him like that.

“Aye. But they are free now.” He stood on his knees behind her and began combing her hair. Like before, his touch sent warm tingles through her body.

He took longer this time. The bone comb soon glided through her tresses without resistance, yet he continued, stroking her hair almost reverently.

At last he moved to her side and started on the braids, standing so close she felt air tickling her neck when he breathed. 

He seemed intently focused on what he was doing so she seized the opportunity to study his beautiful face, peeking sideways rather uncomfortably to avoid turning her head in a telltale way. His skin really was amazingly smooth, even this close, without even a hint of facial hair except for slender eyebrows and long, dark lashes. Under them his irises were an unusual shade of blue, almost gray, like the sky of a summer evening. His nose was straight and his jawline strong and masculine, and he had pointed ears like all elves – but somehow his were prettier.

She suddenly wanted him to hug her again, like he did after her rescue – but not to comfort her, this time. Another kind of hug. 

Again she thought of Mother’s demands. Marry an elf… the king or his father. Would Legolas accept her if she asked?

Or was that not the way this was done? Maybe she had to wait until he asked. 

Just thinking about it filled her with a swarm of butterflies. Something was happening. Something new and amazing. 

Legolas had completed one set of braids and moved to her other side. She innocently turned her gaze back at the swans and saw that one of them had buried its long neck into the rippling water. Its black, webbed feet waggled in the air. 

They heard voices from above as the others were waking up. Legolas threw several glances at the tents while finishing the final braids a lot faster. 

Why did he suddenly seem so nervous?

He was just done when Thranduil and Galion came down to the shore. Wynne could tell from Thranduil’s lowered eyebrows that he was not pleased when he saw what his son had been doing. 

It surprised her, but also made Legolas’ behavior more understandable. Clearly hair and braids meant something different to elves than humans.

Legolas hurried away, muttering something about dirty laundry, but before Wynne could follow him Thranduil put a hand on her arm.

“May I have a word with you in private, my lady?”

Uh-oh, he was back to calling her “my lady” again. That didn’t bode well. 

Chapter Text

17. Hopes Crushed

“Will you walk with me?” It sounded more like an order than a request.

Wynne followed Thranduil along the river. Her steps crunched on the gravel but his were entirely soundless. 

She had a bad feeling about this, and a strong suspicion of what Thranduil would say. It felt a lot like when she had done something forbidden as a child and was anticipating Mother’s punishment. Just like then her mouth had gone dry as dust and her palms were sweaty.

At last he stopped and began talking. “I have noticed lately that you and my son are becoming close.” 

She nodded, swallowing nervously. There was no use denying it.

“Legolas is very young – for an elf – yet he has fought several battles, witnessed nameless horrors and seen death in the eye. Despite this he has not been much exposed to the common world. Or to ladies.” He gave her a meaningful look. “Legolas could easily be misled by an innocent, sweet girl like yourself.”

Wynne scowled. Thranduil made Legolas seem like an immature teen, a notion that would have made her laugh in other circumstances. 

“I am sure you mean well,” he continued. “You think that you love him, am I not right?” He regarded her imploringly. “I take your silence as an affirmation. However, at your age one cannot always discern between love and desire.” He paused. ”You are shaking your head, but remember that I am your senior by several millennia. Please rely on my greater knowledge and experience in these matters.”

He began to walk again and Wynne demurely followed a few steps behind. 

“Then there is the question of station. Even if your feelings were to grow into real, mutual love, Legolas is the heir to my throne. My people would never accept a human woman as queen. He would be disgraced, publicly shamed.”

That was an aspect Wynne had not considered. Mother had seemed so certain she could procure an alliance between the House Örn and the elves, but now it was obvious her plan had been uninformed and overly optimistic. 

“My last objection to this match is the most grave. You, my lady, are a mortal, whereas Legolas will never die a natural death. You would force him to watch you grow old and pass away. And elves do not take grief well.” She saw the same sadness in his eyes that he had shown once before and knew he was referring to his deceased wife. “Imagine an eternity away from your beloved. Never able to forget her, always missing her. For, elves love only once.”

Tears pricked Wynne’s eyes. Thranduil was right. How could she not have thought of that herself?

It had been a foolish dream. One that could never be.

They walked back in silence but before they separated Thranduil pressed her shoulder soothingly. “It is better this way. Ending it before your heart is too deeply committed.” He sounded unusually kind. 

She nodded, not trusting her voice to hold.

“Thank you, Wynne. I was certain you would understand.” He pressed her shoulder again and left.

oOo

Wynne didn't remember much of that day later, only that it was one of the worst she had known so far. In a way it was even worse than being kidnapped. 

She had escaped the orcs, but there was no happy way out of this. 

All she wanted was to lie down and cry her eyes out for the unfairness of it all, but instead she had to act normal, doing her chores among the others as if nothing had happened. 

Thranduil must have spoken to Legolas too not long afterwards, for he also seemed very demure that day. She wondered what his father had said to him but then figured she didn't really want to know. Whatever it was, it had worked. Legolas didn’t avoid her, but when they had to speak he evaded eye contact. It hurt, even though she knew it was for the best.

At last the long day was over and Wynne gratefully went into her tent. In the solace behind canvas walls she could finally bury her face in her pillow and allow her tears to pour freely. 

Why had she come on this stupid mission? All it had brought her was fear, pain and heartache. 

She was not sure whether she loved Legolas; perhaps Thranduil was right and she didn’t yet. She had never been in love and had no idea what that felt like. But she did know she cared about him more than anyone else she had met and wanted to be near him at all times. Even if her feelings were not love she was certain they would have grown into it, given time. 

And she believed he cared about her too. From the beginning he had singled her out, and she suspected his braiding her hair meant something special.

But now it would have to end, almost before it had even begun. It made her feel empty. 

oOo

All the crying made Wynne tired and for the first time in days she fell asleep in her own bed. She had no dreams and slept until late the next morning, yet when she woke up she felt weary and worn out. 

Soon after breakfast they broke camp and took off again. They rode in silence, everybody occupied with their own thoughts. 

The following weeks were spent traveling between all the orc hideouts marked on the map. Some were empty, others were inhabited and cleared out as efficiently as the other day. The elves found another map in one of them, slightly different; it lacked some of the triangles but had others instead. The two maps completed each other and made the quest even easier. 

Only once did they encounter orcs in the open, a large group of warg riders, but this time Wynne stayed on horseback and nothing bad happened. A few of the elves got lesser blemishes and cuts, nothing worrisome. They were grateful for Wynne’s fire water, which was now saved for medicinal use only, that helped them heal faster.

Wynne’s stitches began to itch and needed removing after the second week, which she did on her own in the tent. The memory of that time with Legolas by the river made her cry again when she cut the knots and pulled out the threads. 

She shed many tears those first days, but only after nightfall, laying in bed or on Vatna’s back.

Things slowly grew back to normal between the rest of them. The others must have suspected in part what had happened, and had kindly given her and Legolas time and space to get over it, but after a while they resumed their friendly banter. Legolas even pulled his tired old lembas joke every now and then, but his smiles never really reached his eyes and Wynne’s laughter felt false and unnatural.

oOo

After about two months they had finally finished the first part of their quest. Every triangle on the maps had been checked, every den cleared out.

“This was the last one.” Sweat poured down Galion’s pale face as he dragged a headless orc on top of its former comrade.

“We have done well.” Thranduil beamed at them through the smoke from the burning carcasses. “When we first set out I had no idea the Brown Lands were so infested. We have made this area a great deal safer for travelers. Maybe there shall even be settlements again. I know the King of Rohan has wanted to expand his borders to the east for a long time.” He turned to Wynne. “Whenever you return home you must send word to him of our progress.”

She nodded. “I’m sure he will be delighted. Breeding horses requires a great deal of land.”

“Aye, I noticed some of your extensive pastures when we last visited there.”

They had made two short trips across the Anduin into Rohan to restock their supplies. With the addition of game and fish from the river (and lembas, of course) food had never been scarce, but they had needed healing equipment and more fire water, and Wynne wanted peppermint leaves for her morning tea. 

“We shall now turn south and enter the hills of Emyn Muil,” Thranduil continued. “Like in the beginning of our journey we have no map. Again we shall walk blindly and try to cover as much land as possible. We do not know where the orcs hide, and in addition we might encounter greater dangers here, such as wild wargs and even mountain trolls.”

Wynne shivered despite the warmth of the summer evening and the heat from the pyre. The past months had hardened her and orcs no longer scared her like they had, but trolls were something else. They were said to be enormous, with skin rock hard, almost impossible to defeat unless they walked into sunlight and were turned into stone. She had never seen one and had no wish to do so either.

“The terrain we enter will be difficult but I was told that riding is the best way to traverse it. Wynne’s horses can walk over creepers and brambles easier than us.” 

She nodded. “They prefer open land but are sure footed. They can manage almost any terrain.”

“Then let us rest and begin the next phaze of our quest tomorrow.”

Wynne had overcome most of her fears from before and no longer suffered from insomnia. But that night she slept badly again, with faceless trolls haunting her dreams. 

When she woke the next morning she tried to shake off her worry. She trusted the elves; they were skilled fighters and could probably defeat even trolls. 

Besides, there might not even be any trolls.

Chapter Text

18. Daydreaming in Emyn Muil

The hills of Emyn Muil were nicer than Wynne had thought. She enjoyed the view from the hilltops, and the new environment fascinated her. On the ridges grew funnily shaped trees, twisted and crooked by the wind, and the ground was indeed covered with creepers and brambles like Thranduil had said. But on the brambles grew sweet blackberries and raspberries that became a welcome change in their diet. 

Nothing much happened on the first day, but the next day Bronedir discovered a footprint in a muddy creek they passed.

“It is a lot bigger than an orc foot would be,” Thranduil mused. 

“Could it be human?” Wynne suggested. It looked like the prints her father’s boots had made in the muddy stableyard back home.

“Maybe. We should follow it to make sure, though. It could be an uruk-hai.” He explained that the uruk-hai were a taller kind of orc that Saruman had bred during the war, who were said to be human-orc hybrids though nobody knew for sure. “Unlike their smaller cousins they are not afraid of daylight and they are a lot stronger. And more intelligent as well. We need to be very careful now.”

The mention of human-orc hybrids made Wynne feel uncomfortable. She remembered how Lug had tried to molest her. Would the resulting offspring have been an uruk-hai? The thought of giving birth to something even vaguely like an orc made her stomach heave.

She turned her thoughts to other hybrids, wondering what a human-elf child might look like. That sent her into a pleasant daydream, one that she had returned to often lately. 

In her daydream Wynne and Legolas had eloped and escaped into the wilderness with Vatna and Stelpa. Their country was a bit like the Brown Lands, but more fertile, and with a sparkling clear stream running through it. They had built a pretty wooden cottage there, not unlike Wynne’s house back home, with a thatch roof where their goat grazed. Outside they had a kitchen garden that they managed together and where they grew vegetables. They had an orchard too, with cherry and apple trees, and a flock of chickens. 

In the evenings they talked; long hours of pleasant conversation where they shared memories of their past lives. Legolas often made silly jokes and Wynne laughed at them. 

At night they would sleep in a four poster bed like Grandmama’s and Grandpapa’s, not in separate beds like Wynne’s parents. Her grandparents had always seemed more fond of each other. 

The bed would be made of wood with carvings of leaves and branches to make Legolas feel at home whenever he missed his forest. It would be covered with a fluffy comforter.

They would cuddle up together under that comforter every night. 

And they would sleep naked. 

At first she had imagined they would keep their shifts on at least but then she had decided naked was better, even though she didn’t know what a male elf looked like between his legs. Probably not exactly like a stallion or a bull, but she was sure there was a dangling part involved somehow. 

Wynne usually didn’t think too much about that body part in her daydream, seeing as the whole mating business was so unknown and diffuse. Instead her thoughts were occupied with the male parts she had seen. His face, angular and manly. His strong arms. His flat, broad chest.

She dreamed of how she would touch him, feeling the soft skin against her palm as she traced his hard muscles. That was why they needed to be naked; she didn’t want an undershirt to be in the way. 

She wanted to lie skin against skin.

After exploring his chest, arms and back with her fingers she would bury her nose into the crook of his neck and draw in his scent. She thought he would smell a bit like her father; of horses, leather and hard work.

Then she would turn her attention to his face. That beautiful face, which she knew she shouldn’t look so much at, but still secretly peeked at all the time. 

It was too tempting. Her eyes trailed there almost of their own; she just couldn't help herself. Even when she closed them she could see every detail of his features. 

In the daydream she would trace his strong jawline with a fingertip and tickle him just below his ear. She was certain he was ticklish there, everybody was. When he smiled she would kiss an upturned corner of his lips. 

She knew a little about kissing, and that lovers’ kisses were different from Grandmama’s goodnight pecks on the forehead when she was little. She had seen a maid and a farmhand kiss in that other way once behind a neighbor’s barn. The man had been one of those burly, ugly fellows from the marketplace, and she had not for the world understood why the girl wanted to suck her mouth against his. But if that girl had felt anything like what Wynne felt for Legolas, then she now knew exactly why.

So, she would kiss Legolas on the lips, and that would make him smile wider. His smile, rare as it was these days, could light up the most melancholy moment. Like sunshine spilling out between the clouds.

Wynne sighed, momentarily drawn out of her reverie. She wished he would smile more often; it saddened her that he had become so serious.

But Legolas’ and her present somberness and the cause of it were too bleak to think about, so as usual she swiftly returned to her fantasy. 

Now she imagined what their mornings would be like. How wonderful it would be to wake up next to a warm elf instead of alone in a chilly, damp tent like now. 

Sometimes Legolas would get up first and make her breakfast, sometimes it would be the other way around. They would eat it in bed and talk about the day ahead.

They would lead a secluded but happy life in that cottage, hardly ever leaving it. Only if they needed supplies they couldn’t grow for themselves.

As the years went by they would probably have children, for if they wanted to mate, those would be the result – and Wynne was certain she would want to mate with him if she ever found herself naked in bed with Legolas. 

She didn’t really like babies, however. The little she had seen of them, they were either wailing or pooping or both. But perhaps it would be different if they were her own. Maybe she would feel about them the way she did about a newborn foal?

After having the babies – and this was the part of the dream where she always tried to think of another possible ending, and failed – Wynne would grow older, while Legolas would not. Her hair would turn gray, her body become wrinkled like Grandmama’s, her voice weaken and her back bend. And then she would die and Legolas would mourn her, and soon the children would die as well and he would mourn them too, and his eternity of a life would be filled with grief and absolute misery.

She could picture him walking alone in the orchard, which now had huge, gnarled trees, covered in lichen like spiderwebs. He would stroke their rough trunks and remember when Wynne and he planted them all those hundreds years ago. 

His beautiful eyes would look like Thranduil’s when he talked about his late wife. Filled to the brim with a pain so deep it was impossible to grasp.

Wynne angrily shrugged off the daydream, as usual with tears pricking the corner of her eyes. It always ended this way, making her heart ache as if it had really happened. 

She hated to be reminded of the outcome of any relationship with Legolas, yet she would build that same castle in the air every day. 

At least it started out nice, the eloping and all that... If only it didn't have to end!

If only, if only. Those kinds of thoughts were a waste of time. 

She tried to think of something else. Fir trees. There were crooked fir trees around. She could think of them. Or brambles. Anything but immortality and its implications.

Chapter Text

19. Mysterious Footprints

For two full days the elves searched the area where they had found the footprint but with no trace of its owner. But on the third day Bronedir, their best tracker, finally spotted something. A single file of tracks, running straight over a boggy part between two hills.

“At least there seems to be only one of them,” Nodir said. 

That made them all relax a bit. One uruk-hai wouldn't be too bad, if that was what it was. 

Bronedir said he thought these footprints looked fresher than the first one, but it was still very hard to tell how long ago they were made. It had not rained for several days.

They followed the tracks between the hills and came out on a flatter expanse, covered in purple heather. The air smelled sweet and hundreds of bees were humming. 

“This is beautiful,” Legolas exclaimed, and flashed one of his rare smiles at Wynne who was last in line. Whenever they tracked monsters she preferred to fall behind. 

“It’s lovely!” She smiled back, immediately deciding there would be heather around their cottage in her next daydream. 

“Here are more footprints. Two sets of them!” Bronedir waved to the others from a small pool under a cliff face. “This seems to be their water hole; they have come here many times.”

The others joined him and dismounted. 

Thranduil dipped a finger in the water and tasted it. “Sweet and clear. Maybe we should take the opportunity to refill our waterskins.”

“I could do with a washing,” said Galion. “It has been a while.”

“They might be near; it is not safe to linger.” Legolas looked tense. “And we should keep our voices down.”

“I agree with Legolas.” Wynne glanced around her anxiously, imagining a huge orc jumping out from behind every thicket of brambles.

“We find the owners of the footprints first, then we come back,” Thranduil decided. ”If this is their regular watering place then their den cannot be too far away.”

Bronedir had been following the cliff face a bit further. “There is a path over here.” 

Everybody drank their fill, including the horses, and then began to follow the narrow track. They rode slowly, the elves alert and wary, with Wynne tagging along a few yards behind just to be on the safe side. 

The moorland ended and the ground grew rocky and rough. The path still went close to the cliff, which now had a slight overhang. Underneath it the ground was boggy and they found new footprints, going in both directions and partly covering each other. 

“This is odd.” Bronedir had lowered his voice to almost a whisper. He dismounted to take a closer look at a very small print, no more than the size of Wynne’s palm. “I have never seen an orc that small.”

“Could they have captured a child?” Nodir looked aghast.

A chill trickled through Wynne. What would they find when they finally came to the orc den? Appalling images of dismembered and broken children came before her. 

She almost wished not to continue, but of course they had to. If there was a kidnapped child somewhere around they must try to save it. 

They went on, Wynne even slower than before, allowing the others to gain a few extra yards still. Then the track ended abruptly with a steep wall of huge boulders and everybody came to a halt.

The elves dismounted and spread out among the rocks, searching for an opening or a cave. Wynne remained seated on Vatna as usual, ready to gallop away if any orcs would attack. 

The summer air was hot and very still; the cliff overhang and boulder wall on two sides shielded the place from the wind. Insects buzzed and birds chirped, and there was a sweet smell of herbs. Wild rosemary perhaps, or thyme. Under different circumstances it would have been a lovely place. 

A slight movement made her turn her head to the cliff side they had been following. An immense juniper bush grew a few yards above her. Had it moved? She strained her eyes to see better. 

Yes, there definitely was movement. It trembled slightly, and since there was no wind something else must have caused it. 

Wynne went cold with trepidation, wishing she could alert the elves somehow, but they were too far away. If she called out to them she would draw attention to herself, and then the presumed uruk-hai hiding in the bush would jump on her before she could flee. 

Very slowly she made Vatna back away, all the while staring intently at the juniper. 

It moved again and something emerged, equally slowly and silently as Wynne.

A woman! 

Wynne’s eyes popped open in surprise. It was a brown-skinned, black haired human woman, dressed in old, frayed clothes. She stood with her back turned to the cliff and edged sideways, away from where the elves were searching the boulders. 

There seemed to be something behind her, something she shielded with her body. 

Their eyes met. The woman instantly stopped, fright filling her face. She held her palms out to show she had no weapons, and then put a finger against her lips. Her dark eyes had a pleading look. 

It was obvious she didn't want to be found by the elves. But why? If she had been captured by orcs, the elves could help her. Did she think they were dangerous too? That Wynne was their prisoner?

“It’s okay, we don’t mean any harm,” Wynne said in a low voice, trying to look as friendly as possible. As the woman had done, she held her palms up.

The woman shook her head vigorously and again motioned for Wynne to be silent, but the elves with their exceptional ears had already heard her and noticed who she had talked to.

“It is a woman!” called Galion.

They quickly spread out around the cliff, surrounding the woman. 

“Do not be afraid,” said Thranduil. He had put down his two swords in their scabbards again and the others had lowered their bows. ”We come in peace.”

“Leave me alone.” The woman’s voice was deep and heavily accented. 

“Of course. We are not after you. But have you seen an orc around here? A big one, human sized or larger.”

“No.”

“No? We saw tracks, footprints just here. Are you sure–”

“I said no. Now go.” 

The woman scowled and Wynne noticed her eyebrows were almost up to Thranduil standard. Impressive. 

Thranduil seemed perplexed at her fierce reaction but then shrugged. He was just beginning to turn away when a weak wail caught everyone’s attention. It had come from behind the woman.

“What was that? What are you concealing?” There was a dangerous edge in his voice now and his body had tensed.

“Nothing.” She began to tremble.

“Step aside.” His voice was cold as ice.

Legolas, Nodir and Bronedir drew their bows again. 

The woman must have realized she had no option but to obey and very slowly moved aside, tears glittering in her eyes. “Please don’t hurt them.”

There was a collective gasp when they saw what she had been hiding. Two tiny orcs stood there, hand in hand, thumbs in their mouths. They were barely more than babies.

Chapter Text

20. Tiny Orcs

“What on Arda…!” Bronedir sounded aghast. 

“Orclings? You keep orclings? Whatever for?” Nodir’s eyes had almost popped out of their sockets.

“They are my sons.” The woman crossed her arms defiantly.

“An abomination!” Thranduil looked absolutely horrified.

Wynne shuddered and the familiar nausea came over her. Just the other day she had thought about this, about what would have happened if the orc had forced himself on her that time. And here this woman had experienced exactly that! Twice, too. But why ever had she kept the monster’s spawn?

The elves shifted their stance, aiming their bows at the orclings. 

“No!” The woman took a quick step in front of them again. “Please don’t hurt my children.”

“Stand aside,” Thranduil demanded. “We cannot allow such vile beings to live.”

“They are only babies. They won’t harm anyone. They never will. We teach them right and wrong.” The woman’s dark voice broke into a sob. “Please.”

“We?”

“My husband and I.”

“And where is your husband?”

“Away hunting. I expected him back any moment. But… With you here… He’ll probably stay away.”

Wynne got a horrible suspicion when she heard that, and apparently the elves did as well. 

“Your ‘husband’... Am I to presume he is, in fact, an orc? The sire of the orclings?”

“Yes.” The defiant look was back in the woman’s stance. ”Half-orc, actually.”

“Excuse me if I repeat myself, but just to make this absolutely clear… You are married to a half-orc and have given birth to his offspring?”

“I am and I have.”

“And you did this voluntarily?”

“Yes. I love him. We love each other. He’s not like normal orcs.”

“Astounding. I never heard of anything like it.” Thranduil turned to the others, looking bewildered. “We have to get rid of them anyway.” But he didn't sound altogether sure. There almost was a question in his voice.

“Aye,” the others agreed, but they too sounded hesitant.

“Then you must kill me first.” New tears spilled from the woman’s eyes.

Wynne was quite as confused as Thranduil. How could a woman be in love with an orc and mate with it of free will? Again she thought of Lug. To be forced to kiss those black lips, with the clutter of deformed teeth, and his gnarled hands touching her breast… Ugh! It was impossible to understand. 

But yet… Who was she to judge someone’s feelings? 

One of the orclings peeked out from behind his mother’s leg now, thumb still in mouth. His skin was grayish and his big ears pointed, but his soft curly hair and brown eyes struck Wynne as decidedly human. He had chubby cheeks and a pink button nose. 

As babies went, this one was actually rather cute.

She tried to picture the elves shooting him and immediately felt that to be wrong. He was so small and helpless.

“Must you really kill them?” she asked.

“They will grow up to be dangerous uruk-hai. We set out to rid these lands of all monsters; we cannot exempt two merely because of their size.”

“But she said she teaches them to be good. Maybe they’ll never be dangerous.”

“That’s right,” exclaimed the woman. “They will be good. I promise.”

“That might actually be a possible outcome”, Legolas mused. “All other orcs and uruk-hai were raised by Sauron, and some by Saruman after he turned evil. These orclings could be brought up differently.”

“Yes they will! We love them. We do anything for our sons.”

“Orcs are evil in their nature; it has nothing to do with upbringing,” Thranduil objected.

“How would you know?”

“Well…” He hesitated. “I guess I couldn't know that, but–”

“Not all are evil; Nugu is good,” the woman cut in. “And he isn’t the only one. When Saruman was in power my husband and his friends were slaves, but they are free now. And they decided they wanted nothing more of that kind of life.”

“I wish to speak to your husband,” said Thranduil. “Call him here.”

“You will kill him.” 

“I will decide that after I have spoken with him. Now, tell him to come.”

“I can’t risk it.” The woman’s lip trembled.

“Would you rather we kill the orclings instead? Call him.”

“That’s not fair. You can’t make me choose between them like that,” she sobbed.

“I’m here.” A deep voice from behind made them turn around in surprise. 

A tall orc stood there, unarmed, and just like his wife he had his palms upturned. “Run Sidra! Now,” he suddenly bellowed.

When the startled elves turned back again the woman had grabbed one orcling under each arm and bolted, but Wynne knew the elves could easily hit her at a distance.

“Don’t shoot,” she cried, grabbing hold of Legolas’ arm.

“I shall not.” He turned to Nordir and Bronedir. “Hold your arrows.”

“It is not your place to give orders,” snapped Thranduil. 

“We can easily catch the woman later, Ada. Let us interrogate the orc first.”

“Very well, then.”

The half-orc remained calmly standing before them, seemingly unafraid. He had a proud bearing, held his head high and met their stares with an impassive gaze in his dark eyes. 

“You are an uruk-hai,” Thranduil stated.

“They call us that.” His accent was stronger than the woman’s. 

When he spoke, Wynne could see the pointed fangs so typical of his race, but the rest of his teeth were normal. On the whole, he looked much more human than a pure orc, although some of that difference might be accounted to the fact that his face and hands were clean, his long, raven hair properly combed and his worn clothes devoid of all the strange pieces of metal, random bones and scraps of rotten fur that other orcs seemed so fond of. He lacked their disgusting odor entirely. 

Apart from the physical traits, there were other, more subtle differences. He just didn't behave like an orc. For one thing, a such would have bared its teeth at them and tried to bite their throats as soon as it set eyes on them.

“How come you wed a human?” Thranduil asked.

“We met. We made friends. And then we just felt like it, I guess.” He shrugged. 

This no longer appeared so strange to Wynne. There was nothing threatening or ugly in his appearance, except for a few battle scars that likely had been there since he was part of Saruman’s army.  

“The woman said you abandoned your earlier life.”

“Yes.”

“Well, and did you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” Thranduil drew his eyebrows together, obviously annoyed by the short, uncommunicative answers. 

“Because I hated it. And I hated Saruman.” When he said the name it sounded like a snarl. 

Wynne wondered what the wizard had done to make the uruk-hai despise him so much.

“I see you kept one weapon at least.” Thranduil nodded at a scabbard in the half-orc’s belt.

“A hunting dagger. Since I left Isengard, I’ve never used it on anything but animals.” He paused. “Actually, I did use it once, when an orc threatened my wife. I had to scare him, but I didn’t kill him. I will never kill again.” 

This was the longest sentence he had spoken so far and he sounded earnest. There was a certain look in his face when he mentioned killing; a grimace of disgust, self loathing even.

“Hm. So you say.” Thranduil still seemed suspicious. 

“We should discuss this between ourselves before making a decision,” Legolas suggested. 

Thranduil nodded agreement and they drew back a few yards, still with their bows aimed at the uruk-hai. The latter stood straight, his muscular arms crossed over his chest, calmly awaiting the Elvenking’s judgment. 

Chapter Text

21. To Kill or Not to Kill 

“At least don’t kill the little ones,” Wynne begged, pressing Thranduil’s arm. 

She had no idea why she felt so strongly about them, she didn't even like children, but somehow the woman’s desperation had touched her. She had been willing to sacrifice her own life for the babies.

Then it occurred to Wynne that the father had done the same, in a way. The tall uruk-hai had given himself up, even though he must be fully aware that his own death might be the outcome of it, and he had done it to help his wife and children escape. 

That, if any, was proof he couldn't be altogether evil.

“If the orclings are allowed to live they must be closely monitored,” said Thranduil. “And if so, we cannot leave them and lose control over the outcome of this experiment.”

“You mean to take them with us, then?” Legolas looked surprised. “Surely our mission is no place for babies. And who would tend to them?”

“Nay, and that is why it would be complicated to save their lives,” his father said. “Besides, bereaving a mother of her offspring would hardly be less cruel than slaying them.”

“What about the uruk-hai?” asked Galion. 

“I do not trust him. I could never trust an orc.” Thranduil sounded definite.

“I do,” said Wynne. “He gave himself up to save his family.”

Thranduil shook his head. ”Perhaps, but even a warg will protect his young. He will not be as friendly to outsiders. We must either kill him or take him prisoner.” 

“The woman mentioned other uruk-hai. His friends,” Nodir broke in. “Maybe he can lead us to them.”

“How would you persuade him to do that? I do not hold with torture.”

“If we let him and the orclings live – for now – he might do it in return for sparing them,” suggested Legolas. ”In addition it would give us time to observe him and decide whether he really has good intentions.”

“I like that idea,” said Wynne. 

“It has some merits,” Thranduil cautiously agreed. “One needs more than a first impression to read someone’s character.”

“Yes, otherwise you would still have thought me useless.” Wynne grinned at him and to her surprise he smiled back. 

“Indeed, I would.” He turned to Nodir and Bronedir. “You fetch the human; she cannot have gotten far.” 

They rode off, bringing an extra horse for the woman, and Thranduil approached the uruk-hai again.

“You shall live, you and your family, if – and I stress this point – if you obey my commands and prove to me that your ways are not evil.”

Wynne noticed Thranduil had not mentioned they might still be killed later, even if they did obey. He certainly was a sly elf.

The half-orc bowed his head in compliance, obviously knowing that he had not many other options.

Thranduil continued: “This is only a precaution as I am sure you understand. Galion, bind him.”

The uruk-hai held out his hands, silently allowing the elf to tie them tightly together.

It didn't take many minutes for the brothers to return with the woman, demurely riding in front. The elves carried one wailing orcling each and looked extremely uncomfortable about it.

When she saw her bound husband the woman’s shoulders sagged even lower. “Please let me have my babies back,” she begged. “I will not run away again. I promise.”

Thranduil nodded curtly. ”Fair enough. Nodir, Bronedir, if you please?”

The tiny uruk-hai were placed in their mother’s waiting arms and soon ceased crying.

“Now that you are both here I shall inform you what your task is. If you accede we shall spare your lives.” Again Thranduil omitted that this was still not decided. “You must take us to your friends; the other uruk-hai you mentioned. If they truly have turned to the good side they have nothing to fear from us. Will you do this?”

“You would have us betray our friends.” A deep furrow had formed on the uruk-hai’s forehead.

“It would not be a betrayal. I only wish to speak with them and I mean them no harm.”

“You think we believe that?” the woman said. “We’re not stupid. You will use us to find them and then you’ll kill us all.” She shivered noticeably where she sat, making the horse prance nervously and the babies whimper.

“I cannot promise to spare everybody but I will promise you this: if they prove themselves to be honest, and if you prove your honesty as well, you shall live. Whereas, if you refuse, you most certainly shall not.” Thranduil pierced her with his icy stare.

“Using threats to force people to submit.” The uruk-hai spat contemptuously on the ground. “Don’t bother, Sidra. He’s just like Saruman. He’ll do anything to get his way.”

Thranduil looked outraged at the comparison but only coldly repeated his question from before. “Will you do it?”

The uruk-hai and his wife locked eyes and seemed to come to some sort of silent agreement.

“Alright.” The woman’s glare at Thranduil was fierce. 

Wynne felt sorry for her. She was forced to put her children’s and husband’s lives in the hands of strangers, and now had to risk her friends’ lives too. All for a very slight chance of survival.

It was not hard to understand how she must feel. 

As for herself, Wynne felt caught in the middle of something very unpleasant. The uruk-hai was right that Thranduil’s ultimatum wasn’t really fair. But they must have been aware this might happen, when they decided to marry and have children. The fact that they had been hiding here, in this inaccessible, barren landscape, proved that they had known.

The uruk-hai’s dagger was removed from him and Galion searched his clothes for any other hidden weapons. 

The woman too must be checked, a task that fell on a very dismal Wynne. “Sorry,” she mumbled when she ran her hands over the worn fabric. 

Standing that close, she felt her pleasant, spicy scent. She was still trembling, and Wynne’s heart went out to her. 

Neither the orc nor the woman carried anything more dangerous than a small knife each, obviously for eating and preparing food with, both of which were confiscated.

“Can we fetch our belongings before we go?” She had turned to Wynne with her question, maybe hoping a fellow human would be kinder than the elves. 

Thranduil replied in her stead: “We shall gather them for you if you tell us where they are.”

“There is a cave behind that bush.” She pointed up to the juniper where Wynne had first seen her.

Galion and the brothers went to check it while Thranduil led the rest of them back to the water hole. “We rest before we leave,” he declared.

The uruk-hai family was assigned a place to sit by the cliff wall where they could be easily seen in case they tried anything. 

The woman and orclings were still not bound; Thranduil obviously figured they were not as much a threat as the uruk-hai.

The little ones soon began to totter about in the purple heather, plucking stones from the ground and showing them to their parents.

Wynne, who still felt bad, sat down next to the couple. ”I’m truly sorry things have to be this way.”

“You don’t have to look so guilty,” replied the woman, sounding tired. ”I understand why your friends can’t easily trust us.” 

“I will do all I can to make them spare you,” Wynne said earnestly.

She was rewarded with a slight smile. “Thank you.”

Wynne returned it. “I’m Wynne Örn from Rohan,” she introduced herself.

The woman dipped her head. “I am Sidra Tariq from Harad, and this is Nugu.” She stroked the uruk-hai’s arm. 

She then turned her attention to one of the boys who had stumbled and scratched his knee. 

While she was busy with her sobbing child, Wynne took the opportunity to observe her with unveiled curiosity. This was the first Haradrim she had ever seen, if she didn’t count the paintings and tapestries about the war, but in those the Haradrim warriors had their faces covered. 

Sidra had tanned skin and dark brown eyes, much like Nodir and Bronedir. Her hair was black with a mahogany hue and fell in a wavy cascade down her back. She was pretty – beautiful, even.

In the pictures the Haradrim always wore exotic, colorful garments and wielded curved swords, but this woman had an ordinary wool dress, much like Wynne’s own. It made her look a lot less foreign than she had expected. 

“Isn’t Harad where oliphaunts come from?” she asked. 

“Indeed. My uncle used to breed them, the mûmakil, as we call them. We use them for everything: working in the forest, carrying stuff, for traveling, for war. They are really helpful when trained well.”

“Like our horses then.”

“Those horses are from Rohan, aren’t they?” She nodded at the grazing animals. “They really are extraordinary. We have horses in Harad too, you know, but bigger and heavier. War horses, more like.”

Sidra appeared to have relaxed a bit and seemed to try her best to be friendly. Perhaps she knew she had not much time to make her captors like her. 

”Thank you. Yes, they are Rohirrim mearas. What is Harad like?”

“Beautiful.” Her voice was filled with longing. “It’s a lot warmer and more humid than here. In my part of the country there were grass plains surrounding huge forests full of birds and other animals. I used to live in a bamboo house at the edge of such a forest.” She noticed Wynne’s confused look and added: ”Bamboo is a kind of thick grass.”

“Wow. A house made of grass.” Wynne thought of the thatched cottage in her daydream.

“But then Saruman snatched your mother to the breeding dens and that was the end of that,” the uruk-hai cut in. Again he almost snarled when pronouncing the wizard’s name. “And my mother. And everyone else’s mother down there.” 

Wynne stared at him, realization dawning. So that was how Saruman had bred his uruk-hai army. 

Chapter Text

22. Elvish Pedicure

Sidra’s face had clouded considerably, but in a melancholy way rather than angry. “Saruman did much evil,” she said, her voice heavy with sadness.

“I know I promised myself I wouldn’t kill again, but if I ever meet that load of excrement I will cut his throat.” Nugu seemed to have forgotten Wynne was there.

“No you won’t.” She laid her hand on his bound wrists, rubbing them soothingly. 

“Probably not.” He grimaced. “I’d certainly feel tempted, though. The tree people were much too soft on him.”

“Papa. Thtone.” A tiny, gray hand held a pebble under the uruk-hai’s nose.

“Thank you Muzadi.” Nugu tried to ruffle the boy’s hair with tied-up hands.

Wynne tactfully moved away, giving them some privacy. She was shocked by what she had learned about the origin of uruk-hai.

Legolas came over to her, features unusually morose. “I overheard your conversation. Horrendous. If Gandalf had known this I am sure he would have treated that fell wizard much harsher.”

“What happened to Saruman?”

“You remember the ents? The tree-herders I spoke of some time ago.” When Wynne nodded, he told how the ents defeated Saruman by flooding the entire vale of Isengard. The water had poured down into the myriad of caves underneath the wizard’s tower, effectively drowning all the orcs and uruk-hai he had kept there. 

Saruman and his associate Gríma were left to themselves in the locked tower, but after a few months the ent in charge had released them. Gandalf came across the pair some time later but he also took pity on them and let them run.

They had died eventually, or so Legolas had heard; the servant killed his master and was then shot by an army of hobbits, but not before they had wrecked much havoc in the hobbits’ homeland.

“The ents and Gandalf ought to have examined the caves below Isengard after they dried out,” Legolas continued. “If he kept women slaves their remains would have been found and buried properly.”

Wynne began to tremble, overcome by that same bizarre fright that had made her sleepless for so many nights after her own kidnapping. There was nothing dangerous here now yet her body seemed to believe so.

“Forgive me, I should have realized–” He put his arm tightly around her shoulder. 

“No it’s alright, I just… sometimes I just think of what could… if the orcs that time–” She broke off and swallowed thickly.

“I know.” 

It was comforting to have Legolas so close; Wynne often felt he was the only one who truly understood her. 

But too soon Thranduil looked their way and he hastily let his arm drop.

oOo

They stayed a few hours by the water hole, making good use of it. After refilling the waterskins they took turns dipping themselves in the chilly pool, which was only big enough for two at once.

Thranduil went in with Wynne. “Keep talking with the captives like you did before. Make them open up and reveal the truth about themselves.” He rubbed soap and an aromatic oil into his hair and leaned back, allowing the water to cleanse it. The golden strands fanned out behind him in a huge halo. 

“Sure,” she replied, leaning back like him. She had begun to use the elves’ hair oil as well, and it did wonders for her obnoxious curls. 

As usual water leaked into her ears and she wondered if that ever happened to Thranduil. Probably he was above such human hassles.

“I imagine it is easier for someone like you to gain their confidence,” he continued. “There is a deep-rooted mistrust between orcs and my kind. And I have noticed many humans have a hard time warming up to me also.”

“I can’t think of why,” Wynne deadpanned.

The sarcasm was lost on the elf. “Neither can I.” 

He went ashore, starting to dry his hair on a linen cloth. With smug satisfaction Wynne noticed he shook his head down a few times. Then he had gotten water in his ear.

She dived to the bottom of the pool where the water was even colder than above. It stung her face almost painfully, but when she popped to the surface again she felt refreshed.

Beside the pool Thranduil was cutting his toenails with a small knife. Despite their months of traveling together this was the first time Wynne had ever seen an elf attend to his personal hygiene, except for bathing. Since they didn't need to shave she had not believed their nails didn’t grow either.

Seeing him now in his wet undershirt and with a pale foot in his lap, face screwed up in concentration as he worked, nearly made her burst out laughing. That everyday situation just didn't fit with her image of the prod Elvenking at all.

oOo

After the bath Wynne walked in the heather. She could understand why the uruk-hai couple had chosen this place to live; it was simply delightful. She picked a few branches of heather for a keepsake even though she knew they would wilter.

Before leaving they shared a simple meal of dried meat, Rohan cheese (made of horse milk) and hardtack. Sidra had offered them the use of Nugu’s and her supplies, now brought from the cave where they had lived, but Thranduil rejected the offer – possibly suspecting the food was poisoned or something.

While Sidra nursed her youngest, the older boy was to be fed a thick gruel, and since his father was still constrained Galion volunteered to do it. He proved to be one of those naturals with children; in no time he had the orcling on his lap, giggling and toying with the strings of his tunic as his little mouth opened wide to let him swallow mouthful after mouthful of gruel like a hungry chick.

Wynne watched, a bit fascinated but not at all jealous. Had she tried to feed the little one he would likely have run away, or wailed, or thrown the gruel bowl in her face. Possibly all three.

“Orc babies are rather adorable, are they not?” Galion asked and smiled at Wynne.

“Technically they are only one quarter of an orc,” Legolas objected, trying to defend his bow from a sticky little hand. He seemed to share Wynne’s uneasiness around children.

“Aww, would you just look at those cute baby fangs,” Galion cooed. 

The boy’s father let out a low chuckle at that but when everybody surprisedly looked his way he immediately resumed his sullen scowl. 

In a way he reminded Wynne of Thranduil. They certainly had their pride in common.

After the meal they set off, letting the captives lead the way. Only Sidra was used to riding; poor Nugu gripped the horse’s mane so hard his knuckles whitened. The youngest orcling rose in front of its mother and Galion took care of the other, seeing as the uruk-hai was busy enough just trying not to fall off.

Wynne let Vatna fall in step with Sidra’s gelding, trying to act friendly like Thranduil had asked her to. She tried to think of something to talk about but all she could think of was the horrible destiny of the woman’s mother, and that seemed way too dreary.

Thankfully Sidra broke the silence. “Who are these elves? That one is the leader, I can tell.” She nodded in Thranduil’s direction.

“They ought to have introduced themselves, but I guess they had other things on their mind when we met you.” 

“I can see how half-orc babies might surprise someone who had never seen one before,” Sidra agreed.

They both grinned. 

“That one is King Thranduil of Greenwood. He is indeed the leader of our team. And riding the chestnut there is his son, Prince Legolas.”

“Royalty.” Sidra whistled. “Of all the people who could have discovered us we had the misfortune to be caught by a king. No wonder he seems so distrustful.” 

“The last three are warriors in the Greenwood elven guard. Galion’s the one with your boy, and the brothers there are Nodir and Bronedir.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” Galion bowed politely, placing a hand on his chest.

“The pleasure is all mine.” The woman repeated the gesture.

Wynne had to hide a laugh at the comical in the situation. The woman was a prisoner and Galion one of her captors, and here they acted like they were on a social visit. But she was glad they seemed to get along so well. They really had to, if the woman wanted her family to survive.

It struck Wynne that this was the second time today she had felt like laughing and not once had she escaped into her daydream. Maybe it was the lovely heather meadow, or Legolas’ smile, or just the fact that there was a fellow woman in the company now – but somehow she was beginning to feel happier. 

Chapter Text

23. Watching Topless Elves

The afternoon became exceedingly hot, one of those early summer days when the air was absolutely still and the heat almost choking. Sweat poured down Wynne’s face and back and an armada of those annoying flies that accompany horses in the warm season kept attacking her. 

They passed a couple of very old, gnarled oaks, where she picked a few low hanging leaves to fan herself with, but without much success as they soon went soft and floppy.

Finally Thranduil decided it was time to stop for the evening, unusually early. It was not an ideal spot; the area was open with few trees, only a couple of crooked pines and some junipers. The ground was hard bedrock covered in a thin layer of crisp lichen.

“No shade,” Wynne grumbled, wiping her forehead for the umphteenth time.

The elves’ clothes had damp patches just like Wynne’s and their perfect faces were flushed. As soon as the campsite was ready they shed their tunics and shirts, spreading them on the ground to dry before flopping down in the slight shade of the few trees and the tents, wearing only underpants and hose. 

Wynne tried to get a subtle peek at Legolas and her heartbeat increased considerably when she caught a glimpse of his chest. His body looked even nicer than she had imagined. It was smooth and solid, and the droplets of perspiration covering it was no disadvantage at all. Again she wondered how it would feel to touch him and wished she was allowed to. 

Nugu tried to follow the elves’ example but his clothes got stuck on the bound hands. Galion took pity and freed him long enough to remove them. The uruk-hai’s many battle scars became visible, some of them long and thin, possibly made by a whip. He was incredibly muscular which made Wynne secretly grateful that Galion had restrained him again; though he had made no attempt to harm them he looked like he easily could.

Wynne hesitated to undress in front of strangat first but soon couldn't stand the heat. She decided to remove the woolen tunic and hose at least, like she had done many times around the elves. 

Sidra’s eyes widened slightly when she saw what she did, but then she shrugged and followed her example. Her Haradrim chemise was different from Wynne’s; slightly longer and with a higher neckline but more figure hugging. She had a curvy body with wide hips and large breasts that Wynne rather envied. 

Then the woman stripped her sons, letting them happily tottle around in the nude. Wynne observed them with great curiosity. So this was how males looked down there. There was a dangling part just as she had thought, but different from a horse’s counterpart. Adult men obviously had larger ones, as the rest of them were larger too, but on the whole they didn't look too scary.

Wearing only cool linen, Wynne soon felt better. She joined the orclings, pretending to help them gather sweet bilberries that grew in patches on the lichen floor, but secretly gobbling most of them herself. Her hands and the tiny boys’ gray bodies became blotched with purple stains.

Galion made them company too and seeing him so close while wearing so little made Wynne a bit shy. Since he was a swordsman he was heavier built than the other elves and she found it very hard not to look, for though she really liked Legolas’ slimmer body better, the sight of Galion’s flexing muscles stirred a strange, fluttery sensation in her. Her mouth went dry and not only because of the weather.

She realized his eyes were on her body as well and instantly the flutter faded, replaced with a growing suspicion. He must not think of her that way. Galion was no less an elf than Legolas and he too would be hurt by a relationship with a mortal. Besides, she didn't want a relationship with him, even if that was not an issue. Her strange reaction to his body was nothing in comparison with what she felt for Legolas. 

Thinking of Legolas made her look that way. He was frowning at Galion, clearly suspecting the same thing and not liking it at all.

Leaving the berries she went to sit beside Thranduil. She was certain he could have been entirely nude and she would still not feel anything for him; she wouldn't dare to, he was too majestic. 

The new position brought Wynne closer to Legolas which seemed to please him. The furrows disappeared and he gave her a slight smile which she cautiously returned. 

Nothing wrong with smiling at a good friend. Or glancing at him now and then. Quite harmless. She could handle it.

Wynne’s daydream sucked her in again and now she had some fresh details to add when it came to hers and Legolas nights together.

oOo

When evening drew near clouds were gathering in the sky but it was no less hot. The increased humidity rather worsened it. Nobody felt much like eating so they made it simple and had lembas with water. The water was lukewarm but they drank as much as they could, knowing the importance of avoiding dehydration.

The sun set and the air finally cooled somewhat. When the elves began to prepare for the night it occurred to Wynne that the half-orc family had no tent.

“Where will they sleep?” she asked Thranduil, nodding in Sidra’s direction. The woman huddled close to her husband and they carried one drowsy orcling each.

“Up to them as long as they do not stray. Not that they will have the opportunity to; we take turns keeping watch as usual.” He went down on his knees to open the tent he shared with his son.

“No, I meant, should we not lend them one of the tents? What with the babies and all...”

Thranduil looked up at her in surprise. “Well. You are free to offer yours.” He disappeared under the canvas flap.

Wynne’s eyes trailed between her cozy, inviting tent and the sorry little family. She sighed. At least she had her horse – they had only the hard, lichen-covered ground. 

She beckoned for them to come over. “You can sleep in there.” 

Sidra nodded and went inside, followed by the uruk-hai and the babies. 

Wynne morosely looked when he carefully fastened the flap behind them. Not even a “thank you”. But then, they wouldn't know she had given up her own bed. 

She considered telling them that but decided it would sound rather silly.

“How altruistic of you.”

She turned to see Legolas’ grinning teasingly behind her. He was still only wearing his hose, and blood rushed to Wynne’s face.

“Watch it, or I shall take your bed instead,” she quipped, hoping he wouldn't notice the effect his body had on her.

“I wish.” His smile disappeared and was replaced with a mix of frustration and longing that Wynne well understood. After all, she felt it almost continuously herself.

She didn’t know what to reply and it became uncomfortably silent. Since Thranduil had his talk with them all those weeks ago, neither of them had put words to their crushed hopes. Seeing the yearning in Legolas’ eyes now, Wynne knew nothing had changed. It seemed the more off-limits he was, the more she craved him, and the feeling appeared to be mutual.

A polite cough made them start. 

“You should get some rest before it is your watch, Legolas.” Nodir was leaning leisurely against a pine. There was an unusual sternness in his voice; like he had sensed the tension between the pair and purposely broken what might continue in a forbidden direction.

“Of course. Good night, then.” Legolas quickly disappeared into his tent.

Nodir looked after him, dark eyes filled with pity. “I am sorry for you. Truly.” He let his hand rest momentarily on her shoulder. 

The simple gesture of compassion almost filled her eyes to the brim and she angrily rubbed them. She was past crying over this; it was weeks since the last time.

Later, lying on Vatna’s comforting back, Wynne gazed up at the somber sky and the blue-gray clouds sluggishly crawling across it. She couldn't sleep. So much had happened today, so many different emotions succeeding each other. Meeting new people, learning about Saruman’s appalling dealings with Haradrim women, being among half dressed elves and now, lastly, realizing that the feelings between Legolas and her were still the same. 

Would she ever be able to forget him? 

Chapter Text

24. It Always Rains on Camping Trips

Wynne drifted off to sleep eventually, only to wake up in the small hours by heavy drops striking her face and thunder rolling in the distance. Oh, was this not just typical? On the one night she had no tent it would begin to rain. 

She hurried back to the camp in an increasing downpour, pulling out a blanket from one of the packs. Pulling it over her, she sat down to huddle miserably by Thranduil who had the present watch. 

He had covered himself with a navy blue cloak that matched his eyes beautifully. “I see you decided to be charitable,” he remarked dryly. 

“Some people actually bother about the well-being of other people.”

“Wasted on the likes of them. An orc does not deserve the comfort of a tent.”

“Half-orc. And Sidra is human.”

He didn't reply so they sat in silence for a while. The blanket soon became heavy over Wynne’s shoulders, soaked through, and not helping much to shield her from the torrents. It was getting lighter despite the cloudy sky, dawn was approaching, but she felt tired and bleary eyed. 

Legolas soundlessly joined them, also wearing a cloak, his a nice hunter’s green. “Why did you not wake me, Ada? My watch is long overdue.”

Thranduil hesitated before answering. “I did not mind staying up.”

“Very well. I am here now.” Legolas sat down between them, drawing up his hood. He peered at his father curiously. “You are not leaving?”

“The thunder will only keep me awake. I might as well accompany you.”

Wynne gave him a suspicious look. That had sounded rather lame, like an excuse. Then it dawned on her: he didn't want his son to be alone with her, that was why. He thought they needed a chaperone. 

She set her jaw. They had complied with Thranduil’s wishes all this time, and both of them well knew why they could only ever be friends. There was absolutely no cause for this irrational mistrust. 

“You think we need watching over,” she said, unable to hide her anger.

His eyebrows rose in surprise at her outburst, but he remained silent. 

“That was uncalled for.” Legolas too looked displeased. He turned to Wynne. “Seeing as our tent apparently shall remain empty, you might as well get out of this bleak weather and get some more rest. My bed is the one on the left.”

Wynne nodded gratefully. Leaving the drenched blanket outside she crept in under the robust canvas canopy. It felt like she did something forbidden when she pulled the wet chemise over her head and snuggled down under Legolas’ blanket in only her underpants. 

His bed was wonderfully soft, covered with a thin, white sheet of some flimsy material, silk perhaps. She buried her nose in his equally silky pillow and inhaled deeply. It smelled of soap and elvish hair oil, but something else as well, some undefined musky aroma that was just him. 

Closing her eyes, she could easier than ever picture herself in that cottage four poster bed with Legolas beside her.

Sometimes she wondered why she kept torturing herself like that, thinking about someone she could never have and imagining something that could never be. But there was a bittersweetness to it. An equal blend of pain and pleasure that was addictive.

In hardly any time the best part of her daydream gently lulled her to sleep.

oOo

When Wynne woke again she was a lot less tired. The patter of rain against canvas had almost ceased but the air was still damp, with droplets of moisture forming under the canopy. She heard voices from the outside, indicating the others were up, but she felt so warm and cozy in the nest of silky sheets that she just couldn't bring herself to rise. She wished she could stay there all day, wallowing in the softness and Legolas’ bewitching scent.

When at last she mustered the energy to get dressed and leave the tent she found everybody gathered around a cooking fire, where exotic, spicy smells wafted from a kettle. Sidra was ladling thick soup into bowls and distributing them among the elves. 

When Wynne appeared the woman startled her by giving her a quick hug. “I didn’t know you gave us your tent. That was really decent of you. Now I feel bad forcing you to sleep in the rain.”

“Don’t. You couldn’t have known it would rain – and I slept really well in the morning.” She gave Legolas a grateful look and was warmed by his pleased smile. 

His father looked the opposite of pleased and Wynne wickedly hoped he regretted taking an extra, needless watch in the rain and deprive himself of sleep. If he was tired it suited him just right.

Sidra’s soup tasted different but very good. Lentils and wheat kernels had been boiled together with dried vegetables and herbs, mostly carrots, parsley and peppermint, and seasoned with an unknown spice that Sidra only had a Haradrim word for, kammun. 

She had also made a dark tea, a lot more bitter than the mint tea Wynne liked, but somehow she felt invigorated after having a mug.

“How did you come by Haradrim spices and tea leaves this far north?” Bronedir asked her. 

Wynne recalled that his mother had come from the south. Perhaps he had tasted this kind of food before.

“We made a journey to my home a couple of years ago. I brought back a large supply, seeing as I’m not likely to return.” Sidra looked sad.

“We should trade more with Harad.” Bronedir sipped his tea appreciatively. 

“Maybe when King Elessar has rebuilt Gondor and Ithilien, we can,” said Thranduil.

When it was time to break camp, the rain had increased again, making everything damp or outright wet. It was the worst kind of traveling weather. Down in the Brown Lands the air had been dry and Wynne could count the rainy days they had experienced on the fingers of one hand. Here in the highland the climate was more humid.

As usual their packs were loaded onto the horses with speedy efficiency. Wynne saw how Legolas briefly held his pillow to his face before stuffing it in the rolled up blanket. He must have tried to pick out her scent just like she had done with his. It both warmed her heart and saddened it.

When they rode, she conversed pleasantly with Sidra, mostly about Rohan and her life there. “They are very different and I have often wondered what brought them together.” Wynne had been telling the history of the Örn House and had now come to her mother and father. “I suspect maybe Mother’s relatives arranged it with my father’s parents. She didn't grow up with her own parents, you see.”

“No? Why not?” Sidra was a good listener and showed genuine interest.

“Not sure, really. Mother never talks about it.” 

“It must have been sad.”

“Perhaps.” Wynne couldn't really picture her mother sad. 

“What’s your family like?”

“Mother is clever. When she plans things, they happen. Before they married, Father was rather poor, ’with nothing but his good name to show’, as she puts it – but she made him wealthy. Everybody respects her. When we trade horses or supplies she always handles it, for Father knows she will get the best deal.” 

Wynne felt a pang of longing after her mother; she had never been apart from her this long before. When things were going her way, Mother was charming, one just had to be careful never to oppose her. 

”As for Father, he’s… I don’t know. Quiet. He likes to be with the horses, same as me. He knows them. Like, which one to keep and which to sell. And which ones to mate to get the finest foals. I think I inherited much from him, actually.” Wynne smiled fondly to herself. “I even look like him.”

“He must look nice then.” Galion was riding behind them, again with Sidra’s eldest son in front of him. 

“You’re eavesdropping.” Wynne frowned at him. It was sweet of him to give her a compliment but it strengthened her suspicion from yesterday. 

“It is not possible to close one’s ears. I am an elf, remember?” 

Wynne looked around her and realized she had been the only one talking, which meant everyone had been listening. Oh well, she was telling no secrets anyway. 

“I don’t think Father’s considered good looking,” she said, still in Galion’s direction. “At least Mother says he and I are both very plain. That we have the Örn looks rather than Grandmama’s Dúnedain traits. She was a beauty when she was young.”

“What is a Dúnedain?” Sidra wondered.

“Descendants of Elendil, the first High King of Gondor. And he was descended from the elves, so they are often tall, handsome and long-lived – just like them.” Her eyes had strayed in Legolas’ direction before she could check them. He was the epitome of someone tall, handsome and long-lived. 

Then she added, rather proudly: “The King of Gondor is Dúnedain and we are related. Distantly.”

“I think your mother is too harsh on you. I love those curls you got.” Sidra pulled on one of Wynne’s brown tresses. “Besides, who cares about the outside anyway. What matters is what the heart looks like.” She sent her husband a loving look that made him smile. He had a surprisingly gentle smile.

“According to Mother, looks are everything. She worries I shall never be married. So far the only one who asked for my hand is our widower neighbor and he must be like fifty at least.” Wynne laughed mirthlessly. “Thankfully I was allowed to turn him down.”

“Allowed to,” repeated Sidra, her forehead creasing. “You mean you may not be able to pick a spouse for yourself?”

“Not likely, no. Unless I choose somebody my parents find suitable.” She shifted uncomfortably on Vatna’s back. This was getting too close to unsafe grounds. Mother’s plan to marry her daughter to an elf must never be exposed; she didn't even want to think of Thranduil’s reaction if he found out. 

Hurriedly she changed topic and the rest of the morning Sidra and her discussed methods of horse- and oliphaunt training.

When they stopped for lunch Legolas sidled up to Wynne. “I strongly disagree with your mother,” he whispered. “You are in no way plain.”

Chapter Text

25. An Uruk-hai’s Childhood

During the afternoon the rain finally subsided, allowing their clothes and packs to dry. The sky was still overcast, however, and the pregnant clouds looked like they might release the rest of their contents any time.

Wynne rode in silence, purposely staying last in line to avoid having to talk to anyone. The conversation with Sidra about her mother and marriages had painfully reminded Wynne of her predicament. Somehow she had managed to forget about her task for quite some time, but now the worry from before returned. What would Mother do when she returned without an elf husband? 

After everything that had happened, Wynne found that she actually didn't fear Mother’s anger so much any longer. What was the worst the woman could do? She would pierce Wynne with her ice cold eyes and scold her with hurtful remarks. Perhaps punish her physically. But Wynne had been face to face with orcs now, stabbed by one and kidnapped by two. She could handle pain, and as for piercing stares nobody could compete with Thranduil in that department.

No, she didn't really fear her mother anymore, but instead there were new concerns. Mother would marry Wynne off to somebody or their branch of the Örn House would die, which she was not likely to allow. The prospect of becoming matched with a random Rohirrim lord was disturbing. How could she endure a loveless marriage of convenience now that she knew how it felt to like someone?

The horses trudged on patiently and the surroundings became even more barren. Almost nothing grew here and the ground consisted of naked bedrock with rough gravel and patches of lichen. 

They began to follow a stream, making short breaks every now and then to catch some of the sleek, spotted trout that swam downstream, possibly on their way to the Anduin. Apparently most water that formed in these hills either ended up there, or in the Dead Marshes down south.

“How long until we reach your friends?” Thranduil asked Nugu during one such stop.

“Not much longer. But it’s hard to estimate when on horseback.” Nugu didn't meet his gaze and seemed very interested in watching Nodir and Bronedir, who stood on either side of the brook, armed with sharpened sticks and ready to spear any unsuspecting fish passing by.

“Yes, not long,” Sidra agreed. She was toying with a loose thread on the hem of her tunic.

Thranduil’s sharp eyes didn't miss anything. “You seem nervous.”

“No I’m not,” she replied, a little too fast.

“What did you expect,” growled her husband. “We’re bringing death to our friends.” 

“I told you we shall not harm them. Unless they are hostile, of course.” 

“I know the likes of you. Whatever they do will be deemed as hostility.” Nugu finally looked straight at him, dark eyes flashing. “But don’t worry. We shall take you to my friends .”

He emphasized the last two words in a way Wynne didn't like. What did he mean? Were there no friendly orcs; had Sidra made that up? If so, that could explain why she seemed so uncomfortable. 

But why would they lie about something like that? It would do them no good at all. The elves would eventually realize they weren’t going anywhere and kill them. No, Nugu had probably told the truth. They were about to expose their friends’ hiding place and that was enough to make anyone feel anxious. 

oOo

In the evening the clouds made good on their threat and discharged their wet load in a persistent, heavy rain. At least it was still warm – not like the day before, but tolerably. 

They ate dinner on the go, still on horseback, as nobody cared much for sitting on the wet ground. The trout could wait until morning.  

“This lembas food is not bad,” Sidra said to Wynne. “But I think I would get tired of it in the long run. I prefer a little more… oomph.”

Wynne bit her lip to avoid laughing and met Legolas’ eye. He failed to hide his smirk.

“I agree,” she managed. “But elves are very fond of it. It’s basically the only thing they eat, I’ve heard.” 

“Did I say something funny?” Sidra curiously looked from one to the other. Before they could answer, she smiled knowingly. “Never mind.” 

Not long afterwards they found a good spot to camp under a copse of short evergreen trees Wynne didn't know the name of. They hurried to put up the tents in the steady rain.

“We can’t take your tent again.” Sidra had donned a long, gray coat with wide arms. Its surface was shiny, coated with some sort of grease or oil, and it seemed to work well to keep her dry. 

“But you have children,” Wynne objected. 

Nugu joined them, wearing a similar coat as his wife. “You ladies share it. I’m a soldier. I can sleep anywhere.” His hood covered his eyes, and with his towering height and muscular frame it gave him a slightly menacing look. Wynne could easily picture him on the battlefield and hoped he would never be her enemy.

”Alright then. But I will feel lonely without you.” Sidra stood on her toes and gave her husband a long kiss. 

Wynne looked away in embarrassment first but then her curiosity kicked in and she stole a peek. The couple’s lips moved together like they tried to eat each other, but rather than looking appalling it was sensual. The sight stirred something within Wynne and she swiftly memorized the procedure for future use in her daydream

Sharing a tent with Sidra was snug and cozy despite the childrens’ limbs sprawling all over the place and their mother almost immediately beginning to snore. It felt good to have company. 

Wynne was on the verge of drowsing off too when she heard voices outside. It was Nugu and Nodir, the latter presumably beginning the first watch, discussing the rain and whether the shape of the clouds was a sign it was diminishing or not. Then they fell silent.

“You are a quiet one, are you not,” Nodir said after a while.

“Don’t have much to say.” A few moments later, he added: “I was taught chit-chat is a waste of time.”

“By whom? Saruman?”

“No, not him, he would never stoop to bother with kids. Not until we were big enough to fight for him.” He paused again. “I was brought up by orcs.”

“I do not envy you.”

“It wasn’t all bad. Some of them were decent.”

“Were you a warrior for a long time?” Nodir seemed intrigued by what the uruk-hai shared. 

Wynne was equally interested and hardly dared breathing in case she missed something. She didn’t feel guilty for eavesdropping. Nugu must know the thin tent walls couldn’t keep his voice out the slightest.

“No. I think I was twelve when they sent me on my first mission, and about a year later the wizard was defeated. So… yeah, one year.”

“Twelve! You were a mere child.” He sounded shocked.

“I was tall for my age and the war drew near. Saruman was in a hurry to get his army ready. Most were older when they enrolled but if you had matured early… Well, age was just not their priority, I suppose.”

“Were you not scared?”

“Not really. They gave us potions to make us feel brave. And angry.”

“Were you in the Battle of Helm’s Deep?” 

“Yeah.” 

“You were lucky to survive then. Prince Legolas fought there too and he told stories about it.”

“I’d rather forget.”

“I guess being on the winning side is more glamorous.”

“There is no glamor in war. None,” he growled. 

Wynne’s throat tightened. She could picture Nugu, only a young boy, experiencing such frightful things as she knew about too now. Severed bodies, shrill shrieks of pain, the ground a mess of blood and entrails. That sickening smell of hurt and death. 

He would have been in the middle of it, carrying a sword himself and being forced to push it into living bodies. For her own part, the elves had shielded her from the worst, making sure she was not coming closer until they had cleared away the corpses. No wonder Nugu had sworn never to kill again.

The War of the Ring had ended ten years ago and that meant Nugu was still only twenty-three. Only three years older than herself. 

The realization made her feel sick. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nugu muttered sourly; Nodir must have displayed similar emotions as Wynne felt. “I was hardly the first boy in history to be sent to war, was I? Your lot killed scores of us. You didn’t show pity then.”

Neither of them spoke for a while, then Nodir broke the silence a final time. “I agree with you, war is an appalling business. I fought in the Battle of the Five Armies some decades back and I hated it. And as for our mission now… Let me just say, I am glad it shall be over soon.”

Nodir’s confession surprised Wynne. She had thought her companions took at least some pleasure in killing orcs, but apparently he didn’t. Maybe none of them did, deep down? 

It went quiet again but Wynne had got a lot to think about. If Nugu was telling the truth, he and the other uruk-hai had never had a choice. They had been brought up to be warriors, drugged and sent into battle with no other option than to obey. 

Everybody said orcs were evil monsters. But were they really? Under such circumstances, was it even possible to make “good” choices? 

The thought was disturbing. What if this whole quest was wrong, and the elves were the ones who did something bad? They had hunted orcs all spring, unprovokedly ambushing them when they slept in their lairs.

But no, the elves had not attacked first. Orcs from the Brown Lands had been waylaying wanderers and raided homesteads for years, and the assault near the giant deer were certainly not forced upon those orcs. They were free of Sauron and Saruman since a long time but still preferred to kill, rape, steal and maim when they could have lived peacefully out there in the wilderness. Those orcs clearly had been wrongdoers who deserved to be punished.

Still, the orc race must be more complex than anybody had thought; they were clearly not born evil.

Realizing this made Wynne hugely relieved her friends hadn’t killed Nugu or his children. That would have been an act of evil that could never be reversed.

Chapter Text

26. New Babysitter

The lovely aroma of roasting fish woke Wynne the next morning. Sidra and the children were already up, she could hear the little ones giggling and running around outside. It was sunny and warm, the clouds finally gone, and she decided to bathe before breakfast. Perhaps she should even take the time to clean her spare clothes; they always smelled odd after being worn in the rain. 

In the creek, Nugu was busy rubbing elvish hair oil into his black, waist length strands under the watchful eye of Galion. That product was really becoming popular. The uruk-hai was temporarily free of his bonds again and Wynne dismally noticed how swollen and red his wrists had become. 

After what she had overheard yesterday, her curiosity about the uruk-hai had increased considerably. She had mostly spent time with Sidra, not really paying much attention to her husband, but now she subtly observed him while soaking her laundry.

He wore only underpants when he bathed, unlike the elves’ habit of keeping their shirts on, and was unabashedly exposing his massive legs and broad chest. The thin, welt-like scars on his back drew her eye again. He must have been suffering a severe whipping some time in the past which further added to the compassion she had begun to feel for him.

Though Wynne had never been whipped, she had tasted belts and switches countless times and knew what agony they could provoke. The mere thought of being beaten until one’s back was bleeding made her shudder.

“I suppose a shave is out of the question?” Nugu looked quizzically at his guard.

“I am afraid it is. We cannot let you have a knife.”

Having been around elves so much lately, Wynne was not used to body hair, and on Nugu there really was a lot of it. His chin sported stubble long enough to almost be considered a beard, and his legs, arms and chest were covered with black bristles. 

It suited him – somehow hairs went well with that gray skin tone – but made it harder to grasp he was almost her age. His facial hair in particular made him look older than he was.

Sidra came sauntering by. “I found the perfect babysitter for Muzadi and Rohi.” She nodded behind her. 

Wynne looked and almost dropped the laundry in surprise. Thranduil sat on a stone with an orcling on each knee, bouncing them up and down while he mimicked a horse. He even made clip-clop sounds though it was hard to hear over the boys’ happy laughter.

“If I had not seen this with my own eyes I would not have believed it possible.” Galion shook his head in amazement. “Thranduil hates orcs.”

“Perhaps he’s beginning to understand not all of them are bad.” Wynne thought of her own conclusion last night. 

“About time,” muttered Nugu, but she saw the pleased smile on his lips before he hid it under the usual scowl.

“Mmm, you smell lovely.” Sidra had stepped close to her husband and pressed her nose to the nape of his neck while stroking his bare back.

“I borrowed some oil from the elves. For the hair.” Still unbound, he was free to put his arms around her and did so.

“I must get the recipe.” She grabbed his elvish looking ears and pulled him down to an intimate kiss. That woman certainly was not shy. 

Galion went cherry pink and didn't seem to know where to look, but Wynne was getting used to her friend’s openness. It was refreshing, really. Why should she not show the world how much she loved her husband? 

It did make Wynne a bit jealous though that they could be together despite the race difference. 

oOo

At breakfast Wynne noticed Thranduil’s eyes resting on the half-orc thoughtfully, as if he saw him for the first time. Nodir must have passed on what he had learned last night, then – unless Thranduil had been eavesdropping as well.

When he spoke his tone was conversational and unusually mild to be him. “We always believed Saruman’s remaining orcs and uruk-hai were drowned during the destruction of Isengard. How did you and your friends manage to survive?” 

“We had already left by then. Deserted if you will.” The uruk-hai’s frown had grown deeper than ever, making his forehead protrude in a not so attractive way. 

He really should smile more, but then, Wynne figured, being Thranduil’s captive and anticipating the death of your friends probably didn't offer much reason to.

“Hm. How many of you are there?”

He didn't reply.

“I guess I shall soon find out.” Thranduil’s voice had become a degree colder. 

After a short silence he tried another question: “How did Saruman manage to procure the orc’s allegiance in the first place?”

“How should I know? Maybe he tricked them with dark magic, or that sweet voice they say he had – or possibly they were just damn bloody fools. I’d say the latter.”

“Nugu! Watch your mouth.” Sidra had demonstratively put her hands over the eldest boy’s big ears.

“Sorry.” He looked a bit sheepish. 

Thranduil paid no attention to the interruption. “And then he started breeding his elite troops – you. How did the other orcs take it?” 

“They hated us. And feared us.” He paused. “Come to think of it, they probably hated us because they feared us.”

“Did you give them a reason to?”

Again there was only sullen silence. 

Thranduil bore his eyes into him, clearly beginning to lose his patience.

“Ahem. Everybody finished yet? Maybe we should get going.” Galion seemed anxious to break the tense mood.

When they were on their way again some time later, Sidra and her husband took the lead, riding so close together their legs brushed against each other’s horses. They were discussing something earnestly, Sidra gesticulating and Nugu’s forehead furrowing in apparent annoyance, but their voices were low. What were they arguing about?

Wynne nudged Vatna to fall in step with Legolas' mount. “Can your elven ears make out what they say?” she asked, feeling cunning.

“Afraid not. They speak Haradrim, I think. Rude. That would be like us speaking Sindarin to cut you out.”

“You did that.” She smirked. “When we had just met.” 

“We did? How impolite. But then, we treated you very unkindly in the beginning.” He smiled apologetically. 

“You were never unkind.” 

“If so, it was probably because I was impressed with how you handled–” He broke off, nodding meaningfully in the direction of Thranduil. In a group of elves, everything one said could be heard by the others, but by omitting the name he avoided drawing his father’s attention to their conversation.

“It was all pretense,” Wynne admitted. “I doubt if I would have dared to be that bold now. I knew so little then.” She sighed at the thought; she had been so young and yet it was not long ago. Much had happened since.

“You would. You are not afraid of anybody.”

“I’m afraid of orcs – wild ones, not Nugu.” 

“Orcs do not count, everybody fears them.” He smiled wryly. ”You heard him, even orcs fear orcs.”

“Do you?” Wynne peered at him curiously, thinking of what Nodir had said last night. 

“Kind of,” he mumbled after a brief hesitation. “I am dreading the day they win. In every fight there is a risk, a possibility that one of us gets killed.” He toyed with a strand of Stelpa’s mane. “I am afraid to lose a friend, or my father... or–” He glanced at her. “...someone else I care about.”

“I fear that too. I hated every time you found a new orc nest.” 

“Death is so final. I wish nobody would die.” He sighed heavily, then looked directly at her. There was great sadness in his eyes.

Wynne felt a lump in her throat. “You lost someone.”

“Aye.” Before he could elaborate they were interrupted.

“Troll! Troll ahead,” Galion bellowed. 

Legolas was gone in an instant, lithely swinging off the horse and running ahead, bow in hand and an arrow ready. 

Numbly she started after his retreating back, his words ringing in her head, ominous and frightening.

In every fight there is a risk, a possibility that one of us gets killed.

Chapter Text

27. Fighting a Troll

As usual during a battle, Wynne stayed on Vatna and called the other horses back to her. The elves were lining up, the bowmen a bit behind and the swordsmen in the front, preparing to meet the approaching brute. Soon the zinging of arrows made the air hum.

The troll was huge, at least twice the height of the elves, with arms like tree trunks and sharp, protruding tusks. Its roar when it spotted them made the horses go almost mad with fright, and both Nugu, Sidra and the children fell off their rearing steeds. 

Wynne dismounted, tears of fear pricking her eyes. She had to let the animals run away alone this time; she just couldn't leave the uruk-hai family – or Legolas. 

The children cried in pain and fright but there was no time to check on them now.

“We must back away!” She tried to pull Sidra with her but the woman wouldn't budge. She was staring at the approaching troll with wide eyes, her face a mask of dread. 

“We were too late,” she whispered.

Galion, Thranduil and the troll met almost soundlessly. It had no armor and its only weapon was a sharpened, spearlike stick, yet the elves’ swords connected with its skin seemingly without affecting it in the least. The monster didn’t even flinch when Galion stabbed its belly or when Thranduil’s twin swords flicked thin cuts over its drooling snout. Arrow after arrow buried themselves deep into its rough hide, making it vaguely resemble a monstrous pin cushion.

“They will manage. They will beat it.” Nugu’s petrified face mirrored Sidra’s. He had picked up the youngest boy in his arms while the elder clung to his mother’s legs. “Let’s run away.”

“Yes, we can’t stay this close,” Wynne agreed, but it was like talking to a wall. Why would she not come? 

The troll was too close, its howls deafening. With the fight only yards away this was no safe place.

“See how fast they are, Thranduil is a whirlwind with his swords.” Nugu tried to drag his wife with him. “Come, we must leave.”

“Wait.” She brushed his hand off.

Black blood trickled down the beast’s sides now and its roars changed pitch, like it had begun to feel pain. Was it going down? It was so impossibly big and strong. But yes! It was actually moving backwards! The elves followed it, winning more ground. 

The troll came under a slight overhang on top of which grew a twisted oak. Behind it was a passage of sorts, maybe it was trying to crawl back into its hole?

The monster was swaying now and an arrow had taken one eye out. It waved its crude spear aimlessly on its blind side, spraying black droplets on the rocky ground.

“See? They will win. It’s alright,” Nugu pleaded.

“This is wrong. It’s so wrong. How could we?” Sidra’s voice was distorted. 

Wynne teared her eyes from the battle scene to look quizzically at the woman. What was she talking about? She acted like this was their fault.

Then the truth hit her: it really was their fault. It had been a trap! The uruk-hai and his woman must have led the elves to an area they knew had a mountain troll instead of taking them to their friends.

Bitter disappointment filled her chest and she looked away from them in disgust. She had thought Sidra was her friend and shared things about her family. How could she have been so false? 

Another hooting roar drew her eyes back to the troll. It was on its knees now, bleeding from its thick lips. Legolas made a swift jump up onto the ridge, peppering it with arrows from above. 

It looked like they would make it and Wynne began to breathe calmer. They were seasoned warriors, five against one – of course they would win.

Then something moved behind Legolas. Something large, dark and dreadful, appearing out of nowhere.

It was another troll! Where had that come from? 

The new troll pounced on Legolas, its fist sending him reeling forcefully against the oak. 

Wynne cried out with shock.

He struggled to get to his feet again, turning to face this new danger. His bow was not a melee weapon so he tossed it to the side and pulled out a dagger, still with his back to the oak. The blade looked like a toy, tiny against the massive opponent. 

The creature towered over him. He jabbed at it desperately but it easily blocked his feeble attempts with its spear.

Nodir and Bronedir had discovered the new enemy and turned to fire arrows at it, but the two swordsmen were still locked in combat with the first troll, unaware of what happened on the ridge above them. 

“He will not make it.” Sidra sounded urgent. “Nugu! He will not make it.”

“Cut me loose,” he barked, holding up his hands in Wynne’s face, blocking the sight of the troll sweeping Legolas’ dagger away with another thrust of its spear. “Now!” he added when she only stared at him uncomprehendingly. 

Her mind snapped back. Of course. The uruk-hai could help, he was strong as an ox.

With trembling hands she fumbled after her knife and managed to unsheath it. In a frenzy she sawed at the rope. Why was it so thick? 

While working, she threw nervous glances at the fight. Where was Legolas? Then she saw him, on his feet again! Still alive, but under heavy assault. The troll seemed oblivious of the multitude of arrows sticking out of it.

Finally the rope was off and the uruk-hai covered the few yards between him and the beast in huge strides. He climbed right on top of its gnarled back, grabbed its massive head with both hands and tried to twist it. 

The troll reeled and growled, scrabbling at the annoying burden, but the uruk-hai locked his legs around its throat. Again he began to twist, muscles bulging. He grunted with effort.

“Yes! Do it! Come on Nugu,” Sidra cheered.

With a sickening noise of breaking bones the huge head was wrought around. The troll’s eyes bulged and a fountain of obsidian liquid poured from its maw. 

A violent shudder went through it and it toppled over.

Wynne started running before it hit the ground. “Legolas,” she murmured.

Thranduil was faster; he jumped onto the ridge in a single step. There he stopped dead, staring at his son.

Legolas stood with his back against the oak, swaying slightly. He was clasping both hands over his stomach, eyes wide and confused. 

“No...” Thranduil whispered, his face ashen.

Then Wynne saw it too. Legolas had been impaled, nailed against the tree by the troll’s crude spear. With a gurgling noise he slid off it, tumbling head first into the ground.

Thranduil wailed in agony. He fell on his knees and tried to lift the limp body.

Wynne couldn't move, only stare at the sobbing elf and his son. A crimson stain expanded over Legolas’ green tunic. 

Around her a flurry of activity began. Elves ran to and fro, someone was trying to stop the bleeding, another went after medical equipment. 

Wynne shook herself out of the paralyze and hurried to get the fire water, but she felt numb, disconnected from her body.

He would die. She loved him and he would die.

Back at the ridge, Thranduil sobbed like a child, his son’s head in his lap. “Stay with me. Please stay.”

Strangely, Legolas was awake and able to reply. “I will Ada. Of course I will. This is not so bad.” It was disconcerting to hear how cheerful he sounded, but from his glossy eyes and flushed cheeks it was obvious he was deep in shock. He didn’t understand how dire the injury was.

Bronedir made him gulp down a few mouthfuls of fire water and Galion poured a generous amount of it straight into the wound.

Legolas grunted, face briefly contorting with pain, but then the unnerving cheerfulness was back. “Do not cry.” He stroked his father’s damp cheek. “I will be fine.”

Wynne forced herself to look at the hole, calmly assessing the damage. The spear had pierced him about a hand’s width to the right of the navel. Were there any important organs in that area? His heart was higher up at least, but down there must be something too. Intestines? 

Then suddenly all blood drained from her face and everything around her became hazy. As from a distance she heard Nugu’s calm voice. “Bow your head. Keep it low.” 

Soft hands guided her to bend, squatting with her head between her knees. 

It helped, the blood returned and her nausea subsided. 

When she slowly rose again, cold sweat forming on her forehead, Sidra was there, embracing her. For now, Wynne let herself be held. She could think about the woman’s betrayal later.

“He needs a healer.” Galion’s voice was tense. He had covered the wound now, dressed it with absorbing material soaked in strong spirits and the elves’ healing herb paste, and then secured it with several layers of linen wraps.

“Damn it,” Nodir growled. “Minas Tirith must be the closest city from here and that takes days to reach, even by boat.”

“We have to try or we shall certainly lose him.”

Chapter Text

28. Finding a Healer

“There is a healer closer than that.” Nugu’s eyes were red and his lower lip trembled. For the first time he looked his age.

“With your friends?” Galion asked, brightening.

“Yes. But… it’s… this way.” He indicated the direction they had come from.

“Back? But…” His face became stiff. “You were never leading us there,” he concluded.

Nugu only nodded, tears brimming in his eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Sidra croaked. Her eyes were dry but teeming with sadness and guilt. “We were going to tell you. We were discussing… about when. When it happened. We were too late.”

“There is no time for this, we can settle whose fault it is later,” said Nodir urgently. “We must go there directly.”

“I hope we can get him on a horse. Galion went back to where Thranduil still hovered over his son. 

Thranduil obediently stepped aside when asked to. It was as if all energy had drained from the normally so proud elf; his shoulders sagged and he moved sluggishly.

Galion and Nodir tried to help Legolas rise but he only slumped back with a groan, the shock apparently beginning to subside and pain following in its wake. He was clearly unable to walk and certainly not ride. 

“We need to make a stretcher.” Galion urgently looked around. “The oak is too big. Sauron’s eye, why are there no damn trees here?” 

Wynne stared at him. It was unsettling to hear an elf use strong language.

“We can take the spears!” Nodir began to pull at the one embedded in the oak, still red and slick with Legolas’ blood. 

Seeing what he did made Wynne feel sick. Would he be carried by the item that had hurt him so? It was horrible.

The two elves worked fast and efficiently, tying a bed sheet securely around the spears. Then Nugu and Galion, who were strongest, lifted Legolas onto it. 

He cried out in distress, a drawn out moan that was heartbreaking to hear. 

Wynne hurried to bring two of the pack horses to the litter. Using rope, they were able to fasten it between their harnesses, but they would have to move very synchronized to make it work. 

There was no help for it, this once the horses had to be reined, so with stiff fingers Wynne tied a simple rope halter for each of them. 

“You lead the way, Nugu,” ordered Galion. Since Thranduil seemed to have entered an almost catatonic state he had taken over command.

Wynne took on the task of handling the two carrier horses. She steered Vatna next to the stretcher and with the halters she could make the two pack animals move in unison. When she got into the rhythm of it, she increased the speed from a walk to a trot, and later a canter. 

The elves had tied Legolas securely to the bed or it would never have worked, but it was still a bumpy ride. Every sob, every whimper from the stricken elf made her almost cry, but what else was there to do? They needed the healer fast.

On Legolas’ other side rode Thranduil, holding his son’s hand while managing to make his stallion maintain the exact speed of the litter carriers, again proving his skill as a horseman. He mumbled continually, soothing wordless sounds mostly, and now and then something in Sindarin. 

Gradually it seemed he was coming out of the strange numb state, perhaps beginning to hope his son might survive after all. 

At least if Nugu was telling the truth about the healer.

oOo

Afterwards Wynne could only remember that nightmarish ride in flashes. Legolas' pale, damp face and sounds of distress, the horses’ heavy panting and necks covered in foamy sweat, Thranduil’s unceasing murmurs. It took so long, and she was so tired, and so desperately worried.

They kept the same merciless speed all through the night, wringing every last ounce of energy out of the mearas. The distance that had taken a day and a half to cover in their normal travel pace was now traversed in less than a third of that time. 

When a red hue in the west announced that sunrise was near they were suddenly back at the heather moor. Here Nugu stopped by the steep cliffside, just beside the pool where Wynne and Thranduil had bathed an eternity ago. 

The horses hung their heads, flanks heaving, their steaming bodies trembling with exhaustion. 

“We must climb up here. There is a cave entrance at the other side.”

How ironic. They were back where they had started; the uruk-hai had only brought them farther away from his friends.

“We shall have to carry the stretcher by hand then, for the horses can’t climb this,” said Wynne.

Before leaving they set the animals free, finally allowing them to drink their fill and get a well-earned rest, and left the packs by the well.

Then Galion and Nugu began to crawl sideways, step by step up the hillside with the stretcher between them. Thranduil and Nodir assisted them, steadying it and making sure Legolas wouldn't fall off. 

His eyes were shut and his cheeks feverishly flushed. He had ceased moaning but pain was etched into his features; his forehead was creased and his teeth clenched together.

At last they reached the top, only to have to manage an equally hard course down the other side. 

Below was a narrow pass, sparsely covered with pine trees on the steep cliff sides. They filed through it until they reached a place where a massive rock had fallen down. Behind it was a black, jagged opening leading into a small cave that looked unused. A few white bones in a corner indicated it might be the home of a hibernating bear during the winter but apart from that it was empty.

“Over here.” Nugu put Legolas down and went to the middle of the cave. Reaching above him, he pressed on a spot that looked exactly like the rest of the ceiling. With a faint click a round piece of it came down on hinges, like a big hatch. It was made of wood but painted underneath to look like rock. 

“I have to warn them we are coming. Be right back.” He pulled down a ladder, climbed it swiftly and was gone, leaving them to wait anxiously. 

Galion checked on Legolas while they were waiting, exposing the bandage. It had a big, ugly stain in a rusty shade of brown. “It needs changing.” He laid a palm on Legolas’ sweaty forehead. ”No fever, at least. Yet.”

Wynne felt oddly left out. She wanted to be near Legolas as well; try to comfort him, hold his hand and stroke his face. But how could she do that? They were not lovers and she had no right to do anything but stay in the background. A silent bystander. 

Seldom had she felt more useless. 

“We can bring him up now.” Nugu’s voice from the hole sounded hollow and echoed between the cave walls. Thankfully he had not been gone long.

It took some effort to haul Legolas through the opening, but with the elves pushing the stretcher from below and the uruk-hai steadily pulling from above they finally made it. Then the rest of them followed suit. 

Nugu closed the hatch after them, cutting out all light in the process. “This way.” 

Wynne froze, afraid to stumble or fall in the ensuing darkness. The elves were less concerned, having their keen eyesight, and she heard them start walking. 

“Here, take my hand. I know the way in the dark.” Sidra’s resonant voice next to Wynne was comforting and she gratefully obeyed, feeling a warm palm envelope her clammy fingers. 

The woman was a lying traitor but right now there was no time to be angry.

Wynne shuffled ahead, one hand on the wall to the left and leaning heavily on Sidra to the right. The air was cold and damp, smelling a lot like the farm cellar back home. 

The children tagged along behind their mother; she heard the youngest whine quietly, probably feeling neglected and tired. 

Gradually her eyesight returned and she let go of Sidra's hand. They were walking down a rough, narrow tunnel that forced the tall elves and the uruk-hai to crouch. There was a faint light ahead and when she came closer she saw an oil lamp in an alcove outside a round, wooden door, a lot similar to the ones they had seen in many orc nests before.

The door was opened and one of the most ancient orcs Wynne had ever seen peeked out. It had runny eyes in a sickly, greenish hue and a thin mouth with only a few yellow fangs left. Its body was bent and wiry, with lead gray, deeply creased skin and white tufts of hair in a halo-like fringe. 

“Hallo my boy. Dad went to prepare a bed.” The orc was speaking with a heavy accent, and to Wynne’s surprise its thin voice was distinctly female. 

So there were orc ladies? She had not known, and judging by the puzzled looks on the elves it was news to them as well. 

“Nanna!” The uruk-hai bent down to kiss her wrinkled cheek, still holding the stretcher behind him.

“There now Nugie, no crying, you ain’t no babbie anymore.” Nanna wiped his face with a bony thumb. “Dad shall fix your elf up good, don’t you worry.” She took the lamp, beckoned for them to follow and began to hobble away, supported by a rather nice walking stick.

The elves hesitated, hands warily hovering over daggers and swords. Wynne shared their apprehension; it didn’t feel safe to enter an unknown orc abode. If there were hostile inhabitants they would be stronger on their own ground. 

“Well now, don’t drag your feet! Come along.” The orc lady had a no-nonsense tone of voice that somehow was hard to disobey. 

They looked at each other, and then Thranduil shrugged. Nugu had said there was a healer there and Legolas wouldn’t survive without one. There was no helping it, they had to take the risk; desperate times called for desperate measures. 

When they all were inside, Nugu closed the door behind them and bolted it.

Chapter Text

29. Orc Medicine

At the other side of the door was a huge, airy room, a lot different from the murky pathway they had come through. Here the walls were smooth and neatly whitewashed, making the place a lot brighter, and the paved floor was dry. White pillars reached a vaulted ceiling several yards up and between them stood long tables covered in linen tablecloths. An enormous chandelier hung on a chain in the center, and in the farthest end was an unlit fireplace. It reminded Wynne a little of a Rohirrim lord’s great hall.

Nanna limped into a corridor on one side. In passing, Wynne noticed there were many such corridors branching out from the hall. 

The corridor was dark and deserted, still the only source of light was the oil lamp the orc lady carried. 

She stopped before another round door, which had an oval sign made of a thin slice of birch, and some sort of runes burnt into it.

“Black Speech. The foul language of Sauron.” Thranduil frowned at the runes.

“That’s how we talk and no need to be rude about it,” Nanna scolded him. “Many of us were taught none other.”

Inside was a small, well lit chamber with two stone bunks that had thick mattresses on top. Legolas was put down on one of them, stretcher and all.

Another elderly orc joined them, a male one judging by his long, white beard. “Welcome, strangers. Nugu tells me you need a healer. What happened?” His voice was accented like all orc’s, but unusually refined.

“He was pierced by a spear, through the stomach and out on the back,” said Galion.

“Can you heal him?” asked Thranduil eagerly. 

“Maybe. But not for free.”

“Dad,” Nugu exclaimed from the door. “Don’t do this.”

“Sorry lad, but this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. We have to take it. You brought them here. You exposed us.”

“What do you want? Treasure? I can assure you, your help shall be rewarded handsomely. If you succeed.” His cold voice was full of contempt. 

His majestic air was back and Wynne felt relieved by that, calmed even. His odd confusion before had been unnerving.

“You must have confused us with greedy dwarves. We don’t hoard shiny trinkets.” The orc narrowed his amber eyes. “What use have we for that sort of thing, cut off from the world as we are down here? No, Mister King, what we want is something far more important. Don’t look surprised,” he added. “Nugu told me who you are.”

“Spill it out. We have no time for this!” 

“We want freedom. Freedom to go out without being hunted by the first man or elf to lay eyes on us. Freedom to grow food and not fear the crops would give us away. We want peace.” 

“It is not fair,” Thranduil almost growled. “You cannot expect me to promise this when I have not even met the rest of you. And I can obviously not speak for the human kings or presume to tell them what to do.”

“You can promise us peace with you, and you can plead our case to the humans. I am sure they will listen to Thranduil, King of Greenwood.”

“To use a father’s desperation…” He clenched his fists and his ice blue eyes had a furious glint. ”It is cruel – beyond cruel – to demand this of someone in such dire need.” 

”Well? What’s your answer?” The orc seemed completely unaffected by his intimidating stare.

A short silence followed and the tension was almost palpable. 

“You know I cannot refuse,” Thranduil said at last. He sounded tired, his anger gone and replaced with resignation. “If my son lives you have my word I shall not harm you or your people, neither shall any elf under my command do so. Furthermore, I will speak to King Elessar of Gondor and King Éomer of Rohan and plead your case.” He pulled himself up straighter, adding with a little more sharpness: “Should you, however, commit any act of unprovoked violence against elves, men, dwarves, hobbits or other creatures of the light, I shall consider the treaty broken. And then there will be retribution.”

“Agreed. But I shall need this in writing too.” The orc spitted in his wrinkled hand, holding it out to the elf who took it with a look of disgust.

“That’s all sorted then, time to check on this poor lad.” The healer rubbed his hands in a businesslike manner. “I’ll take over now so you can wait outside.” 

“Absolutely not. I shall stay by my son’s side.” 

“Suit yourself then. But I warn you, it will probably be messy and not very pleasant for the patient to have an audience witness everything. And I don’t work well in a crowd, either.”

Thranduil blanched at that but didn’t move. 

“The rest of us shall stand guard outside,” said Galion. “Just call if you need us.”

“We shall be off too,” said Sidra, still in the doorway. “The little ones need to sleep and Nugu must explain your presence to the others when they wake up. We’ll come back later to see how you do.” 

Wynne mutely pressed her back to the wall, hoping nobody would notice her and tell her to leave. She had to stay, she just had to. 

When the door closed behind the others she breathed out in relief.

“Let’s have a look at the wound, shall we?” The healer uncovered Legolas’ blood-stained bandages and pulled out a small, very sharp looking knife from a leather bag.

“Put that down!” Thranduil’s voice was intimidating and he rested one hand on his sword pommel. 

“Easy now, Mister King, easy! You want me to fix him, don’t you?” The orc bore his amber eyes into him.

Reluctantly Thranduil dropped his hand.

”No more interruptions then.” The orc returned his attention to the bandages and swiftly cut them off. 

When he carefully peeled them open, Legolas made a sharp intake of breath between clenched teeth. New blood welled out of the hole and Wynne had to avert her eyes, feeling the faintness return. 

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” the orc answered, though none of them had said anything. 

He put the bandages back and rummaged through his bag again, fishing out two glass bottles, one small, the other bigger. “Seeing as you are a suspicious one I shall explain what I do,” he told Thranduil. ”This we call ’seed of the poppy’. It’s a tincture to take away pain.” He measured out half a spoonful of a brownish liquid from the smaller bottle. “Open up, elf.” 

Legolas obeyed, swallowing the stuff with a grimace.  

“Good, good. You will feel dizzy and probably a bit strange but the pain will go as well.” He took the other flask. “Now, this here is only used for its smell. I need to know if his bowels are intact.” 

When he uncorked it, a foul odor spread through the small room. He helped Legolas drink several mouthfuls which made him almost gag, and then allowed him to wash it down with water. 

Wynne hoped the orc wouldn't say what was in it. Judging by the stench it must be something very nasty indeed.

“Now we wait for the poppy effect to kick in and the smelly stuff to go down.” The orc nodded at Wynne. “You should sit, miss. You look pale.” 

Thranduil turned to her in surprise, only now noticing she was still there. He seemed on the verge to turn her out, and she half prepared to beg him not to, when Legolas talked for the first time.

“Please stay... Wynne.” His voice was faint but stubborn, and he was looking at his father, not her. 

She could have kissed him right there.

“I’m not going anywhere.” She sat on the other bunk, sinking down into the fluffy mattress. It felt springy, stuffed with some dried plant. Heather?

A few minutes went by in silence. The healer busily arranged needles, thread, hot water and bandages on the bedside table, and Thranduil sat by his son’s head, stroking his blond hair. 

Legolas’ eyes had become glossy again, with dilated pupils that made them look almost black, and his pallid skin was clammy. It looked like he was getting worse. Why would the healer not do anything, sew him up at least? What if he lost all the blood he had? 

Wynne fidgeted with the mattress, rolling the fabric between her fingers, wishing she could help. Just idly sitting there was torture.

“You must not leave me.” Thranduil took his son’s hand. ”My heart would not survive the loss of another loved one. Stay! Promise me you shall stay.”

“You can… control many things, Ada… but not death.” He smiled weakly.

Wynne bit her lip to stop herself from sobbing but the tears pouring from her eyes were harder to check.

“There, now,” soothed the healer. “You’re still alive and I shall do my best to keep you that way.” He uncovered the wound again, carefully feeling around the edges. Bending low, he sniffed it thoroughly with his large, burly nose. 

He sat up with a pleased grin, showing a sparse amount of canines. “Good news. I can’t smell the stink potion. Lucky bugger, he.”

“What does that mean?” asked Thranduil.

“It means his bowels are whole. With a broken gut, his chances of survival would be slight at best; stuff would leak out and his belly would fill with pus and nastiness.”

“And now?” His voice was hoarse, as if he dared not hope.

“Now the outlook is better.”

Wynne let out a long, ragged breath. Could the orc really be right? Legolas looked so sick. His eyes were glazed and saliva trickled from the corner of his mouth.

The healer went to work with the needle, pushing Legolas to lie on his side. The elf hardly even flinched when the back wound was sewn together in a row of neat knots. 

“The poppy seems to work well,” the orc noted. 

“I feel great,” slurred Legolas. 

“I’m sure you do.” The orc made a wheezing sound, possibly a laugh. 

He cleaned the area around the stitches and reached for the bandages when Wynne interrupted. “We have a potion to stop infection and the elves have a herb salve. Perhaps we should put those on?” 

“Oh? Let me see.” 

“I’ll get Galion. I think he brought the healing bag with him when we left the packs.” Wynne jumped to the door, glad to finally be of use.

Soon she returned with Galion in tow. 

The healer smelled the fire water and tasted a drop. “Brandy?” He spat it out. “We brewed that back in Isengard. Nasty stuff. Makes people stupid. Stupid and violent.” 

“You can use it on the wound. So it doesn’t fester.” 

“Interesting. I had no idea. And this salve?”

“That is made with a plant called athelas,” said Galion. “It has many healing properties.”

“Another time I would like to discuss these things with you, and I can also show you how we prepare our poppy seed.”

“Poppy seeds?” Galion peered closer at Legolas’ eyes. “Is that what you have given him? He looks like he ate a hobbit mushroom.”

“Oh, hello Gale. My fingers look funny. See?” Legolas held out his hand and regarded it with great interest.

“Never heard of neither hobbits, nor mushrooms,” said the orc. “We really must have that talk. But not now. Time to dress the wounds.”

Galion gave the orc a spirit soaked cloth which he dabbed on the stitches before smearing herb paste on the area and covering it up with clean linen, and then did the same on the other side. 

”There, Mister Prince. All patched up for today.”

“No sewing the front?” asked Galion.

“No, he will keep bleeding within for a few days at least and that blood must have a way out. It’s best to leave it open for now and change bandages often.”

“How do you know all this?”

“I was Saruman’s chief healer. I can’t count the number of times I have treated patients with spear wounds or deep sword cuts.”

“He is in good hands then. Thank you.” Galion pressed the orc’s hand.

“No need to thank me.” He looked at Thranduil. “All I ask is that you are true to your word.”

Chapter Text

30. Tripping on Poppy

The healer covered Legolas up to his neck with a thick bear pelt. Then he dimmed one of the oil lanterns that had illuminated the room, and turned the other two off. “He needs to rest, but I’ll come back and check on him regularly.” He beckoned for Thranduil to come. “I want the peace treaty written and signed as soon as possible.”

“I cannot leave my son.” Thranduil laid a protective hand on Legolas’ shoulder.

“I will stay with him,” said Galion. “If he gets worse I shall fetch you immediately.”

“Well. Perhaps then I might… If you promise to summon me directly. But it shall have to be a very brief withdrawal.” He said the last part sternly, resuming his cold stare at the old orc. 

When the orc took no notice he reluctantly followed him out. 

As soon as the door closed behind them Wynne jumped to her feet and took the free place by Legolas’ head. She wished she could stroke his hair like his father had done but she had no right to touch him. “How do you feel?” she asked instead.

“Great!” He smiled dreamily at her. “Pain all gone. Did you know your head shines?”

“Really?” Wynne touched her hair, which felt tangled but normal.

“Nay it does not,” Galion assured her. “I think the poppy medicine is affecting him.”

Legolas had resumed examining his hand. “I have never noticed before how interesting these lines are. See the magnisc… magnifschiz... the pretty pattern they form.”

Wynne obediently looked, choking down her sobs. His strange behavior scared her.

“You should try to rest now,” said Galion. “Shall I play something?”

“Please do,” answered Wynne in his stead.

Galion took the other bed, leaning back against the white wall. He played a soothing lullaby on his flute, so sad it almost felt like a funeral hymn. 

Wynne discreetly wiped away a few tears, hoping Legolas wouldn't see and be concerned. 

He didn't; his fascination with his hand was still all-consuming. 

Galion made a pause. “It has been a long night; you should try to sleep also. We cannot do more for him now anyway.” He drew up his knees, making space for her at the foot of the bed. 

“I don’t know…” She looked again at Legolas’ pale face and odd eyes with irises shrunk back into thin rings.

“We can take turns watching over him. I begin, and then you step in. Thranduil will come back soon too, and Nodi and Bron are probably still waiting outside. We can help him better if we are rested.”

“Alright then. But promise to wake me if anything changes.” She curled into a ball by his feet. 

He resumed the melody and she drowsed off almost immediately, exhausted as she was.

It did not take long, however, until she woke up to the sound of Legolas crying. Wild-eyed and groggy from lack of sleep she immediately shuffled to his side, closely followed by Galion. 

He was still staring at his hand but now he looked absolutely terrified by it and tears welled from his eyes. “Take it off. Please take it off!”

“What’s wrong?” She tried to take his hand but he was waving it frantically.

“The spider. The spider is back. Please take it off. Please!” 

“Get Thranduil and the healer,” said Galion tensely. “I will stay with him.”

Wynne was on her feet and running before he had finished speaking. Outside, Nodir and Bronedir sat on the floor, leaning against each other’s backs and resting in that sort of half-sleep elves practiced. 

She was just going to rouse them and ask where the healer had gone when she heard Thranduil’s angry voice from the hall where they had first come in. 

“I never said anything about talking to dwarves! I mentioned Elessar and Éomer, and that was it. I shall certainly not–” He broke off abruptly when Wynne dashed into the room, jumping to his feet in such a hurry the pile of parchment he had bent over was swept away. “What happened? Is he worse?”

“He says he sees a spider. He’s so scared and I don’t know what to do!”

“Oh dear, I must have been a little bit too heavy on the seed of the poppy then,” said the healer calmly. “It’s always hard to tell with a new patient. No worries. It will subside. I’ll talk to him, you just wait here.”

Thranduil didn’t even reply, he was already on his way to the healer’s room in tall strides with Wynne scurrying not far behind. 

In the sickroom, Galion was holding down a struggling Legolas. “I had to constrain him or he would hurt himself,” he said apologetically, panting with the effort.

“Legolas.” Thranduil kneeled by the head of the bed and cupped his son’s face between his hands. “What ails you?”

“Ada! The spider has come back,” he sobbed. “Help me!” 

“There is no spider. You are imagining it.”

“Nay, it is right there! Do not lie to me. You must not lie to your only son.”

The healer entered the room, carrying a bottle and a glass cup. “Make him drink some more water and wash the medicine out of his system.” He gave Thranduil’s shoulder a comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry, it’s not dangerous, just frightening. It will pass. Just don’t argue with what he thinks he sees, for it’s very real to him.” 

Thranduil held the cup to Legolas’ lips, trying to coax him to drink. “This will make you feel better.”

“Will the spider go if I drink?” 

“Aye, aye it will. I shall kill it. Just like I did that time when you were an elfling, if you remember?”

“Of course I do.” Legolas emptied the cup and sank back on the pillow. “I wish you had killed it better so it would not come back.”

“I shall slay it again and again, as many times as it takes.” 

“Thank you, Ada. I love you.”

“And I love you. More than anything.” Thranduil kissed his son’s forehead. A glitter in the corner of his eye revealed a tear he couldn’t hold back. 

Legolas was finally starting to relax, if from the water or his father’s presence Wynne didn't know. Within moments, he closed his eyes and his breath slowed.

“The treaty can wait,” said the old orc, again touching Thranduil’s shoulder. “Lie down on that other bed and sleep here with your son. I can see you are exhausted.” He looked at Wynne and Galion. “I know you must be very tired too. Come, I shall take you to a spare room.”

Wynne had much rather stayed, but with Thranduil present she felt like the third wheel. And she really was tired, drained of all energy after everything that had happened.

Outside Nodir and Bronedir waited.

“You do not have to guard here anymore,” said Galion. “I am certain we have nothing to fear in this place.” 

“It pleases me a great deal to hear you say that.” The orc beamed at him, a genuine smile that brightened his wrinkled, gray face. “I’m Goltur, by the way, but everyone here calls me Dad.”

“I am Galion, and this here is Nodir and his brother Bronedir. And the lady is Wynne Örn.” They all bowed eloquently and Wynne made her best curtsy. 

“How do you do. How do you do.” He bowed to each of them in return. “When you have rested I would like to get to know you better. And we still have that medicinal herb talk to look forward to, Galion.”

“Indeed.”

“I thought you were Nugu’s father,” said Wynne when they walked down the corridor.

“Well, in a way I guess I am. I helped raise most of the young uruk-hai, together with Nanna. But as for being his sire, no, Saruman didn’t deem me superior enough for that. Thankfully,” he added. He frowned almost as deep as Nugu when the evil wizard’s name was mentioned. “That breeding program of his was a revolting business and I’d rather not talk about it. Oh, here we are now, this is where you sleep, and if you need the privy it’s at the end of the corridor.” He pointed it out.

The room looked like some sort of storage with grain sacks in one corner and shelves full of baskets, earthenware jugs and crocks. It had a dusty, floury smell, a bit like the inside of a mill. 

Someone must have made it ready for them, for there was a stack of blankets and several mattresses by the door, similar to the ones in the healer’s quarters. 

Wynne gratefully threw herself down onto the first mattress, not even bothering to take off her boots. Almost as soon as she closed her eyes she fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

31. Apologies and Explanations

When Wynne woke up her head felt heavy. How long had she slept? Down here underground there was no way to tell. 

The storage room was dimly lit by a lantern in an alcove and empty apart from herself. In a corner she saw the familiar bundles and bags of their packs. 

So, the elves were already up then, and must have fetched the belongings they left by the well. 

She hoped the horses were alright. Maybe if Legolas was better she could go and check on them later today. They had ridden them so hard last night and she had not had time to see over their legs and feet afterwards.

Her body promptly informed her that she was ravenous and desperately needed to pee. But first things first, before doing anything else she must visit Legolas. 

Still in the ruffled clothes she had worn all day and all night, Wynne opened the round door. Outside she heard a mumble of voices from the hall, and a nice smell of food wafted through the corridor, again reminding her she had not eaten anything since yesterday morning.

The spare room was close to the healer’s, only two round doors further down the corridor. She didn't knock in case it would disturb Legolas, instead she opened a tiny slit and peeked in. 

Both he and his father lay peacefully on their bunks, breathing calmly. Legolas' face had more color today and he appeared to sleep soundly. 

With a sigh of relief, she closed after them again. At least he was not worse.

Next, she went down the corridor to seek out the privy the healer had mentioned. 

If he had not pointed it out, the smell would have led her there just as easily. It had a stone bench with two round lids and a sign in orc language above each that she couldn't decipher. When she warily opened the lids she saw that one hole contained only urine, the other feces. 

Why they would separate those she had no idea, but obediently she chose the correct one to pee in.

There was a bowl and pitcher on a table so she could wash her hands and face afterwards, which made her feel a lot more awake. 

Before joining the others, she changed clothes. She had no idea who she would meet during breakfast but it probably was best to avoid looking like a ruffled tramp. She even brushed her hair.

When she got to the hall she stopped in the doorway, shyly peering at the many unfamiliar faces. Around thirty or forty uruk-hai lined the tables under the now lit chandelier, and their conversation echoed between the stone walls. A separate table was laden with food and drink and it smelled even more heavenly this close.

Taking a plate she began to fill it. She didn't recognize any of the dishes, except for a pile of rye bread, but everything had a nice aroma. She would never have guessed orc food to be like this, but then this group seemed very different. The way they talked, laughed and ate in friendly camaraderie was clearly unusual behavior for their race. She doubted normal uruk-hai bothered to spice their meat or even cook it, and they certainly didn't eat vegetables. She could even discern pieces of potato in one of the stews.

Sidra came over to her and took her arm. “Glad you are up and I hope you slept well. It’s actually lunchtime already. Come and have a seat beside me and Nugu.” She spoke quickly and looked anxious though she tried to sound casual, like nothing had happened. 

She probably hoped to be forgiven for her betrayal. But was it possible to forgive something as grave as that? It was Nugu’s and her fault Legolas was now fighting for his life. Well, Nugu had stepped in and ended the troll, but he wouldn’t have needed to if he had not led them there on purpose.

Sidra tugged at her, now with a pleading look, perhaps reading Wynne’s thoughts. “Come. Let’s talk over the meal.”

Wynne slowly followed, allowing her former friend to lead her toward the end of a table close to the fireplace. A fire was lit in it, with coal instead of wood, and the black smoke disappeared up through a chimney. Were they not afraid anyone would see it?

Walking past the crowded tables, she felt the uruk-hais’ eyes on her. So far she had seen no female orc since she met Nanna yesterday, and to be in a room full of males made her glad to have another woman by her side, even if it was such a treacherous one as Sidra.

When seated, she was relieved to see Galion opposite with his favorite orcling in his lap. Nugu sat next to him with the youngest. He briefly glanced up at Wynne before turning his gaze back down, face darkening several shades of gray. It almost looked like he was blushing.

She ate in silence, only replying to the others’ inquiries in monosyllables. The food tasted just as good as it smelled and she went twice to get more. When she had wiped the last of the stew off her plate with a piece of bread she leaned back in the chair, feeling a lot better. 

Now that Wynne was filled to satisfaction, somehow Sidra and Nugu’s apologetic, sad faces touched her a little more. Galion apparently had no more harsh feelings toward them and perhaps it wouldn't hurt to at least let them explain. 

“Why did you lead us to the trolls?” she asked bluntly, making both of them almost jump. “I thought you had decided never to kill again. But letting trolls do the job for you is not really much different, is it?” She threw Nugu a dark look.

“I didn’t mean for anyone to get hurt,” he mumbled, again blushing gray. “There was only one troll last the time we were there.”

“But you knew there was one troll and still you took us to it?”

“It was one of Saruman’s tame beasts, not very bright, and we were certain the elves could finish it easily. We just wanted them to be busy so we could escape. But the one that hurt Legolas was a wild mountain troll and it took us too by surprise.” He was still not looking up from the table.

“And also, we had just decided to abandon that plan anyway,” Sidra cut in. “We knew from the start we couldn’t trust Thranduil, but the more time we spent with him and you others, the more we thought it possible to persuade him to spare us – in time, at least. We were going to turn back, we really were. But we got to the troll sooner than we had thought.” She again put her hand on Wynne’s arm. “I know you are angry. I would be too if someone I loved was hurt. I truly am sorry for that and wish I could make amends somehow.”

Wynne felt her own cheeks get warm and hoped none of the elves had heard. Was what she felt for Legolas that obvious? 

“I trusted you,” she mumbled. 

“But when you really think about it… if we had taken Thranduil to this place directly, can you imagine he would sign a peace treaty with Dad? Would he even have allowed him to live?”

“No,” she admitted.

“And our babies, and Nugu… Would they be alive now?”

“I don’t know.” Wynne sighed. “Alright, I get your point. You felt you had no choice.”

“I hated to deceive you. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,” mumbled Nugu. “Especially about how Dad acted when we brought Legolas to him. That ultimatum was unfair and cruel. If I had known… well I guess I couldn’t have done anything to stop him, but… after everything, I had wanted to show you we were good and helpful. Not some cunning, scheming sort of fellows.” He vividly rubbed his eyes with one hand, glancing at the other uruk-hai nearby as if to make sure they had not noticed. 

Perhaps crying was considered unmanly among their lot, warriors as they were.

“I guess he did not have much choice either,” Wynne admitted. “He wants that treaty badly.” 

Somehow she found it easier to understand the old healer’s motives. He, at least, had been entirely honest the whole time. 

Yet, after hearing Sidra’s explanation, Wynne felt a lot better about her as well. She didn't like to bear a grudge, and the more she pondered about it, the more she knew they had not really had another option. In addition, she believed Sidra when she said they had decided not to go through with the plan. The two had argued that day; presumably she had been trying to convince her husband to turn back. And her appalled reaction when the troll attacked had been genuine. Nugu had tried to make her flee with him but she refused. 

From understanding to forgiving was still a long way, however. Maybe if Legolas got well, Wynne might, but there were still no guarantees that he would.

Nanna, the old female orc came hobbling, taking a seat as close to the fireplace as possible. “There you are, Nugie love, and the little ones too, bless them.” She grinned toothlessly at them before turning to Sidra. “You and the babbies look much better. Dad was right to advise you some time outside. Only to think, babby orcs needing sun, who’d have thought?” She laughed, a hearty laugh to come from such a tiny body. 

“It did us good but we missed you terribly. It’s good to be back.” Sidra kissed her cheek.

“Aww, sweetie. But now with the elf king here we can soon all come and go as we pleases.” Nanna put one frail palm on Sidra’s hand and the other on Nugu’s. “It’s a blessing, you hear me. A blessing. This was meant to be.”

“You think so?” Nugu’s eyes were still red-rimmed. “Was all this really meant to happen?”

“It was. I know it was with every bone in my body. Don’t you worry, love, it will all work out. The elf will live, Dad says so, and he can tell these things, you know. He says they heals faster than our sort.” She patted the uruk-hai’s cheek, wiping off another stray tear. “There now, big boy, you did the right thing.”

The uruk-hai relaxed his shoulders, almost slumping where he sat. He must have truly been worried. 

Wynne felt herself breathe more easily as well. Legolas would live. For the first time she was sure of it, even though she didn't really know why. 

Chapter Text

32. A Tempting Suggestion

The following days Legolas steadily got better. The bandages were changed regularly and the bleeding slowly subsided until finally the healer said it was time to stitch his stomach up too. He still took seed of the poppy to ease the pain but in a much lesser amount that mostly made him sleepy, and soon he needed only willow bark tea, a much less potent painkiller. 

His friends took turns sitting with him, singing, playing music or just talking, and every night Thranduil slept there in the other bed. 

When they weren't keeping Legolas company, Wynne and the elves went outdoors as much as possible to hunt, bathe in the small pool and look after the horses who still roamed the heather moor. 

Neither of them liked to be in the tunnels for long; it was somehow dark and sinister in there despite the painted walls, many oil lanterns and candles. Wynne could easily understand that Sidra and the babies had had to leave that place.

Every time she came out in the sunlight she felt relieved, like the heavy rock of the hill had been weighing her down, and she was very sorry for Legolas who had no choice but to stay. She longed for the day they could finally get out of there for good. 

She slept fairly well in the store room despite being underground. It was admittedly a bit uncomfortable to share it with three male elves but they had arranged a shelf between them so she could have some privacy. 

During the meals in the hall she usually sat with Sidra’s family, still shy around the tall and dangerous looking uruk-hai. Galion, Nodir and Bronedir seemed to make many new friends, however, each day moving to a new table, while Thranduil for his part spent most of the time bickering with Goltur. 

The peace treaty was at last coming to its completion, after Goltur and Thranduil had spent many long hours arguing about its contents. Thranduil had agreed to speak with the human kings, like he had said, and furthermore ask them to speak with the dwarves – a compromise they both could accept. As for other elven realms, he would ask Lord Celeborn in Lothlórien to spread the word to them since he had more connections than Thranduil.

Then there had been the question of the ents. The uruk-hai were wary about the tree-herders; many of them had narrowly escaped an army of moving trees from Fangorn after the defeat in Helm’s Deep, but to ask ents to be friendly to orcs when that race had killed so many trees would be a hard task. Even the Elvenking, with his love of trees and knowledge of them, couldn't guarantee they would listen.

“We shall try, at least, on that you have my word. Lord Celeborn is powerful and might convince them.”

With this, the old orc healer had to make do.

As for the orcs’ obligations, that list was equally long and detailed. They were of course not allowed to steal or kill, that was obvious and easily agreed upon, but the matter of hunting was more complicated. In the end, it was decided they were allowed to hunt but only in their own vicinity, or with the permission of the landowner if they wished to do it elsewhere. The same went for farming, or the harvesting of any herb, fruit or berry in the land.

Another issue was the remaining orc bandits in the area. Goltur had admitted there were several groups in Emyn Muil that he knew of, as had been the case in the Brown Lands. Thranduil wanted it written in the treaty that he should be allowed to kill them, but Goltur was determined that if this was to be his people’s lands, they should be the ones responsible for keeping the area safe.

“How can I trust you to slay your own kind?” asked Thranduil suspiciously.

“If need be, they shall be executed, on that you have my word. But I wish to pursue a gentler way. I have cells deep in the caves below where I will imprison them and try to make them see reason. As we have.”

“Weakness,” he sneered contemptuously.

“Maybe. Or compassion?”

In the end Thranduil agreed but with the addition that if Goltur failed, and those roaming orcs did any damage outside the hills, that too would be considered a breach of the treaty.

After many more such clauses were written, King Thranduil of the Woodland Realm and Goltur of the First Free Orctown in Emyn Muil could shake hands a second time, and solemnly sign the stack of parchment, witnessed by all the inhabitants of the cave. The ensuing cheer nearly threatened to crumble the rock into pieces and make the ceiling crash down upon them.

The uruk-hai were free at last.

They held a huge feast after this grand event, but Wynne didn’t stay long and hardly tasted any of the food. As soon as she could, she excused herself and went to bring Legolas his usual bleak dinner. He was still not allowed anything solid, only soup, gruel and tea, because the poppy medicine could make him constipated which was not a good idea when one was wounded near the bowels.

For once, Legolas was alone in the small room, which suited her well. It was ages since they had a chance to talk just the two of them. 

When he saw her he brightened up. “Finally. I thought I would be alone all night. Such party-lovers, you are! I take it that the peace treaty was signed to their liking?” 

“It was.” She maneuvered the tray with one hand and closed the door, cutting out the sound of music and cheerful conversation from the hall. 

“Soup again? I had hoped for lembas.” Legolas grinned impishly at her. 

He really must feel a lot better if he threw his favorite joke at her, and it made her warm and happy with relief.

“You look good.” She sat beside him. “Not so pale anymore.”

“You think I look good, my fair lady? I am flattered!” He winked.

He had winked. And called her fair. Was he flirting? 

“Yes.” Wynne busied herself with the tray to hide her face, not daring to meet his gaze. Surely he must remember why he couldn’t talk that way, why he should not do it. They were past this, weren’t they?

“My apologies. I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.” He sounded serious now and took her hand, squeezing it. 

His touch gave her butterflies and the feelings she had tried so hard to suppress returned in full power. “Legolas… don’t do this. I can’t…” She broke off, chest constricting.

“Wait… please. Just hear me out. I have been thinking… I have had a lot of time to think lately.” He swallowed thickly. “I have wanted to talk to you for a while but there were always others around.” 

She glanced at him. His face was flustered and he looked uncharacteristically nervous. 

“I know my father spoke to you too that time, about why… why I could not, uh, pursue you. Ada intends for me to find myself some fine elf lady, who is, in his words, ‘queen material’.” 

He had made a perfect imitation of Thranduil’s voice and Wynne’s lips turned up despite her embarrassment.

“He can be quite stubborn, as you know, and slow to change his ideas and opinions. And it takes a long time for him to warm up to others. But I was thinking… if we were subtle about it. Well. In time, he might… I think he would understand.”

She puzzled his somewhat incoherent sentence together. “You mean for us to be seeing each other… secretly?” Her heart began to beat faster at the thought.

“Aye. If... you agree to it?” His hand that still enclosed hers was tense.

Oh how she wanted to say yes. She envisioned the secluded cottage from her daydream and kissing Legolas in the four poster bed. 

But what of her mortality? Had Thranduil not talked to him about that? If so, he must understand why it wouldn’t work in the long run. 

She hesitated to bring that up, however. Wasn’t it too early to discuss a long lasting relationship? Maybe he only meant for it to be something brief.

She settled for a hint. “But you’re an elf and I’m human… we’re different. There will be… uh, problems.” 

“My friend Aragorn married an elf. Or, half-elven, rather.” Legolas sounded unconcerned, like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

Had he not thought about the implications of that marriage? Had Aragorn and Arwen not thought of it? 

“What will Arwen do after her husband’s demise?”

“Oh… you mean, will she mourn him forever and be miserable for the rest of her immortal life?” 

“Yes.” The word came out like a sigh.

“So it was that Ada told you. I wondered about it.” To her surprise he brought her hand to his lips. The kiss was light as a feather, making her skin tingle. “Your consideration for my feelings makes me think even higher of you.”

“Doesn’t that worry you, then?”

“Not at all. Aragorn has given her a son now; she will have the baby to remember him by, and of course eventual future children.”

“But what when they die?”

“Half-elven children are immortal too, like Arwen and her brothers. And their father Elrond, for that matter.”

She peered at him. Was that really true? Why hadn’t Thranduil known it, if so? But she supposed he had lived very secluded in his forest whereas Legolas had traveled the world. 

“You don’t even like children.” She tried to smile but her lips quivered. Could this really work? Could she allow herself to hope again?

“True.” He chuckled. “However, I have yet to meet my own child, and if it bears any resemblance with you I am sure I shall adore it.” 

His eyes locked with hers, no longer nervous. He seemed so earnest, like he really had meant everything he said. He even wanted to have children with her – that was not something one would say lightly.

His large, expressive eyes spoke clearly of his feelings. Losing herself in the deep blue wells, her apprehensions melted away into nothingness. 

“Then… in that case… I say yes.” 

Speaking those words was at the same time the most terrifying and the most wonderful she had ever done.

Chapter Text

33. A Secret Relationship

Legolas had never looked happier and Wynne knew she wore that same silly, ear-to-ear smile plastered on her own face. She felt giddy, like she had downed a full skin of firewater. 

“I wish I could plait you again and show everyone you are mine.” He softly combed through her hair with his fingers, giving her goosebumps all over.

She giggled. “So that’s what it means. And you did it without explaining, you sly elf.” 

“You liked it, did you not?” His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“Loved it. I’m terrible at plaiting or I would redo yours.” She stroked the fuzzy remains of a fishtail braid on the side of his head. 

Confirmed within the healer’s room for several days, he had only had access to the small washing bowl in the lavatory. Despite that, his golden strands were incredibly soft and silky. 

It felt strange she was actually allowed to do this. To sit close to Legolas, to touch his hair – a dream coming true, literally.

She pushed a strand behind his ear and brushed over its curiously pointed tip, letting a finger trace it down to his earlobe. It provoked an unexpected reaction; his gaze became intense, pupils wide and dark, almost like before when he had taken too much poppy seed. He obviously enjoyed her touch.

She nearly drowned in his eyes, half-closed under long lashes, amazed at the flutter of emotions simply looking at him provoked in her.

She studied his face, so familiar, yet foreign. She had always observed him from a distance, or stolen quick glances, but now she was able to pore over every detail. The shape of his eyebrows, the hue of his soft skin, learning each turn and curve of his upper lip. 

She saw him doing the same with her features and the flutter increased. Was he memorizing her looks too?

He began to caress her hair again, making her shiver and the skin in the nape of her neck tingle. His lips were parted and suddenly she couldn’t take her eyes off them. She loved how even when he was serious their corners had a tiny upturn, like an ever-present hint of a smile. What would it feel like to be kissed by them? 

He made no move to do so, but it certainly looked like he wanted to. 

Inspired by Sidra’s bold kisses in front of everybody, Wynne took the matter in her own hands. She leaned closer and let her lips brush lightly against his. 

It was so brief she didn’t have time to register how it felt, so she repeated it, kissing him closer, trying to move her lips like she had seen Sidra do.

The second kiss affected her unexpectedly. Warmth filled her chest but at the same time a thrill along her spine gave her goosebumps all over. His face was so near, his lips so soft. In a million years she could not have imagined it to be like this.

Then she tasted the bitter remains of the willow bark tea he had taken and that brought her back to her senses. “Sorry. You are healing, I shouldn’t–”

“Do it again,” he rasped. His hands had still been in her hair, and tugging on it he drew her to him for a third kiss, a longer one, and deeper. Now he moved his lips too, slipping a tip of his tongue in to meet hers. 

His intensity and passion sent spears of heat through her body. This felt different than before. More sensual. More raw. As if he was touching her somewhere much lower than her hair…

She half wished he had, but that wouldn’t be right. Not here, not now.

With reluctance she pulled back, trying to be the responsible one. “Someone could come in. And you should eat before your soup gets cold.” Was that husky voice really hers?

Sitting up straighter, he obediently took the bowl. “Your wish is my command, my lady.” He sounded breathless too. 

“There’s a good boy.” 

“I am no boy.” 

“There’s a good elf then.” They chuckled.

It was true Legolas was no boy, or elfling for that matter. He was an adult, for sure, but he didn’t act as if he had lived thousands of years like his father. She considered asking his age but was it even important? Elves neither aged, nor matured like humans did. He looked youthful, he behaved youthful, that made him young in every way that mattered, didn’t it? 

But still… 

Curiosity won. “How old are you?” 

“Too old for you.” He winked. “Nay, I am joking. I will soon turn twenty decades.”

“Two hundred years?” Her eyes popped wide open.

“That is not much to an elf. We are not fully grown until we turn fifty, or up to almost a hundred for some – so to my people I am still considered very young. And, elves experience time differently, I was told.”

She nodded slowly; maybe they were not so different then, agewise. It actually made sense. His father certainly ordered him around like he was a kid, and it also explained his childish teasing when they had first met. 

In retrospect, he reminded her of a young stallion prancing and trying to show off. The thought made her almost laugh out loud. 

“What about you?” he asked.

“I’m soon twenty as well – years, not decades.” She grinned. ”An elf my age would be just a baby, then?” 

“Indeed. Like the eldest of the orclings, perhaps.”

“Well, I am no child.”

“Certainly not!” He gave her a meaningful look that made her want to kiss him again, but she stoically abstained.

“Thranduil must have waited a long time to have you,” she said instead. 

“He met my mother late in life. But that is of no consequence; once an elf reaches adulthood he stays that way infinitely and can sire elflings if he wishes to.” He thoughtfully emptied the last of the soup. “I think perhaps that is the main difference between our races. As far as my knowledge of mortals goes, you age in stages. Bodily I mean. First you are young, then middle aged, then old and finally ancient. But mentally humans are almost the same person that entire time, right? The only real difference between an old elf and an old human is physical.”

“So, then you shall always be young and handsome but I turn into a crooked old crone like Nanna.” It was not a pleasant thought.

He took her hand, pressing it. “You will always be beautiful to me.”

“I don’t understand how you could think so. I’m not beautiful and won’t ever be, especially not compared to an elf…” 

Legolas had grown up in a court full of elven ladies; Wynne must be nothing compared to them. She was plain, unless her mirror back home lied to her. 

But perhaps he was lying. A white lie, to avoid making her unhappy?

She traced the lines of his palm with a thumb, feeling the calluses from the bowstring. Her hand was small and chubby compared to his. 

“I am not good with words,” he muttered. “How can I explain…?” He paused uneasily and his lips moved, like he was forming the sentences in his head before saying them out loud. “I have never paid much attention to outer appearances,” he finally began. “I think it is the same with most elves. I know mortals find our kind pleasing to the eye, but for us that is what we see every day, in every elf. It is… ordinary.” Again he seemed to ponder over his words, before he continued. “When I look at you I see you, the inner Wynne… brave and kind. Do I make any sense at all?”

It was endearing how earnest he looked and that made her certain he was not lying after all.

“I think I understand… But I’m not brave. I have no idea how you got that notion.” She smiled anyway, pleased over the compliment. 

“Oh you are.” He grinned. “You had a staring contest with my father the very first time you met him and did not back off. If that is not bravery, I do not know what is.” 

“Well you are brave too, and so good with the horses. And...” She glanced at him, remembering the hot day when he had been shirtless. Pleasing to the eye? A huge understatement. “And actually, I rather like to look at your ‘outer appearance’ as well. But then I am a mere mortal.”

“Well of course I do not only see the inside,” Legolas blurted. “I did not mean–” He absent-mindedly scratched his head, making the disheveled braids even more messed up. “With ellith I do not look twice. They all appear alike to me. Their faces are like porcelain, blank, unreadable. Beautiful, aye, but not real . But you… you are different. Something about you draws one’s eyes though I cannot really say what it is.” 

He seemed so uncomfortable she almost felt sorry for him but she was grateful he tried to explain. She recalled how she had thought almost exactly the same about elves and porcelain early in their journey. Be it Galion’s ethereal paleness, or Nodir and Bronedir’s stunning darkness; they were still too perfect, too flawless. 

Somehow Legolas was not like them. It was odd, because his physical features were definitely no less perfect, but he felt more real too, more open; his face expressed emotions in a way theirs didn’t. 

“I understand what you mean. And it’s the same with you.” Now it was her turn to be shy when he looked inquiringly at her. “I mean, when I see you next to another elf… Then they can’t compete,” she mumbled, face heating up terribly. ”If anyone draws one’s eyes, it’s you.”

“I have indeed felt your gaze on me from time to time,” he smugly admitted. “There was, for instance, that very warm afternoon, if you recall…” 

“Ha, you should talk. Whenever we bathe you blush,” she countered quickly. Had he really noticed her checking him out that day? How mortifying.

“Hum. I might, at times, have looked at…”

“Yes?” she prompted. 

“Well… you do have very nice legs.” He was blushing again but had a playful glint in his eyes and a rather cheeky smile. 

“Why, Legolas, you speak boldly to a lady,” she scolded him mockingly, relieved that the awkward conversation had taken a more light-hearted turn. 

“Pardon me, my lady, indeed I did. You shall have to punish my insolence.”

“I will. Your penalty shall be… hm.” She pondered. “Oh, I know. You shall sing to me!”

“With pleasure.”

He began a soft ballad, one that she had heard Nodir and Bronedir sing before. It was sad and beautiful, and his voice was just as lovely as she remembered. 

Curling up with her head in his lap, she closed her eyes and allowed the soft tones wash over her. 

She realized of course that she would have second thoughts and concerns about this relationship later, such as how to tackle Thranduil, and Mother, and the other elves of the Woodland Realm. But right now she was content to just lay close to him, listen to his song and know that he really liked her – inside-out. 

In time they would have to cross those other bridges but they could think of how to do it when they got there.

Chapter Text

34. Perhaps Not So Secret After All

A polite knock on the door made Wynne spring up and quickly jump to the other bed. 

When Nodir entered she smiled innocently. “Hello Nodi!”

“Good evening. Thranduil sent me to relieve you.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked from one to the other. “Why do you two smile like that?”

“Legolas said something funny,” she said quickly. “About lembas.”

“Aye, about how much I like it. One might say I am a Lembas Lover.”

Still chuckling, Wynne went to the door, feeling Nodir’s eyes on her. 

She wondered what Legolas would say to him. Would he reveal their secret relationship? She doubted Nodir could be trusted not to inform his king and hoped Legolas would stay silent for now.

Passing through the corridor, she had an urge to skip and bounce like a colt. She felt alive and full of pent up energy. 

Legolas found her beautiful! And liked her legs! And they had kissed three times! 

Outside the hall she forced the smile off her face with some effort, but Thranduil’s stern look when she entered helped a lot to keep her features in check. 

Luckily he didn’t say anything; she didn’t think she could manage a potential interrogation without revealing everything.

The party was still in full swing and now Wynne’s appetite had returned. She filled another plate and went back to Sidra and Nugu, who sat with Nanna and the orc healer. Galion was there too, bouncing an orcling in time with the beat of the music. 

Orc music was very different from human or elvish music, she noted. They had several different-sized drums and long horn instruments that produced deep hoots. 

The current piece was sung without words. One uruk-hai intoned the melody and several others held continuous notes that combined to a sonorous droning chord. 

The uptempo rhythm fitted well with Wynne’s present agitated mood.

“Well. You look cheerful.” Of course Sidra didn’t miss a thing; there was no fooling that woman.

“Legolas felt much better,” she said, sticking with part of the truth.

“You were gone for quite a while.” Her eyes were penetrating but the hint of a mischievous smile touched her lips.

“I kept him company when he ate,” she replied innocently, and to evade further questions she promptly turned to Goltur. “When can he eat normal food? He is off the poppy now, right, so it should be no problem? And go for walks, when can he do that? He is very confined in there you know, only ever walking to the privy.”

“Yes, I think he could start trying his legs a little more tomorrow. A short tour only, mind you. As for food, nothing too solid yet; the poppy effect can linger for some days.”

She nodded pleasedly, returning his kind smile. How could she ever have thought orcs ugly and scary? 

A wave of gratitude unexpectedly surged through her, making her eyes burn like she would cry. “Thank you so, so much for healing him.” She reached out and pressed his small hand.

“It’s what I do.” There was a knowing look in his intelligent eyes. As if he too understood why Legolas’ health meant so much to her.

oOo

In the morning Wynne expectantly met up with Goltur, Thranduil, and the rest of the elves to follow Legolas on his first walk. He would be going to the hall and take his breakfast there. 

Goltur had provided his patient with a wooden crutch and he leaned heavily on it, as well as on his father’s arm, when he tentatively lurched through the corridor, wincing with every step but making no sound. He set his jaw stubbornly and his gaze was intent on the doorway he was heading toward.

It was a bit unsettling to see how exhausted the short walk made him, but also wonderful to see him up, wearing normal clothes and getting something else to look at than the small healer’s room and adjoining lavatory.

It took a while, but finally Legolas was seated at one of the tables where he curiously looked around at the many amiably chatting uruk-hai. The atmosphere in the big room was cheerful, with everyone presumably still excited about the treaty. No alcoholic beverages had been served the evening before so there was none of that bleary eyed peevishness Wynne associated with the morning after a party.

It was nice to sit together, their company complete for the first time in almost a week. Legolas was quiet at first, perhaps dismayed to realize how weak he still was, but soon he warmed up and talked and laughed almost like his normal self, while finishing his sorry bowl of gruel. 

On more than one occasion Wynne managed to catch his eye and get a tiny smile in reward, filling her with sweet warmth. The happiness from yesterday still lingered pleasantly and she couldn't wait until she would be able to steal another moment alone with him. Perhaps even get a fourth kiss? 

Sadly she was not that fortunate. If from suspicion or just bad luck, Thranduil kept near his son almost the entire day, and the few times he was away someone else was sure to take his place.

Wynne stayed in the sickroom as long as she dared, but after a while Thranduil began to eye her suspiciously and she had to leave or the secret would be out.

Feeling bored and restless, she seeked out Sidra. The woman and her family lived in another corridor, where they had their own apartment and even a separate kitchen and bathroom. The water had to be brought from the public well, which was an underground stream, but there was an abundance of coal available for everyone so they could easily heat their stone tub whenever they wanted a warm bath. 

Wynne had already made good use of their bath that morning, wanting to be clean and smell good in case there were more kissing and snuggling coming up, but with Legolas’ guarding dragon of a father there clearly wouldn’t be any today.

Sidra opened directly at her knock, a huge basket of soiled linen in her arms. “Oh hello! I am doing laundry today. Sorry about the smell, it’s baby Rohi’s diapers.”

“I need to wash my things too. Is there some public laundry place?”

“You can use my tub, no worries.”

Glad to have something to do, Wynne returned to her room. She decided to offer to do the others’ laundry as well and had soon gathered an armload from Nodir, Bronedir and Galion. 

In the healer’s room Thranduil collected some more garments from himself and his son. When he picked up the blood soaked tunic and shirt Legolas had worn as he was speared by the troll, they both paled visibly.

“Those are ruined, throw them away,” said Legolas with a shudder.

“No I can mend them,” Wynne insisted. “I like that tunic, it suits you so well.”

“I cannot imagine ever wanting to wear it again. But if you wish to take the trouble you are welcome to it.” He looked gloomy. 

Back at Sidra’s tub, Wynne began working. It took a long time to get the stains out of Legolas’ clothes. One hour of soaking them in salty, cold water was followed by an hour in nearly boiling temperature and lots of vigorously rubbing with plenty of soap before they were finally spotless again. Now she just had to sew up the holes and they were as good as new.

She wasn’t quite sure why she so dearly had wanted to restore his garments. Perhaps it was a way for her to handle the memory of his hurt and broken body, as if she could make him whole again too in the process of mending his tunic. 

The laundry drying area was shared by the whole community and was located near the public privy and baths in Wynne’s corridor. It was a large, empty room with a fireplace and many rows of thin ropes under the ceiling. 

Sidra filled several yards of rope with identical diapers while Wynne hung her friends’ laundry on a separate one.

“So, I take it that things go well between you and Legolas?” Sidra said conversationally.

Wynne froze and almost dropped Galion’s hose. “W-what?”

“Last night you left the party looking tired and dull like an overloaded oliphaunt and then you returned nearly bouncing, all rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes. I can add up the numbers, you know.” She smiled smugly. “Did he kiss you? No you don’t have to say, I can see he did.”

“It’s a secret,” Wynne mumbled. “You can’t tell anyone! Especially not Thranduil.”

“Of course not.” She abandoned the diapers to give Wynne a warm hug. “I’m happy for you. I noticed the sparks between the two of you from the start.” She pulled back, grinning conspiratorially. “Now, tell me everything about that kiss…”

oOo

The next day Wynne brought the now dry clothes into Legolas’ room to mend them, using the better light in it as a passable excuse to be there. 

He had eaten breakfast in the hall again but it was obvious he still felt a lot of pain when walking. Now he was listlessly stretched out on top of his bed, looking unusually morose. 

Like yesterday, Thranduil kept his son company, this time occupied with a book on healing Goltur had lent him. He too claimed he needed the light in the healer’s room to read. 

Wynne had begun to strongly suspect he was chaperoning them again, and now when he actually had reason to, she had to admit it was only fair. But she could be cunning too. He had to go eventually, if only to the privy, and she didn’t think it would take long to kiss away the peevish look from Legolas’ handsome face.

She had just finished sewing up the last hole when Goltur came in to check Legolas’ stitches and bring him his willow bark tea. It was nearly time for lunch.

“Want to try another walk?” he asked.

“Of course he wants to, he needs to get his strength back.” Thranduil put down his book.

“I guess I had better,” Legolas muttered.

During the meal – soup for Legolas and a fish stew for the rest of them – Goltur invited Thranduil to take a tour around the cave with him that afternoon. “I’d like to show you our workshops. We might have some items and contraptions we could tempt you or the humans with. For trading deals.”

“What items?” 

“We have a young man who is very good with machines. He built one that can be powered by oil and steam and perform hard work such as driving a grindstone.”

“Interesting. Perhaps nothing for us elves, but I am certain the humans and the dwarves would like such a device. Let us all go and see it. Except you of course, my son, you should get some rest.” He gave Legolas a comforting smile that was met with sullen silence and a deep frown.

Wynne made a sour face too. She didn’t want to look at machines; she wanted to be alone with her elf. Something which the shrewd king obviously had anticipated.

They followed Legolas back to his room, again a slow struggle with the crutch, but this time he refused his father’s aid. With another dark look he almost slammed the door behind him. 

Wynne felt a pang of sympathy and promised herself she would try her best to sneak away from the tour at first opportunity. Legolas needed a cheer-up, and she was the right woman to provide it.

Chapter Text

35. Dirty Thoughts

Legolas was alone after enduring another of those awkward, painful walks. As usual he had been forced to lean heavily on the hateful crutch, his legs just barely holding up his weight, with everyone looking at him with badly hidden pity. 

He felt weak and miserable and he hated it with a passion. 

He wanted away from this awful rock and this claustrophobic room that might as well be a cell, out where there were trees, and sunlight, and fresh air. He missed his horse, he missed weapon practice, he missed eating real food and bathing. He missed Wynne. And his hair was a disaster. 

A treacherous tear trickled down his cheek and he angrily wiped it off.

Ada had told him to rest like he was an elfling who needed a nap. 

He didn’t want to sleep. He wanted Wynne. 

They hadn’t been alone at all the whole day yesterday and she wouldn’t dare come in now either. Not when his adar had all but ordered her to go on that tour. 

He longed so much to hold her again. The bubbling happiness he had felt when she accepted him had turned to glum misery. How could he have believed it possible to have a secret relationship under his adar’s hawk eyes? It would all turn to nothing. 

Even if they could be alone now and then it would be far too seldom to amount to anything.

Rest, indeed! He was not tired; he was annoyed, and agitated, and he wanted to be his normal, strong self. Sleep was the last thing on his mind right now. 

He needed cheering up, and if no one else would do it he had to do it himself. With everybody away looking at stupid machines he knew he would be alone and undisturbed long enough to what he intended. Good. 

Kicking the crutch into a corner, he pulled off his tunic and threw it in a messy heap on the floor, almost hearing his adar’s grating voice in his head. “This place looks like a swine sty. You need to take better care of your belongings, son.” 

Well, Ada was not here and if he didn’t like garments littering the floor he could tidy them away himself. Sliding down his hose he rebelliously tossed them on Thranduil’s bed.

Only in his undershirt, he sank back and made himself comfortable on the fluffy mattress, drawing a few calming breaths, willing himself to push down the anger and frustration. 

He pulled his comforter up to his neck and closed his eyes. Protected by it – not that anyone would come in, but just in case – he slipped a hand between his legs. 

He picked among his memories, choosing a very recent one: Wynne, when she kissed him. He replayed to himself her sweet, soft lips; how she had felt and tasted; the way his body had responded. When she pulled back her cheeks had been flushed and her eyes bright, and he knew she felt the same way as he. 

Next he pictured her when she bathed, her wet chemise revealing her fit body. Those broad hips and buttocks that he very much wished to caress, as well as her legs that indeed were very nice, what with all the riding and exercise – and higher up, her breasts. They were just the right size to cup with his palm. He pictured himself doing so, and then tracing its rounded shape to touch a pink nipple. 

He had to suppress a strong sense of guilt when he pictured her breasts, for the reason he knew what they looked like was because the orcs had cut her clothes that time, and to be using such a memory for his own pleasure was so shameful he would never, ever admit it to anyone.

But he did use it, and he deeply despised himself for it, but that image brought him to climax. 

After cleaning himself and waiting for his breath and heartbeat to slow to normal, he lay back down on the bed, still only in his shirt. He felt a little calmer now but no less unhappy. As always the forbidden thoughts and actions had made him feel dirty. 

He stared at the stone ceiling, every crack of which he now knew by heart, blinking away another few bitter tears. 

Before he met Wynne, he had not cared very much about ellith, although he admittedly had turned his eyes after one or two in the past despite what he had told her. But that had been it; he had not thought more of them and he had certainly never wished to see them without their clothes. 

Well, except for that time when he and another elfling had peered into the ellith’s bathing area through a slit in the wall, but that didn’t really count. He had just been a curious kid and only caught the glimpse of the backside of one before he and his partner in crime had been discovered. 

That was the only time he could remember his father punishing him physically. He had probably deserved it too, though he naturally had been rather mortified at the time. It had at least thoroughly cured him of any wish to sneak peak on naked ladies again.

But then Wynne had crashed into his life one spring day, and captured both his heart and his desire. The urge to look at her – with or without clothes – had overpowered him, and the past weeks in her company had ignited a need in him. Now that part of his body craved his attention in a way it never had before. It was disconcerting.

It had become especially bad now after his injury when he was locked down here with nothing to do but think. Maybe when they finally could leave this horrible hole and continue their journey he would be more like himself. 

But he healed ever so slowly. Terribly, disgustingly slowly.

His restlessness was returning and he grinded his teeth. He felt trapped like a bird in a cage, the walls pressing down on him. 

A knock on the door made him jump guiltily. Who could that be? Surely the tour was not yet over.

Then sunshine flooded his room as Wynne, his lovely, wonderful Wynne sneaked in, a sly smile on her face. 

“Sidra saved me!” Her smile widened. “Why, someone has been moping. And here I brought lembas and everything.”

He didn’t reply, his throat had grown thick with emotion. He pulled her to him and made her crash on top of him, ignoring the painful protests from his wound. He claimed her lips, sweeter and softer than ever, and it was so amazing, it felt so good. 

Like the flipping of a coin, his world had gone from absolute darkness to the brightness of an early summer morning. He could almost hear trees rustle and birds chirping merrily. Wynne was his, Ada would come to terms with it in time, Legolas would soon be strong again. Everything would work out for the better. 

She ended the kiss rather too soon he figured, but it was alright anyway. When she sat on his bedside he could look at her, admire her fluffy, curly hair and those cute freckles. Did she have them elsewhere on her body too? He would check some time. 

“This place is a mess.” She observed his discarded clothes critically. 

“Aye, I hate it. Get me out of here,” he begged. 

“I was actually thinking of asking Goltur if you could move to us now. Don’t they need this room for other patients? You are so much better.” 

“I would not mind sharing a room with you.”

A look in her gray eyes told him she was also thinking about the possibilities of sleeping in the same place.

He imagined himself secretly snuggling down beside her in the dead of the night, pressing his body tight against hers while sliding a hand in under her chemise to explore her legs, and then her breasts…

A new pang of guilt over what he had done before she came in pushed the pleasant picture out of his head. Thank Elbereth she had not come sooner.

“Did you know your ears turn pink when you blush?”

That of course very likely made him redden more, which obviously was just what she had intended, the little vixen. Her look was far too knowing for her own good.

A well aimed tickle-attack wiped the smug smile off her face and soon he had her rolling next to him, giggling and panting for breath. “Alright, alright, you win! Stop!”

“Not before you grant me a boon.”

“I shall. Haha I shall!”

He stopped and wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair to inhale her lovely, sweet scent that he remembered from when she had slept in his tent.

“Well, what would you have me do?” she murmured against his collarbone, her breath tickling his skin pleasantly.

“Help me go outside.” 

“What, now?”

“Yes! I shall waste away if I stay in here another minute. I need air.” He kissed her unruly curls.

“Fine, I will. But if Thranduil kills me, it’s on you. Just so you know.”

She helped him rise and stood close, hugging him while he tried to gain his balance. His wound hurt; the stitches pulled on his skin and the damaged abdominal muscles throbbed. He found himself leaning heavier on Wynne than he liked.

He was the warrior; he should be the stronger one. Yet here he was, displaying this humiliating weakness. She had seen his father fussing over him, seen his tears, she had even witnessed the embarrassing poppy seed hallucinations he had. It was a miracle she still wanted to be with him.

“I hate this,” he muttered darkly. 

“I know. But it will soon pass.” She turned her face up and he expected to read pity in it, but instead her eyes were dark and her lips had parted. Her hands tentatively began to explore his back and shoulders over his thin undershirt. She desired him!

Again the bleak thoughts disappeared, spirited away by this amazing woman who wanted him and desired even this broken body. He was truly a lucky elf. 

She was much too good for him, not that he would let that stop him from selfishly keeping her. 

When standing, Wynne just barely reached his shoulder and he appreciated being so much taller. That, at least, had not been taken from him by his injury. 

He bent down and kissed her, feeling himself respond to her bewitching, caressing hands, one of which had found its way to his ear just like the last time. Did she have any idea how sensitive he was there? More importantly, almost undressed as he was, would she notice the effect it had on him? With her pressing herself so closely against him, he was unable to hide the telltale hardness. Hopefully she didn’t know what it was.

“Maybe I should put something more on,” he mumbled into her lips.

“I like this outfit.” 

Cheeky. He loved it. “Unfair; you wear a lot more,” he countered.

“I can change that.”

“Temptress.” 

“Yes.” She pinched his earlobe and he let out an involuntary groan. By the Valar, if she kept doing that he would bed her here and now. 

Reluctantly he decided to be the wiser one for a change. With great effort he managed to take a step back, releasing her from his arms. “I really should get dressed. You are taking me out, remember?”

“Oh alright then. Spoilsport.” 

Chapter Text

36. Orc Farming

As usual, walking went slowly for Legolas, but now with just the two of them he seemed less frustrated by it, and Wynne for her part didn’t mind at all. It was pleasant to have his arm around her, feel his warm body and draw in his scent. And she liked to be able to support him, it made her feel useful and strong.

Her only regret was that he had wanted to go out at all. She had much rather stayed in his room and continued that very interesting kiss. She had still not quite regained her composure after that and his closeness now didn’t help the least. 

She remembered how wary she had been of men when her mother told her she must marry, but she was no longer the least afraid, not even of being intimate. She had pressed herself against Legolas when they kissed and the sensation had been overwhelming. She had felt him, his part, curiously pushing into her stomach and she had imagined feeling it further down. She had wished she was taller.

Such things must wait, of course, until they were properly wed, but hopefully that wouldn't be too far in the future. Somehow she must convince Thranduil to allow it. 

As if thinking of the Elvenking had conjured him up, he and the rest of the tour entered the hall just when Wynne had opened the exit door. 

“Legolas! I thought you were resting.” Thranduil's eyebrows were a single, thick line. “And you, Wynne – you said you were going to help Sidra with the babies.”

Legolas stiffened beside her. “I had to go outdoors and get some air. Wynne agreed to help me.”

“And I had already finished at Sidra’s,” she added lamely.

“Then allow me to take over.” Without waiting for a reply Thranduil firmly took her place by his son’s side. “Since you are not otherwise occupied, Wynne, you can visit the farm in my stead. I am sure my absence is acceptable, Master Goltur?”

“I can show it to you another time, sire.” After the peace treaty was signed, the healer had become a lot more polite when addressing Thranduil. He turned to Legolas. “Take it slowly and pause often. I am not sure the climb down the ladder is entirely a good idea but maybe you are right and the air would do you good.” 

Legolas only gave him a curt nod in reply, but Wynne saw the scorching glare he gave his father. It was hard to tell who of them were the most angry and their outing would likely be no cheerful event. 

“Follow me then.” Goltur beckoned to Wynne and the others. 

She sighed and obeyed, giving Legolas’ retreating back a longing look.

Galion fell in step with her. “What was that about?” 

She peered at his fair face, pondering what she could tell him. It was not long ago she had caught him gazing at her just a bit too intensely for comfort; if he knew the truth it would save her the embarrassment of explaining she was not interested. But what if he passed the information on to Thranduil?

But who was she trying to fool? Of course he already knew, or at least strongly suspected it. And if he didn’t before, well, now he most certainly did.

“Thranduil doesn’t want his son to be alone with me,” she said, keeping her voice down. 

That had been a pointless precaution, she could see Nodir and Bronedir’s pointy ears pricking up almost visibly. Only the orc ambled on like nothing had happened.

Darn eavesdropping elves. 

“Why not?”

“Because he would rather not have me as a daughter-in-law.” 

“So you are back together then.” He sounded disappointed. 

“Yes.” She looked at her feet. 

“I thought… Well, I mean, lately…” He demurely broke off.

“Thranduil talked us out of it at first but it was not so easy to just… stop.”

They walked on in silence. The path spiraled upwards, and for the first time she felt an ounce of curiosity about the orc farm. They had said they didn’t dare to leave the cave, then how could they produce vegetables? And where did the meat and fish come from?

“Thranduil will come around,” said Galion eventually. “He never refuses his son anything he truly wants, at least not in the long run.” 

“You think so?” She felt a flutter of hope.

“Legolas was so spoiled as an elfling.” He snorted, then turned serious again. “After his mother’s demise the king had only him.”

Wynne wondered how and when she had died but didn't want to ask. That was for Legolas to tell.

“So, did you like the machine?” She changed the topic, hoping to evade any more embarrassing questions about her love life.

“Nay. I dare say it could have its uses, this steam power, but it emitted such foul smelling fumes. That is something I have found hard to accustom myself to here – the black smoke from the coal fires and oil lanterns.”

“I agree. Wood fires are nicer.”

“Here we are now,” Goltur said. ”I will wait outside, it’s too bright for my liking in there.”

They curiously went through a doorway into a vast cave, with rows upon rows of growing vegetables. A dazzling light came from the ceiling, so sharp Wynne had to avert her eyes.

“How?” Nodir smiled widely and walked along a line of young potato sprouts, stroking them in passing. “It is almost like sunshine.”

“Dvago will explain,” came the orc’s voice from the doorway. ”He’s our chief farmer.”

A young uruk-hai who had been binding up beanstalks came to meet them, wiping his hands on a linen cloth. He was literally a copy of Nugu, but much younger, with only a shade of thin whiskers on his upper lip and none on his chin. And he was slimmer, but equally tall, almost the same height as an elf. Were the two related?

“This cave is right under the top of the hill – the rocky part above the entrance, you know?” They nodded. “When the sun shines on the cliff, we lead it in through silver channels. Like mirrors you know. To make the light stronger.”

“Clever! But cannot the openings be discovered on the outside?” asked Bronedir.

“They are just cracks, really. You could walk on top of them and hardly see a thing,” he explained proudly.

“Young Dvago designed it himself,” said Goltur from the door. “Very bright young man, is he.”

“Nah.” He beamed almost like the ceiling. “It wasn’t hard once I got the idea.”

Wynne strolled among the vegetable beds. They even grew rye and oats, and some sort of beet she didn't recognize. Then she came to an adjoining area where a pungent smell hinted this was where the privies were emptied. 

“I see you’ve noticed the dung room.” Dvago had followed her. “We store the poo there for several months, and then put it on the soil and everything grows like shit!” He sniggered when he realized what he had said. “Like shit, haha.”

Wynne smiled politely.

“Anyway, the pee is used directly, just mix it with water and it’s perfect. That’s why we separate it in the loos.”

“I see, yes I wondered about that.”

“It was my idea, because when we mixed all together it got sloppy and strong and nothing grew in it.”

“Very interesting. So, how old are you then?” Wynne tried to steer the conversation away from excrement.

“Thirteen. But tall for my age, in case you thought I looked older?”

She didn't, and smiled noncommittally. 

“Maybe you want to see the animals?” he asked.

“Oh, you have those too?”

“Sure! After me.” He led them into a third room, almost tropically hot. Something in there was chirping in a familiar way but Wynne couldn’t quite pinpoint where she had heard it before. 

Dvago indicated a large pool on the floor with an abundance of dark shapes silently moving about. “Here’s the fish farm. They eat scraps from the crops and our leftovers so it’s very easy to grow them, and the dirty water is good for fertilizing too.”

“Very well thought up,” said Nodir approvingly.

“Yeah it is, isn’t it? And now here is where we get the meat.” The gangly boy indicated a huge stack of hamper boxes behind the pool. He opened one to show its contents and Wynne was not the only one to shrink back, shocked to learn what they had been eating all this time as “meat”.

“Um… crickets?” she asked. Now she recognized the sound.

“Yup! And over here are the maggots, I can get–”

“That will not be necessary, thank you,” said Galion smoothly. 

“Alright. We should be heading back now anyway. Almost time for dinner!”

“I think I just lost my appetite,” mumbled Nodir.

Chapter Text

37. Puppy Love

On the way back, Wynne tried to reconcile herself with eating insects. She had done it the whole week, after all, and never thought the food tasted strange. And how else could they get enough to eat down here? If they went out to hunt they would risk being discovered – which was exactly what had happened to Nugu and Sidra.

The thought of Nugu made her look appraisingly at the young uruk-hai, who was tagging along to the hall.

“You look a lot like my friend’s husband,” she said.

“You mean Nugu? He’s my brother.” Dvago’s face darkened. He had looked cheerful before, something Nugu rarely did, and now when he was scowling the likeness was almost uncanny. 

“Brother? Really? But how–”

“I’d rather not talk about him,” he interrupted and stomped ahead in tall strides.

Goltur had heard the exchange. “The lad is still upset from learning about his mother. How she was kept, what Saruman did to her… Not that he and Nugu knew her; they were taken away directly after birth.” 

“How cruel. Why?”

“Saruman wanted the women ready to have another child as soon as possible, so he wouldn't allow them to nurse the babies. Nanna brought them up, all the uruk-hai, bottle feeding them goat milk and oatmeal.” He made a hesitant pause, but then apparently decided to go on. “Dva-go means twenty in our language, and Nugu means nine. The breeder males usually had naming systems like that to keep track of their offspring. You can figure the rest out for yourself.” 

She stared at him, abhorred, feeling bile rising in her throat. Twenty! The cold-blooded evil of the wizard was unfathomable. To be forcing women to mate again and again, and to go through so many pregnancies only to have each baby torn away from them. Even the worst horse breeder would never treat a mare so badly.

“I protested against Saruman’s plans when he first told me of them, not that it did any good, I was as much a slave to him as anybody there. In punishment for my insolence he removed me from my post as chief healer and made me handle the book keeping. I had to register all the… pairings, and the resulting babies, their development, everything. He liked things neat and organized. And also… the women giving birth… Some were so young and it didn't always go well. I healed them if I could.” His voice was heavy with pain and remorse. “When the orclings grew up I tutored them. Taught them to read, battle tactics, such things. Many times I wanted to refuse. Allow Saruman to torture and kill me rather than helping him, but… I knew it was pointless, he would have gone through with it anyway. This way, at least, the uruk-hai met with some kindness. A little bit of father’s love.” 

Wynne only nodded. What would she have done in that situation? If the alternative was torture and death and still no chance to save the women, she probably would have done the same thing. 

“Let’s speak no more of this.” The orc shook himself as if he tried to shrug off the appalling memories. “I hope your elf friend had a good time out.”

“Hm. Hopefully.” With Thranduil there, probably not so much. Then she remembered. “Oh, I was going to ask… can Legolas move to us now? That room is so small and there is plenty of space left in our room.”

“Of course, if he wants to. Won’t he rest better in a more secluded room, though?”

“He doesn’t like it there. Can’t you tell his father you need the healer’s room for other purposes?”

“I could.” The orc chuckled knowingly.

It was too early for dinner when they reached the hall again and Thranduil and Legolas were still out, so Wynne started to move their belongings directly. Goltur promised to explain it to the king when he returned. 

She decided to put Legolas’ bed next to Galion’s, close to her own, with just that shelf between them. She dragged Thranduil’s mattress to the opposite part of the room near the door. 

Pleased with herself she lay down to rest for a bit. Maybe in a few nights Legolas would be well enough to secretly come to her bed. Envisioning that she hugged her pillow and pretended it was him. Her pleasant daydream lasted well until dinnertime. 

In the hall she caught sight of Thranduil and Legolas at their usual table, both looking a bit more composed. 

Thranduil glanced up when she joined them and even gave her a thin smile. “Did you have a pleasant tour?”

“It was alright.” Then she caught sight of what was on his plate. “How’s the meat?”

“Delicious.” 

She heard Bronedir snigger from the next table and tried to smooth out her own smirk. 

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Nothing.” She occupied herself with the fish soup she had wisely chosen, glad that Legolas also had to stick to fluid foods.

After finishing his cricket stew, Thranduil daintily wiped his mouth on a linen napkin. Wherever had he found that? Nobody else had one. 

“Are you both finished?” he asked. “Good. Wynne, you can help my son back to the room.”

She stared at him incomprehensibly. He who had so firmly tried to separate her from Legolas, now he was all but pushing them together. Could it be… had he agreed to allow their relationship? 

Her heart jumped at the thought, but she couldn’t quite believe it. If that were the case, why did Legolas look like he had swallowed a double dose of stink potion?

He leaned heavily on her as they went, probably tired after climbing the ladder before. 

“Your room is this one now, you have moved.”

“Aye, Goltur mentioned it.” He lowered his voice. “Your doing?”

She nodded. “You were gone a long time. What did Thranduil say?”

“That I must end things with you.”

“What?” She stopped dead.

“I shall explain inside.” 

Heart pounding, Wynne took him to his new bed. He sank back on it and lay down with a heavy sigh, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

“So, he knows about us.” She sat next to him.

“Aye. I cannot lie to him, I never could. He reads me like a young sapling. When he asked if I still have feelings for you I told him I do.”

She nodded sadly. Was it really over then?

“He gave that speech again,” Legolas continued. ”Droned on at length about my duties and obligations to our people, and how a prince cannot always follow his own whims. How I am too young to tell the difference between love and desire.” His face had grown stormy, eyes flashing. “Like he would know, he who has no heart!”

That was unfair, and she couldn’t let it pass. ”That’s not true, he loves you more than anything. If you could have seen him when you were injured… He was so miserable, absolutely torn to pieces.” She struggled to breathe, her chest suddenly painfully tight. Thranduil’s reaction that time had scared her almost as much as Legolas’ horrible wound.

”I know,” he admitted. ”It’s just… I just wish he would trust me enough to let me make my own choices.”

“What are we going to do? I don’t want to end this.” 

”Me neither.”

After a thoughtful silence he sat up, grimacing slightly with the pain. “My father bid me to forward a message.” For some reason his lips had turned up in a decidedly mischievous manner. So he had a plan then. 

”I can’t wait to hear it.” She tried not to sound too sarcastic.

He took her hand, theatrically cleared his throat and began. “Child, you must remember a mortal’s years are but a short-lived spark – the blink of an eye – in the long life of an elf.” Again his voice carried that uncanny likeness with Thranduil’s; he even mimicked his haughty, impassive stare. “Those countless centuries you would fill with misery and grief. And for what? A mere moment of pleasure, of childish puppy love.”

“He did not say that!” Wynne set her jaw. Child? Puppy love? Really! 

“He did.” Legolas nodded solemnly. “And now I have forwarded it to you like I promised.” There was suppressed mirth in his voice. “Never said I would act upon it, though.”

“And I have listened.” She fought to keep her face straight. “If he asks, you can tell him I considered it carefully and replied I would never make you unhappy over puppy love.”

“Good.” He was grinning but soon the smile waned. “We will not be alone much longer and when he comes you must look sad.”

“He’s going to be more suspicious than ever. It will be difficult to keep up the act.”

“Aye.” He sighed. “A while yet we must pretend, but I still think I can persuade him in the end. When we meet Aragorn he will see for himself that this kind of relationship can work.”

“I’m glad to see you more hopeful.” She kissed the palm of his hand, regretting that there probably would be no more of that other sort of kissing for some time now. 

“Well, despite my father’s scolding and preaching I very much enjoyed going out; it strengthened me a great deal, I think. Elves are not meant to be locked into confined spaces between stone walls. I shall tell you about Moria some time and you will understand.” 

“What about this room then? Better?”

He looked around and then grinned slyly. “Very much better. Which one is your bed?” 

Chapter Text

38. The Ballad of the Ring

The aroma of heather was heavenly. Wynne sat comfortably among the purple flowers and busy bees, enjoying a lazy afternoon with Legolas not far away. Today was the first time he had managed the steep climb from the cave to this place.

Stelpa huffed nearby; she had stripped a young birch of almost all its leaves and was now munching peacefully. Seeing Legolas and her meet after their long time apart had been adorable. It was obvious the two had a strong bond. 

Wynne hummed quietly to herself, trying to recall the lyrics of a ballad about the Fellowship’s adventures. When Legolas mentioned Moria the other day it had made her curious about it. According to the song, Moria was one of the places they had passed through, but she couldn’t quite remember what had happened there.

The first verse she knew well but it didn’t explain very much: Bravely the Fellowship / departed Rivendell. / Grievous were the perils / upon the Nine befell. / The Dark Lord to defeat they went / the One Ring to expel.”

And then followed the chorus, repeated after every verse: “Brave, brave, brave / Brave the Hobbit!”

But what happened in verse two? Something about a mountaintop, and… storm of snow? Were there not birds involved too? And a tentacled lake monster… 

She wished she had a better memory for these things.That ballad was always part of the repertoire of the wandering musicians and minstrels back home; she should have known it by heart. 

Dull thuds some way off indicated the sword exercise had begun. The other elves would spar with a few of the more daring uruk-hai, those who dared venture outside. 

Most of the uruk-hai wouldn’t leave the cave despite the treaty. What if the human kings refused a truce? They couldn’t risk exposure until they knew they were safe.

The warriors had paired up elf against uruk-hai. They used wooden sticks instead of real swords but it still looked dangerous; the uruk-hai were so incredibly strong! Of course, the elves had their agility and much superior reflexes, and now that they had begun they really did seem pretty even. But it was clear from the winces when someone was hit that there would be bruises later. 

A splash from the well drew Wynne’s eye away from the exercise. Legolas was having his first real bath in ages and had just stepped down into the water, crutch and all. 

She peered at Thranduil, who had just dodged a powerful sweep attack and sneaked in a fast, hard lick at his partner’s exposed leg. Assured his attention was elsewhere occupied, she shifted her gaze back to the more intriguing scene by the pool. 

Legolas had stripped his shirt this time and judging by the cheeky glances he sent her she figured it was for her benefit. And boy, did she benefit! He was beautiful. Even with the gruesome, scarring wound disfiguring his perfect torso he looked ever so handsome. 

She would have loved to join him and slowly explore that smooth, flat chest, while turning her face up for one of those extraordinary kisses they had shared before. And then…

“Enjoying the view?” Sidra chuckled warmly right behind her. 

Starting guiltily, Wynne’s eyes darted to Thranduil, but thankfully his pointed ears had not caught the woman’s words. He was still absorbed by his intense duel.

She gave her friend a meaningful look and nodded in his direction. 

Sidra raised her eyebrows but didn’t say anything. 

“I will explain later,” mumbled Wynne, and then said in a louder voice: “So, are you still planning to follow us to the Dead Marshes?”

“Yeah. Not gonna let Nugu go alone to a meeting with hostile humans, whatever Dad and your king says.” She looked stubborn. 

The healer had insisted that one of his people should be present as an emissary when the treaty was shown to the kings of Gondor and Rohan, to make sure their interest was properly accounted for and to act as living proof there really existed non violent uruk-hai. Since Nugu already knew the others of the company he was an easy choice, but that his wife and children wanted to come along was frowned upon by both leaders. 

“But isn’t it dangerous for the babies?” Wynne asked, somewhat distractedly. Legolas was rinsing his hair now and sparkling droplets trailed over the silky surface of his skin. Torture.

“Not in the company of five elves and an uruk-hai! Besides, my sons will be useful. They captured the hearts of you all and I’m sure the human kings will adore them as well. It will make them easier to convince.”

“Maybe.” She was still a little wary around the orclings. Somehow they seemed to always have grubby hands that they touched everything with, not to mention their perpetually runny noses. And yesterday one had pulled a handful of hair from her head. 

But she did like the prospect of not being the only female in the company. 

“Lovely day, ladies!” Legolas limped over to them and sat next to Sidra, a linen towel casually flung across his shoulders. He kept some distance to Wynne as usual but had cleverly managed to position himself where she got a good view.

That elf was growing way too confident. As if she would be affected by… oh sweet Vána… his gorgeous body glittering in the sun, a damp mass of golden strands spilling over his bare shoulders and those mesmerizing eyes teasingly challenging her not only to look, but touch as well… 

Even Sidra seemed slightly uncomfortable.

“You should get dressed,” muttered Wynne.

“I will, I will, just need to dry.” He smiled cheekily.

“You could dry somewhere further away from my wife,” Nugu suggested archly, but his smile took the edge of his words. The uruk-hai lay outstretched in the heather with two sleeping orclings curled up beside him. 

When he smiled it was his turn to be an uncanny lookalike with the boy in the farm.

“I met your brother the other day,” said Wynne. She was certainly not looking when Legolas slowly (somehow seductively) pulled on his shirt and began to redo his braids.

“Dvago. Yes.” She had anticipated the uruk-hai to scowl but instead there was sadness in his brown eyes. “He doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Why?”

“He blames me for our mother’s death.”

“Unfairly so,” added Sidra. 

“I don’t know,” said Nugu. He gazed at the cornflower sky. “Maybe he is right. But it’s a long story.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” 

“I’m not a storyteller.”

“No you aren’t, but I am. I can tell it,” offered Sidra. 

When he curtly nodded his permission, his wife squared her shoulders and drew a breath, like she needed extra strength to begin. 

“It was after Helm’s Deep that my husband and a couple of his friends finally had the opportunity to desert the army. It was chaotic after they lost that battle, I understand. But instead of just leaving, they sneaked back to Isengard for Dad and Nanna. That’s how they met me, on the way there. So I joined them, and we went down into the caves while Saruman had his attention elsewhere.” 

Sidra spoke fast, eyes distant, and Wynne suspected there really was a lot more to it. One does not simply walk into a wizard’s abode; it must have been both dangerous and frightening. 

”Dad and Nanna naturally insisted we take all the young children too, and we did,” she continued. ”But the women, you see, were a lot further down and well guarded so not any random orc could get to them and… cross Saruman’s breeding schemes. So we had to leave them behind.” Her dark voice faltered, sounding strained as she finished: “Then came the ents and destroyed the dam and the entire vale was flooded and all the women and the rest of the orcs drowned.”

Wynne’s stomach churned. She had suddenly remembered that Sidra’s mother had been one of Saruman’s captives. In all the recent, stressful events she had managed to forget it, and for that she felt deeply ashamed now. The abducted women had been given a face, Sidra’s face, and somehow that made the knowledge of their suffering a lot harder to bear. 

“You wanted to save them,” said Nugu softly. “And I stopped you.”

“You were right to. All of us would be dead if we had.” She drew a deep breath. “There was nothing more we could have done, there really wasn’t.”

“Dvago was mad as fu– heck when he found out a while ago.” Nugu muttered. “Said we could at least have tried to get them, that we were cowards.”

“You are absolutely no coward. It took courage to desert the army when you had obeyed those masters your entire life. And then going back to free Nanna and Dad…” Sidra bent down to kiss him, a tender, comforting kiss. Her fingers smoothed out the furrows on his forehead. “It’s Saruman he’s angry with, really, but he takes it out on you. He doesn’t understand.”

“Yeah, he doesn’t understand,” agreed Nugu darkly. “I knew what the breeding den guards were like. One of them was my own sword master, for– heck’s sake. Staying away from him was damn fucking basic survival instinct!”

“Nugu! Not the f-word, please! But yes, I agree. You must remember, though, that Dvago is young and naive, and he grew up in freedom.” She turned to Wynne and Legolas. “He was no older than our Muzadi when we rescued him.”

“Yes, naive. He has no idea what it’s like to be a slave, to be lashed for not obeying. A few strokes and you learn to do what they say. Always. To fear them.” His expression went stony and he turned away, pulling the babies closer. 

Sidra silently lay down against his back and put an arm around his broad chest, enveloping him with her body. 

Wynne met Legolas' grave gaze, wishing they could lie that close too. She really needed a hug right now. 

He edged a few inches in her direction and stretched out his hand. Hidden by the heather from spying eyes, their fingers intertwined.

Chapter Text

39. Knowing One’s Heart

With Wynne’s hand still in his, Legolas leaned back in the heather, pulling her down with him. They had to keep that annoying distance, of course, but it felt good to have her within an arm’s length at least. 

He stroked her fingers with his thumb, loving how small her hand was compared to his. 

Relaxed and unusually happy, Legolas tuned into all that was alive around him. He listened to the heather, which he always thought of as tiny trees, heard their whispering murmurs from neighbor to neighbor about the joy of blooming and attracting bees, about seeds to come and the future of the saplings. 

In patches between the heather, tufts of old grass sighed in languid voices about the relentless drought, their tiredness, and how they looked forward to letting their withering strands droop and allow a new generation to take over. 

A young birch nearby lamented the loss of its leaves and worried over the cost to grow new ones. Stelpa, his lovely girl, was the culprit he knew. The tree would become stronger by the effort though, and he told it so, trying to comfort it. 

It had been so good to see Stelpa today, to renew their connection and brush out her coat. She reminded him of Arod, the horse Éomer had given him a long time ago. They didn’t look much alike – Arod had been white, not chestnut – but they had that same friendly, trusting character and graceful gait. The stallion’s death still pained him though he knew the old fellow had lived a full life. 

”Tell me about the Fellowship.” A gray eye peered at him through the purple blossoms that hid the rest of Wynne’s face.

”What about it?”

”Everything. Moria, Mordor, all of it.” 

Legolas realized he had involuntarily stiffened and willed his thumb to resume its caressing. Everything? He didn't even want to remember everything, let alone talk of it. 

He broke eye contact. ”That is such a long story; we would be here well into the night!” He tried to sound casual and unconcerned. “I shall tell it another time.”

“Alright.” 

She seemed disappointed but he really couldn’t bring himself to dwell on those memories, not now, not in this beautiful place and on his first real day out since the troll fight. He just couldn’t.

Fortunately she didn’t press the matter. Instead they remained in companionable silence, basking in the pleasant sun, enjoying the afternoon and each other’s vicinity. Not until Legolas’ ears picked up the sounds of the elves and uruk-hai returning from weapon exercise he reluctantly let go of her hand and eased himself a little further away.

At dinner, he shared a table with Nanna and Goltur. And Thranduil, of course, that ever-present shadow. 

He was tired after the long climb back and his side smarted. “When will you take out my stitches?” he asked the healer, scratching the scar. It only made the itch worse.

“I’d say… maybe in four or five days.” The orc was messily chewing his stew. Perhaps it was difficult to uphold good table manners with those pointy fangs getting in the way, and he also didn’t have very many of them.

Legolas didn’t look forward to enduring another four days with prickling stitches, but at least he was on the mend for real now. He walked so much better, and it had made wonders for his mood to finally be able to have a bath.

He took another bite of the boiled fish, abiding Wynne’s advice to stay clear of the meat. But maybe he would try the crickets too some time. They smelled surprisingly nice. Either way, it was a huge relief to be able to eat solid foods again.

“Stew tasting good?” he asked his adar.

“Very.”

“Do you know what’s in it?” Wynne asked innocently from the next table. 

“Of course, I never eat anything I have not identified. I asked Goltur the first day.”

“What?” Wynne gaped at him incredulously. “You knew we were eating bugs and you never said?” 

Legolas couldn’t hold back a chuckle at her bewildered face. She clearly had underestimated his adar.

“If you were curious you could have asked as well.” Thranduil shrugged nonchalantly, face expressionless, but Legolas knew him. He was markedly smug. 

Wynne glared darkly at him, grumbling something incoherently. She was so cute when she was annoyed! But he couldn’t look too much at her with Ada seated next to him.

On the way back to their room afterwards, he slyly dropped his crutch in her direction. When she picked it up for him, he whispered: “Want company tonight?”

Her sour face instantly disappeared and she nodded, smiling in that sweet, a bit shy way she had, cheeks coloring. 

He wanted to kiss her right there and then, but managed to constrain himself. 

When they had gone to bed he waited a long time in the darkness while the others drifted off to sleep one by one. At last he heard his adar begin to snore softly – or breathe heavily as he always claimed he did, refusing to admit to being a snorer. 

Legolas counted to five hundred before soundlessly slipping out from under his blanket. On hands and knees he rounded the shelf, homing in on his target in the dim light, knowing she could neither see nor hear him.  

He paused to just admire her sleepy face. It was relaxed, eyes partially closed and her lovely brown curls spilled over the pillow. From her breathing he could tell she was awake, and he hoped she was impatient for him to come. The fire in her eyes today when he bathed had been beyond exciting. Somehow he needed her to need him, especially now in his physical weakness. 

Was it true then, what Ada had said? Were these feelings only his body’s hunger?

No. He knew that was only part of it. As much as he desired the union of their bodies, he desired the union of their souls more. That intimacy which comes from long years together. He wanted to learn everything there was to know about her, even the bad sides she was bound to have – though he had yet to see them. He wanted to be her friend and soulmate, forever at her side.

He knew what that meant.

Feeling his chest burn with emotion, Legolas closed the distance between them and placed a hand on hers not to startle her. She turned her unseeing eyes in his direction, an expectant smile on her soft lips. He would kiss them soon, but first he reached out to caress her smooth cheek and the amazingly silky baby curls that framed her forehead. He admired her ear’s symmetry, round and even, like a rose petal. 

If there ever had been any doubts of the strength of his regard for her, those were gone tonight. His heart knew the truth with crystal clarity. 

It frightened him, and not only a little, though of course understanding his feelings didn’t really change anything. They would have been the same regardless whether he had become aware of them or not. And he would live – or die – with the consequences.

Wynne moved aside, lifting her blanket invitingly and he slid in next to her, reaching out to take her hand. With his mouth close to her ear he whispered, clothing in words the extraordinary feelings that soared through his heart and mind.

“I love you.”

She cupped his cheek with her free hand. ”I love you too.” The whisper was shaky but in her eyes he read it was the truth. She felt the same. 

He kissed her, but this time it was unlike any of the kisses they had shared before. A slow and tender caress, brimming with love. 

All the other things Legolas had planned to do could wait until another time. Instead he just held her in his arms, feeling her warm body relax and her breathing become even. 

Long into the night he stayed, holding his sleeping love, savoring the moment and adding it to one of the happiest memories of his life.

Chapter Text

40. Riddles and Lakes

“I’m glad they decided to let you come.” Wynne smiled at the woman riding next to her with an orcling in front.

“I can be stubborn,” Sidra smirked.

“Very,” Nugu agreed with emphasis.

Wynne chuckled. It was great to finally be on the road again. She had forgotten how good it felt to ride with the open sky above, the sound of birds and crickets around her and the smell of earth and growing plants in her nostrils. And of course Vatna’s smooth motions under her. 

She would miss Sidra’s bathtub though, and nice meals at a real table, but that was a small price to pay.

Nevertheless, the farewell had been a sad occasion. Their kind hosts had captured their hearts in the short time they had known them. Or perhaps not so short; they had spent many weeks in the uruk-hai abode, sharing meals, exercising together, enjoying pleasant evenings of music, games and conversation. Nodir and Bronedir in particular had become good friends with several of the uruk-hai, and not a few tears from both parties had been discreetly wiped off when they parted. 

Wynne had naturally found the last days of their stay the most enjoyable. Legolas had come to her every night since that first one, and they had shared many kisses, albeit less passionate than she – and he too, she knew – wanted. It had simply been too risky with everybody so close, and the elves’ hearing was uncanny. 

All had gone along nicely until yesterday when Wynne had decided to take it a little further and pulled up Legolas' shirt to slide her hand underneath. The skin of his bare chest had been softer than a foal’s muzzle; her fantasies had not made the feeling justice at all, not even close. 

But then Legolas mimicked her action, letting a palm find its way to her breast, and that ruined the moment. Wynne had involuntarily flinched, causing him to hastily snatch his hand back with a whispered “sorry”.

Her cheeks heated up just thinking about it. It was embarrassing, but infuriating as well, that her body would react that way. Most angry she was at the damn orc who had groped her. Somehow Legolas’ touch brought back the memory of her capture, even though this had been nothing like that time. She wanted him to caress her breast, and every other part he wished to explore. 

She had not been able to explain that, however, not when they must be silent, so she had kissed him again and hoped he would not be too put off by her reaction. And thankfully It didn’t seem so, for he had kissed her back with the usual fervor. 

Next time she would put his hand back to her breast, showing him it was alright while also teaching herself to associate the feeling with him instead of a long-dead orc. She wondered when the next time might be, though; iIt would be a lot harder to find moments alone now that he would be sharing tents with his father again.

But maybe tonight when it was his watch...

“Do you think the humans will sign the treaty?” Nugu asked unexpectedly. “You know them, right? The Gondor king is your relative.”

“Yes, but only distantly. I never met him.”

“Oh.” He seemed disappointed. “It’s just… I worry.”

“Why so? I’m sure the kings will listen to Thranduil. Elves are very respected by us humans.”

“What if… what if he tells them how the treaty came to be… The way… the way Dad gave him an ultimatum.” Nugu looked tense.

“He will not mention that.” Galion rode nearby, carrying the baby uruk-hai as usual. The boy was enthusiastically waving a wooden sword the elf had made him, accidentally hitting Hlaupari’s neck every now and then. 

Wynne frowned at the orcling, who stuck out a tiny pink tongue back at her.

“He might,” insisted Nugu.

“Nay, he wants the treaty too,” said Galion, turning around to make sure Thranduil was out of hearing range. “He likes Goltur.”

“He does?” The uruk-hai looked incredulous. 

“Aye. I know my king well after the many centuries I have served him. Trust me, he holds the healer in high regard, and not only for saving his son.” He chuckled. “Actually… have you forgotten how Thranduil tried to bend your will in a similar way, not long ago? He threatened to kill your children unless you led us to your friends.”

Nugu stared at him, a slow grin forming. “He did , didn’t he? Guess it was only fair, then.” He looked a lot less apprehensive after that.

oOo

The first day the company steered westwards across the hills, heading toward the Anduin. They would follow the river down to the Dead Marshes and try to find King Éomer’s men there. The weather was overcast but warm and Wynne thoroughly enjoyed the ride. 

At lunchtime they came by a mountain lake and Thranduil decided they would make an early camp there. He claimed the reason was that it seemed a good spot, near water and fresh grass for the horses, but Wynne suspected it really was for Legolas’ sake. He still used the crutch when walking longer distances and riding was probably painful too.

The orcs had filled their packs with plenty of food and soon Sidra had a meat stew going.

“Are there any lembas left?” Wynne mumbled to Legolas.

The afternoon was peaceful. The elves engaged in weapon practice and Legolas did a series of stomach exercises that Goltur had instructed him to repeat daily. He still hadn’t fully regained the strength and flexibility in his abdomen and back, which was crucial for successful archery.

“When is your watch tonight?” asked Wynne, who looked on, confident that Thranduil was too busy to notice.

“Second watch,” he panted, holding his stance stoically, tall body stretched rigidly on forearms and toes.

“We are still short on tents,” she mused innocently. “I was thinking I should sleep outside on Vatna tonight and let Sidra and Nugu use mine again.”

He looked up, noticing her sly grin and smiled. “Well… that sounds… good.” A few drops of perspiration trickled down his forehead.

Later Wynne told her friend of the plan.

“Oh Wynne, you are too kind. But what if it rains again?” Sidra peered at the cloudy sky. “It’s unfortunate Dad had no tents we could borrow.”

“Those look nothing like rain clouds, don’t worry. I want to sleep outside tonight.” She gave a meaningful nod in Legolas’ direction.

Wynne had told her friend the previous day about Legolas’ and her complicated relationship and their need for secrecy.

“Oh, I see. Of course.” Sidra grinned wide. Bending closer, she added in a whisper: “But you really should talk to his father instead and insist he allow his son to make decisions for himself. I know he’s a caring person underneath that icy surface.”

“We will. After he has met the King and Queen of Gondor. He needs to realize an elf-human relationship can work.”

After dinner they lingered around the glowing embers of the dying cooking fire. Galion, Nodir and Bronedir entertained with flute music and song, and then Sidra shared old tales from Harad. Those particularly captured the elves’ interest; they had heard almost every story before, but Sidra’s were new even to them. 

She was a great storyteller and the tales captivating. There were an abundance of lightly clad princes and princesses in palaces of marble and gold, with jeweled fountains and lovely night gardens where peacocks cried their forlorn songs, and the colorful flowers never withered. In the menageries roamed horses with necks taller than the height of a grown man, warg-sized cats and wingless birds large enough to carry a rider. 

Sidra had a way with words; Wynne felt like she had been transferred to those exotic places and seen the amazing sights with her own eyes.

When she had finished, Nugu surprised everybody with an extensive collection of riddles. The otherwise quiet uruk-hai apparently had an amazing memory for them, and several made even the elves puzzled.

“With ten heads and ten tails, forty feet, fourscore nails. What am I?”

“A flock of horses?” suggested Nodir.

“Horses have no nails,” Wynne protested.

“A pouch with ten coins and… six hundred-and-forty spikes. Hm. Nay, that makes no sense.” Galion screwed up his face in thought.

“A sow with nine piglets.” Thranduil smiled smugly.

“Ai, you heard it before,” accused Legolas.

“I did.”

“Correct,” said Nugu. “Try this one then: ‘I become pregnant without conceiving, fat without eating. When my brood is born, growth follows. Who am I?’”

“The moon?” 

”A fruit?”

”A pouch of coins?”

”You and your coins, Galion.”

”Wrong, wrong and wrong. Shall I say?”

”Aye.”

”Yes!”

”A rain cloud.”

”Makes sense. Brood – the rain. And then growth follows. Good one.”

oOo

When everybody had gone to bed Wynne kept herself awake. She lay in her usual position with her head on Vatna’s croup, knees bent and her feet resting on the mare’s shoulders. She quite enjoyed the prospect of sleeping under the open sky after many weeks in a dark storage. But not until later, first things first.

It was hard to measure time at night, but she knew the elves used the movements of the moon and stars somehow, and that the watches were roughly two hours each. They took turns in a rotating schedule; one slept throughout the night while the other four shared the watches between them. 

This had not changed with the addition of Nugu, for a guard who refused to use weapons was not of much use.

Wynne finally noticed Bronedir move to his tent, a silent shadow in the summer twilight. When she was certain he had gone to bed, she slid off the horse and tiptoed to where she had spotted the silhouette of Legolas on a stone by the lake.

Long before she was close he turned toward her. There was no sneaking up on an elf.

“Hi.” She sat on his lap.

“Good evening, my beloved,” he murmured and put his arms around her.

After some very enjoyable kisses, Wynne rose, pulling him with her. “Let’s swim,” she whispered.

“Sadly, I cannot… Some guard I would be then.” There was mirth in his whisper, however, and he let himself be hauled to the shore where he removed boots and hose but kept his tunic with the dagger belt. Wynne wore the light chemise she normally slept in. 

Hand in hand they strode out into the cool water. When it reached Legolas’ thighs and her waist she leaned back to float. “Someday we shall do this with no clothes,” she suggested.

Heleaned down to give her a kiss. “You are such a teasing little imp,” he breathed against her mouth. 

She rose and wrapped her arms around him, not minding soaking his tunic, and the kiss deepened. His tongue tentatively touched her lips and she opened them. 

Had an oliphaunt army come upon them right then they probably wouldn’t have noticed.

Wynne broke the kiss and swimmed out further, trying to lure the elf to follow. “You are still too dry.” 

She didn’t hear his reply, however. Something hard and lithe had wrapped itself around her leg, quickly pulling her down into the deep, murky waters.

Chapter Text

41. Fighting a Lake Monster

Wynne pounded and thrashed, trying to get whatever it was to loosen its grip on her leg, but the more she fought, the tighter it clenched until she felt like her calf might snap. 

Ever down they went, where the water was piercing cold and the darkness impenetrable. Chilled to the bone and starting to panic she pulled at the thing frantically, but it was smooth and slippery, impossible to get a grip on with her numbing fingers.  

The downward movement stopped and Wynne hit a body of sorts, big and firm. Bracing herself against that, she kicked with her free foot at the thing trapping her leg, employing all the force she could muster. 

Pain surged through her other foot; the surface underneath apparently had sharp edges (teeth?). There was no helping it so she kicked again and again, but the thing wouldn’t budge. 

Her lungs burned. She desperately needed air, and soon!

She tried to drag her stuck leg against the sharpness below, feeling her skin break and hoping it would hurt the thing as well. This seemed to do the trick. Finally it loosened a little, enough for Wynne to slip away and with a last kick push off and surge upward. 

High above was a faint lightness, but so far away, too far. She swam and swam, all the time expecting the thing to catch her again. Her heart pounded and bright flashes sparkled in the edges of her vision. She couldn’t hold her breath much longer. 

Exerting every last ounce of strength, she covered the final yard and broke the surface, gasping for air. 

The sky had cleared and the moon was out. Now for the first time she could see the thing – or things, rather – that had caught her, vague shadows against the moonlight. What was it? 

It was huge, with one central body and many snake-like tentacles that waved in the air and stirred the water, like they were searching, maybe trying to find her again. In the center was a round mouth, and the sharp parts indeed seemed to be teeth, a clutter of them, silvery and pointed like a basket of knives. 

There was someone else in the lake too, struggling with the creature, fighting it. 

Legolas! He was injured, he should not wrestle a lake monster! 

But there was no time to see how he managed for a tentacle shot toward her, its many suction cups open and ready to attach themselves. No wonder it had been hard to get off! 

She threw herself backwards until she hit rock. The shore was steep here and she scrabbled in vain across the slick surface, unable to climb it. 

But there! A darkness beside her, a crack in the stone wall. She followed the cliff until she reached the hollow part and crawled in, kicking the tentacle when it brushed against her foot. 

The cave was narrow and she stood with water up to her waist. Further inside was a ledge above the surface and she scrambled onto it, turning to face the monster. The tentacle had followed her in and now another joined it. They were aiming straight at her as if they could see without eyes. 

The floor underneath was rough and she felt a loose stone against her palm. She picked it up and hacked fervidly at the groping limbs, but they were so fast and she began to get tired. Before she knew it, one had sucked itself onto her foot and immediately began to pull her out. 

She slid along the uneven ground, tossing away the makeshift weapon and flailing wildly to catch something to hold on to. Her fingers connected with a protruding part of the wall and by stretching her body she managed to get a weak hold and drag herself closer. She wrapped both arms and her free leg around it, clinging to it with all her might.

The strong appendage still tugged mercilessly. Wynne tried to scrape it against the wall, while simultaneously fending off the other one that hovered dangerously close to her head. It made a thrusting attack in her direction, hitting the crag in the process. 

The rock crumbled with a rumble that echoed between the cave walls. Loose stones and gravel poured down, taking her with them. 

Black water engulfed her. The rockfall must be covering the entrance, for now all light was gone. Her foot had been released though, thankfully, and she pushed away from the bottom, bouncing to the surface. 

Again she mounted the rock shelf in the farthest end of the hole, shivering and huddling, anxiously peering through the darkness. 

Was she trapped in here now?

The tentacle seemed to be gone, at least. Perhaps destroyed by falling stones?

Then she felt it again, that sickening, probing abomination searching through the water, finding her hiding place. Apparently the opening was not entirely shut, there must remain a hole big enough for one tentacle, and the creature wouldn’t give her any respite. 

The only relief was that it didn’t reach as far into the cave as before. She was safe in the deepest end.

With her back pressed flat against the wall she stood, balancing unsteadily on the thin ledge. The air shifted whenever the sweeping organ passed by and the water clucked and splashed as it writhed in the confined space. 

Where was Legolas? Had the monster devoured him whole with that huge, toothy mouth? Hot tears burned on her cheeks. She was stuck here, forever caught in this black hole and she would surely die just as he had. Her situation was entirely hopeless.

oOo

Minutes or hours went by; in the absolute darkness there was no way to measure them. Wynne trembled badly from a combination of cold and agitation. Her legs were on fire, aching with the effort to keep out of the tentacle’s reach and she dared not stir even slightly. 

Her bruised leg was beginning to hurt too, throbbing dully where she had scraped it on the thing’s teeth. 

Then she felt a change in the air. The tentacle had stopped moving! And the water was becoming calm as well. Had it left? 

Another unmeasurable amount of time passed. She strained her hearing, willing herself to breathe calmer and her heartbeat to slow down. It really was quieter now. 

And then! A faint voice, muted by the rock wall: “Wynne!”

Legolas! It was Legolas’ voice, she would have recognized it anywhere. He was alive, outside in the lake and looking for her! That meant the monster must be defeated.

But how could she get out?

Tentatively she slipped down from the ledge, landing on something soft and squishy. Letting out an involuntary yelp of shock, she had nearly climbed back up again when she realized the thing was perfectly still. It was dead.

“Wynne!” The voice was closer now. Maybe he had heard her cry out.

“Legolas! I’m in here!” She waded over to the rockfall and tried to feel if there was anything left of the opening. It must be because the tentacle had come inside. 

With a deep breath she crouched below the surface, examining the rugged stone with her fingers. The way out was submerged in water but it was bigger than she had thought, perhaps half a yard in diameter. Unless it got tighter further out she should be able to get through. 

She was out of air and surfaced. 

“Where? Where are you?”

“Stay there. I’m coming out!” Drawing another few breaths Wynne braced herself, mustering courage to proceed. Then she dove down, swimming with steady strokes through the narrow tunnel, using the limp tentacle as a guide. 

More rocks tumbled down as she brushed under them and with a flash of panic she wriggled free, popping out like a stopper from a bottle. 

She bumped into something right outside. It was a body, but not soft or slimy. This was no monster, it was Legolas! 

Breaking the surface she threw herself around his neck.

They hugged close and hard, neither of them finding any words. And then the others were there, Thranduil, Galion, Nugu – all of them coming together in a joint embrace. 

“Are you hurt?” Thranduil sounded uncharacteristically concerned.

“Not too bad. I think I cut my leg.”

“Come, let us get you out of here.” 

Legolas took Wynne’s hand and led her ashore, where Sidra met her with another rough hug. “I’m glad you are alright. When I saw the elves battle that thing I thought you were gone forever.” Her voice was thick with emotion.

Someone lit a lantern and another started a fire. Wynne sat close to it, hoping to get her body heat up again.

She gingerly touched her lower leg. There were round, swollen bumps where the monster’s tentacles had attached themselves, but the cut didn’t seem deep.

“Allow me.” Thranduil had sat beside her. He carefully cleaned the wound and smeared athelas salve on it. “It has stopped bleeding already. I think we can leave it open to dry,” he said, mostly to Galion who was holding the healing equipment. 

“Aye, and those swellings should hopefully go down soon. There will probably be bruises, though.” He stroked one of the bumps.

“What about you, Legolas, are you hurt?” Wynne anxiously recalled how he had fought the thing one-handedly.

“Nay. I have encountered a creature of that ilk before, outside Moria. I knew its weak spot.”

“Nevertheless you should have called us sooner,” scolded his father.

“There was no time. I could not let it take her!”

“How come you were in the lake in the first place?” Thranduil had turned to Wynne and even in this slight lamplight that intimidating, knowing gaze penetrated her. 

Her mouth went dry.

“She slipped.” Legolas saved her from a lame attempt at lying. “On the wet stones.”

“She slipped,” repeated Thranduil. 

It was clear he didn’t believe that but thankfully Galion interrupted before he could ask more. “Come, we are all cold and soaked through, let us change into dry clothes and get back to sleep.” He helped Wynne stand.

“You go with me,” decided Sidra and turned to her husband: “Honey, is it alright if you sleep outside for the rest of the night?”

“Of course.” 

Wynne was promptly ushered into the tent where Sidra dried and undressed her in a no-nonsense way. It was comforting, like she was a little girl and just had been bathed by Grandmama.

When she at last lay in her bed, dry and feeling warmth return, she heard Thranduil’s dry voice from his and Legolas’ tent.

“It's interesting. She slipped so suddenly, and you still had time to remove your hose and your boots.”

Chapter Text

42. The Tale of the Fellowship

“…and then I took its eye out. Now Galion had joined me and he dealt the death blow, piercing it straight through the other eye and into its brain.” Legolas made a thrusting motion, trying to appear calmer than he felt.

“Good thing you had fought one before or I would not have known where to find the eye,” he said.

“Aye, we never killed the one in Moria but I blinded that as well.”

“Moria.” Wynne sounded thoughtful. 

She was taking the whole thing surprisingly well, Legolas figured. Earlier she had described how she kicked herself free of the monster and hid in a cave until it was dead, and then dived out through a narrow hole. All this from the woman who claimed not to be brave! 

He had expected her to at least have troubled sleep afterwards, bad dreams and such, but at least not yet. Perhaps that would come later. 

Legolas had certainly not slept well. Time and again he had seen her disappear under the surface, and though it had not happened he kept picturing her being swallowed by the monster, mashed to pulp by its many teeth. 

They had left shortly after sunrise, everybody eager to get away from that godforsaken lake. His troubled sleep was beginning to take its toll now, however, he felt bleary eyed and tired. As if that was not enough, his waist was sore again after yesterday’s exertion and riding didn’t help at all.

“You promised to tell me about Moria and your adventures with the Fellowship,” said Wynne. “Can’t you do it now? I need something else to think about.”

“Oh please do, I’d love to hear it too,” Sidra cut in.

A chill ran down Legolas’ spine as always when that subject came up. So Wynne wouldn’t let him off the hook, then. He had purposely forestalled this, but after her frightening experience yesterday he probably ought to oblige her with the tale. 

It was just that he really didn’t want to.

“Alright then.”

While the others waited expectantly he pondered how to begin and finally decided to adopt a storyteller style, brushing over the events lightly as if they had not much affected the participants.

He cleared his throat and began.

”After the Council of Elrond the Fellowship was formed, a brotherhood among the free peoples, with a single task: to undo the One Ring. A somber midwinter night it was, when the Nine Walkers departed Rivendell…”

Had Wynne and he been alone, he might have told more than just the basic facts, such as his apprehension to join the Fellowship without his adar’s permission. Without his king’s permission.

He had been so nervous when they left Rivendell, which was about the same time as a messenger brought his letter to Mirkwood. Even now, he didn’t dare looking at Thranduil who was sure to listen.

Maybe to Wynne, he would have described the dreadful chill he had felt at the mountain Caradhras. Not from the snowstorm, but from Saruman’s ghastly voice, commanding the very winds and clouds, bending them to his will. Not until then had he fully comprehended the immense power of those who were against them on the mission. What dangers they would encounter. He had been so very young and naive!

Oh, he had tried to joke it off, of course, his usual strategy back then. He had teased his companions that they couldn’t walk on snow like him and hurried ahead, effectively hiding the fact that he was terrified and just wanted to get away from there as soon as possible.

To Wynne he might have described Moria more in detail, that waking nightmare. Pitch-black darkness had surrounded them, too thick to penetrate even for his keen eyes – he had not been used to that, for outside he could always see at least a little – and the overwhelming pressure of stone cutting him off from everything alive. Boromir had been correct to call the mines a tomb. Despite the proximity of the other eight of the fellowship, Legolas had never in his life felt lonelier than in Moria.

And it had become worse. That sickening anticipation he felt after Pippin accidentally awakened something in the abyss, and how he had expected unknown fiends to come crawling through the well at any moment. And then the drums, the drums in the deep. They had been trapped in a tomb with orcs and a cave-troll coming at them and he would never forget the first sight of that troll, its huge, stony body which even Boromir’s brute strength and sharp sword couldn’t damage. 

He did admit to his audience that the balrog – the fire demon Pippin awakened – had frightened them, but even to Wynne alone he doubted he could have brought himself to elaborate on the extent. The demon’s ancient evil had seeped through his being, into his very soul, paralyzing him with boundless terror.

He still had nightmares about the balrog.

And then Mithrandir had fallen and Legolas felt his heart shatter. They were the Nine, they were not supposed to lose anybody. But they had, first Mithrandir and then Boromir, and the grief had sat heavy on his shoulders in the many days before he encountered Mithrandir again as if risen from the dead. 

He missed that meddling old wizard dearly, even now, after he sailed west with Frodo eight years ago. 

The passing of the wizard affected part of the audience too.

“What? Noo! Not Gandalf!” exclaimed Sidra, who apparently had not heard the story before.

“Aye. He sacrificed himself to save us.” 

“He survived,” Wynne spoiled.

The rest was easier to tell: their respite in Lothlórien, chasing the uruk-hai who had captured Merry and Pippin, reuniting with Mithrandir. He spoke at length of his horse Arod and all that befell in Edoras, capital of Rohan, knowing it would interest Wynne. 

The Battle of Helm’s Deep was something he would normally have recounted with detail, as this part of the story was one that other warriors often asked him about and he had told it frequently. Now with Nugu listening he skimmed over it; the uruk-hai had been on the losing side and he probably felt a bit different about it.

The Battle of the Pelennor Fields, however, interested both the uruk-hai and his wife. Her countrymen had fought there with their oliphaunts, and of course everybody wanted to hear how Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn overcame the Corsairs with an army of ghosts. 

Sidra was thrilled to learn that the one who finally turned the tide of the battle by slaying the Witch-king of Angmar, Lord of the mighty nazgûl, had been Éowyn – a woman.

“I wish I could meet her sometime. She must be awesome!”

“You might,” said Thranduil. “Her husband is overseeing the restoration of the former Dead Marshes together with Éomer and his wife, and we are passing through there soon.”

”Really? Wonderful news!” 

Wynne too seemed excited about the prospect. “Ever since I first heard the Ballad of the Ring, she has been my hero.”

Legolas then came to the end of his story, the Battle of the Black Gate and the destruction of the One Ring. 

Some fighters Legolas had met claimed they were afraid of nothing. Most of them probably lied, but a few had been truthful. They were gone now. Fearless warriors were careless, and carelessness in combat was deadly. Some apprehension before an encounter was normal and necessary. 

The fear of the Host of the West before this battle had been something else. 

They had been outnumbered a hundredfold – a suicide mission. Filled with the despair that only comes from knowing this is your last day to live, they had stood their ground.

Legolas told this truthfully, even admitting how scared he himself had been at death’s door. He didn’t mention, however, that his last thought before the enemy hoard came upon them had been of his adar. How Legolas had failed him by giving up his life, bringing him more grief when he already mourned his wife.

“So what happened? How was it even possible to come out of it alive? You obviously did.” Sidra’s eyes were glued to him.

“Frodo and Sam managed to climb Mount Doom when Sauron’s attention was captured by us, just as Gandalf had predicted. The Ring fell into the molten lava and dissolved.” Legolas again omitted certain parts; it had not been quite that simple. “The undoing of the One Ring caused an earth-shattering eruption that destroyed Sauron and his stronghold. Without their leader his army became confused and most of them fled. We beat them easily.” 

“Hooray!” cheered Sidra, clapping her hands.

“The Eagles then went to pick up Frodo and Sam and carried them to safety. Victorious at last everybody returned to Minas Tirith, and there was much rejoicing. Thus ends the Tale of the Fellowship of the Ring.” 

After finishing the story, he felt dead tired. The disturbing memories threatened to overpower him. In particular, he lingered over his choice to join the Fellowship and how it had influenced his relationship with Thranduil. 

Legolas would never forget his return home afterwards. That cold, formal welcome he had received, not by his adar but by the King of the Woodland Realm. Thranduil had been frosty and emotionless like only he could. 

They had never talked of the quest again, not once.

He had lost his adar's trust, that was the ultimate consequence of his thoughtless decision. And that had been especially evident recently, though it concerned matters of the heart instead of his seeking adventure.

And was Ada not right to distrust him? Even now, was he not deceiving him, lying straight to his face?

Suddenly Legolas felt deeply ashamed. This was not right. He couldn’t wait until he had met Aragorn, he must speak with his adar directly. 

He made Stelpa move over to Thranduil’s stallion.

“Can I talk to you privately?”

“Of course.”

They rode ahead, leaving the others out of hearing range.

“Ada… I love her,” he blurted, too weary to wrap it up. “You cannot keep us apart.”

“Go on.” Thranduil’s face betrayed no emotion.

“I know this is not what you had wanted. You worry about our people and her mortality, but I think it will work out. A child… a child can be the reason to live on and find happiness after one loses one’s wife… is this not so?” He looked his adar boldly in the eye. 

Thranduil’s calm mask wavered, his gaze becoming soft. “Aye. It is true.”

“As for our people, I think they will accept her. She is of a fine family and not entirely unused to court life. And she mentioned she is Dúnedain of heritage, and that her naneth came from Minas Tirith. She is no commoner.” 

Thranduil was silent for a while, looking thoughtful. ”I hear what you say,” he replied at last. “And I will think about it, I can promise you as much. It is true Wynne is no commoner but she has grown up in the country. She is a woman of the lands. Out here, she has been in her true element, with the horses and nature. What will she be like in a palace’s halls? Among other ladies of the court? What will she occupy herself with when she cannot be wild and free, like now? Neither of us know this; even she can have no idea.”

Legolas nodded he had not thought that far.

“We shall soon be in Minas Tirith, in King Elessar’s Citadel. That will be an introduction for her, a debut into finer society. I shall observe how she manages. She is adaptive; maybe it will work charmingly. Or maybe it will be a disaster? Time shall tell.” Again his countenance softened and he touched Legolas’ shoulder. ”Regarding love, you are well aware of my sentiments on that matter. You have known her for – how many weeks? Even in your short lifetime it is hardly anything. Love does not just magically come, whatever you young people believe. Love is something you build, work to establish. It is a joint creation.”

Legolas didn’t reply to this, hoping to avoid another quarrel now that his adar finally seemed to at least consider the idea.

“Son, I need you to be patient. If your feelings really are true and earnest they will endure a slight further delay. You must cease courting her for now.” He emphasized the last part and his penetrating gaze was stern. 

Legolas looked down on his hands, feeling like a naughty elfling caught in the act. His adar was a master in the art of inducing that kind of emotion.

“You are a loyal son. Even… Even that quest with the Fellowship was an act of loyalty – to the good cause, to Lord Elrond’s wisdom. I never told you that but I have always been proud of what you did. I just… I just could not express it very well at the time.”

Their eyes met and a flood of warmth surged through Legolas. His adar was not one who apologized for past actions and he knew this was his way of saying sorry. 

Bending over the gap between their horses they hugged, a short, half hug, both trying to hide their emotions and regain composure.

Chapter Text

43. Sightseeing at the Anduin

Wynne’s vision was limited to a minimum by her pulled up hood. Incessant rain poured down for the third day in a row, and on top of that it was cold and windy though it was Mid-Year. 

Mid-Year’s Day had been yesterday, a supposedly festive occasion, but in this weather nobody had felt like throwing parties. Instead the day had passed rather unnoticed with the only remarkable event being their reaching the Gates of Argonath.   

She had been looking forward to seeing the famous pillars for the first time but even that had been a slight disappointment. The low-hanging clouds covered Isildur’s and Anárion’s heads, giving the kings of old a decapitated look. The monument was impressive anyway, of course, and it was hard to fathom that humans were once able to build something so enormous. The statues’ bases were carved out of the very rock itself and in a seamless transition they grew up to reach at least fifty yards above the top of the mountain. 

Peering through the fog over one shoulder she could still dimly see their looming shapes as if the kings were following her on the journey. 

It was not the Argonath she had turned after, however, it was a certain golden-haired elf. Legolas only gave her a slight smile in return before looking away.

What was the matter with him? It had been several days since the misfortune in the lake and it almost seemed he was avoiding her. But why? Was he angry because she insisted that he told the tale of the Fellowship? He had seemed a bit reluctant at first and she had almost instantly regretted asking him, noticing how uncomfortable it made him – especially with everybody else listening.

She was fairly certain he had omitted a great deal of the story, probably the parts that had affected him the most, which was another reason to have a heart-to-heart – so she could ask him to elaborate. Somehow she had a notion he needed that.

Wynne remembered how she had felt after each time she encountered danger. The sleeplessness that followed, fear overcoming her at night. How her heart would pound every time she was reminded of the incident. Talking with Legolas afterwards had helped every time.

Who had he talked with after his frightening experience? Nobody, she suspected.

She hoped to get an opportunity to speak to him soon and until then she just had to be patient.

Being patient was not easy in this bleak weather, however. Torrents of rain whipped her face, hurting her eyes, and nearby Sidra’s youngest wailed pitifully. A tiring, enervating moan that had gone on for hours at end. 

Wynne understood why her friend had brought the child but right now she badly regretted the necessity. 

Unfortunately she would need to have at least one baby herself, for Legolas’ sake. She looked forward to making it but not to be forced to endure its noise.

In the afternoon an increasingly booming rumble told them they neared the Falls of Rauros, another famous sight. The rain was finally subsiding and Thranduil informed them they would camp above the falls. Hopefully then Wynne would get the chance to see at least one of the attractions of the Anduin clearly.

The river widened considerably here, with a barren island in its middle, but since their last unfortunate lake experience nobody wanted to make camp close to this one. Instead they found a good spot on a rounded hilltop with a view both over the lake and the spectacular Falls. It had stopped raining entirely now but above the waterfall hung a perpetual mist, reflecting the afternoon light in rainbow colors.

The Falls of Rauros were huge. The sheer drop was a hundred yards or more and the water cascaded down it with intimidating force. The rumbling escalated to a deafening roar as they came close.

Wynne almost gaped, awestruck at the many strange sights unfolding beneath her. 

Below the mind-numbingly tall Falls she saw the Anduin continuing its route to Minas Tirith, which must be located somewhere beyond the southern horizon. The river grew increasingly wide on its way, fed by a delta of many smaller tributaries from Rohan in the west. 

A vast landscape expanded to the east where the part closest to the river must be the Marsh of Nindalf and further east the Dead Marshes – but they looked nothing like wetlands anymore. Straight channels had been dug in a checkered pattern all over them, leading away excess water to create acre upon acre of dry, fertile fields and neat orchards. 

The area was busy; everywhere she looked, ant-sized people, horses and carts scurried about on unknown errands. 

An enormous wooden structure had been built beside the Falls, and in it she saw an entire boat being elevated by means of an intricate web of ropes and pulleys. 

“This certainly has changed since Nugu and I last passed through here!” Sidra had to yell to be heard over the sound of the cascading water.

“Do you know why they are lifting the boat?” Wynne asked Thranduil.

He bent forward to speak close to her ear. “King Elessar wants to establish a shipping trade route to Rohan and the Elvish realms. I assume this is how he intends to travel against the current.”

She looked back; the boat was almost up now. The lifting contraption ended by the lake, close to their vantage point.

“Go and talk to them,” Thranduil ordered Galion. “Ask if King Éomer is down there and prepare them for our arrival tomorrow. And also mention there will be an uruk-hai coming who must not to be harmed.”

He nodded curtly and cantered down to the shore.

Wynne returned her gaze to the sight below, still having a hard time believing what he saw. She had thought the Argonath statues were an impressive example of the ingenuity of man, but this achievement almost surpassed those. Only to think that all these things had been built, irrigated and planted in just a few years! Her king had certainly kept his workers busy.

Watching the miniature people down there, she again thought of ants. It was a good parallel. She loved watching the anthill behind the stables back home, the busy workers carrying their heavy burdens, effortlessly balancing pine needles several times longer than themselves. Sometimes she would drop a breadcrumb or a dead bug nearby just to see them pick it up and quickly hide it in their mysterious tunnels.

Galion returned. “They are only testing the lift. They said this was the first time they carried a loaded ship up here and it held. Fascinating! They are hoisting it back down now.”

“What about the Rohan king, is he there?” asked Thranduil impatiently.

“Nay, but I bid them to send word to him immediately that we have arrived. His foreman will meet with us tomorrow.”

“Unfortunate, but expected I guess. Not every regent can afford to stay absent from his court for such a prolonged time.” Thranduil looked smug.

Wynne wondered who handled the Woodland realm in his absence. Come to think of it, it was rather strange Thranduil had not let Legolas rule in his stead, since he was the crown prince. 

Or he could have sent his son alone on the quest, with an additional guard perhaps, while he stayed behind. Did he not trust Legolas?

oOo

Since it was the first clear evening for several days they had a proper, warm meal. Nodir and Bronedir went fishing and brought back a pike and a basketful of striped perch. Wynne dug up cattail roots and some sprouts while Sidra baked flat cakes with the last of the meal they had brought from the orc town. There was no need to save their rations any longer; tomorrow they would be back in civilized parts with homesteads and hostels along the way.

It became quite a feast, one of the nicer dinners they had had the entire journey. Even the orclings were happy, especially when Thranduil obliged them with some knee-riding before bedtime.

“He really likes children,” Wynne observed to Legolas.

“They are rare among elves,” he replied. “Those who marry have two elflings, maybe three at the most, and it can take centuries between their births. When I grew up there was none other than me in the Realm.”

He turned away to speak with Nugu, leaving Wynne with unspoken questions. Why did they have so few children, and, more importantly, how? Did they just stop doing… it? 

But surely, to be wed for perhaps thousands of years, and never… No, that couldn't be the case. Or? She was rather sure she would like to do such things more than two or three times in her life. 

“Who wants fire water?” she asked to get something else to think about. It was Mid-Year after all. 

Everybody happily accepted except for Nugu who claimed he already had been forced to drink strong spirits to last for a lifetime. 

“Finally I get a chance to try this famous sugar beet wine! I have been so unlucky the previous times and always was assigned the first watch.” Galion poured a generous amount into his cup.

“Careful.” Thranduil gave him a stern look, making him blush all the way to the tips of his ears.

At Wynne’s questioning look, Legolas grinned impishly. “Why Galion, I believe our Wynne has not heard of your… misfortune that time.”

Galion became even redder and mumbled something inarticulate that sounded vaguely like “not necessary”.

Legolas, of course, couldn’t resist telling everything. Apparently some years back the Elvenking had taken a company of dwarves prisoner. Galion, who was then Thranduil’s butler, had stolen wine from the king and shared it with the prison guard, until they were so drunk they fell asleep. The dwarves had used this opportunity to sneak out and escape in the empty wine barrels, and later caused great havoc by releasing the dragon Smaug and later bringing forth the Battle of the Five Armies. 

Afterwards, Galion had been sacked and assigned the lowest possible position in the Woodland Guard. 

“So now you see why we try to keep him away from anything stronger than fruit juice,” said Bronedir.

“We want these peaceful times to last,” agreed Nodir.

Legolas nodded solemnly. “Aye, we could not risk another war.” 

“I was a terrible butler anyway.” Galion smiled good-naturedly, having overcome most of his embarrassment. “And you have to admit I did well in the Guard. Working my way up to captain and everything.”

“I have still not forgiven you.” Thranduil’s face showed no emotion except for the tiniest upturn in one corner of his lips.

Wynne couldn't resist. “You have.” She playfully elbowed him in the ribs, feeling bold from the half cup of fire water she had had. 

His lips formed a real, warm smile. “I have.”

“You old softie you.”

“ Softie?” His smile vanished.

“But you are. You’re not fooling me.”

Thranduil then did something that made everybody’s eyebrows rise in bafflement. He put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her. “You are a sweet girl.”

Chapter Text

44. The Living Marshes

The tent was too damp for comfort. Wynne slept badly and woke up already before sunrise. Pulling on her clothes she crawled out, trying not to wake her tent mates. 

The past few days she had shared tents with Sidra and the kids, while Nugu had been invited to share with Thranduil and Legolas much to everybody’s surprise. The Elvenking sleeping next to an uruk-hai! But there was a first time for everything, Wynne figured. 

The air outside was humid too, with white swirls of mist covering the fields below. 

She spotted a silent figure ahead, tall as a young tree, lithe and strong, standing beside the Falls like an Argonath. He regarded the flowing water with a faraway look on his beautiful face. 

“Wynne,” he acknowledged. As usual he knew who it was without turning around. 

“Legolas… is something wrong?”

“This is where we sent him. Down the waterfall.” 

“Boromir?” Wynne remembered from his tale that the Gondor warrior had died near the Anduin.

“Aye.”

“Do you miss him?”

“Aye. Despite what he…“ He didn't finish the sentence.

“Want to talk about it?”

He shook his head. 

Wynne didn't press him. That kind of conversation was better suited somewhere more private. Here, the others could wake up at any time.

“Are you avoiding me?” she asked instead.

“Maybe. A little.” He finally tore his eyes from the waterfall and met her gaze, smiling slightly. “Ada knows. Again. There is no hiding things from him.”

Wynne sighed. “What shall we do?”

“We wait a little more… until he meets Aragorn.”

“I don’t want to wait.” She took a step closer and nestled an arm around him. 

“I know.” He looked down at her upturned face, still with that forlorn expression etched on his features. 

She guessed his thoughts remained with his lost friend and the Fellowship. She stroked his cheek, heart aching with sympathy.

His eyebrows drew together. “Do not pity me.”

“I’m sad when you are sad.” She smoothed his creased forehead with her fingertip.

He gave her a light peck on her lips. “Others are waking up. I hear them.” He kissed her cheek, and the other. “You must go. Please.”

Wynne nodded and turned away, chest burning, the feeling of his lips lingering like scorch marks on her skin. 

Never mind Thranduil, she would get him alone and try to comfort him as soon as possible. 

oOo

When they broke camp later that morning, everybody looked unusually clean and neat, dressed in their finer outfits. For the first time in weeks they would meet other people. 

They rode eastward along the ridge to find a less steep way down. According to the men Galion had spoken to, there would be a road somewhere ahead that had replaced the broken old stairs that had been there in ancient times. 

Soon they found it, a dirt path meandering down in wide serpentines across a series of terraces. When they came near, they realized the terraces were man-made and cultivated with rows of green, climbing plants.

“This is a vineyard,” exclaimed Thranduil with some surprise, observing the trellises and growing tendrils where small, golden grapes hung in thin clusters. “By the look of it, none too impressive though.”

“The vines are young yet, I am sure they will improve in years to come.” Galion plucked an unripe grape, crushed it in his hand and smelled it expertly. “Thaun Môr – hard to grow, but will make a lovely red if prepared well.”

“Trust Galion to know about wine,” sniggered Bronedir.

Further down the road, they met the first human, an old man with a donkey cart full of grapevine plants. He stopped when they passed by, eyes bulging. 

“Good day.” Thranduil gave a curt nod.

“G-g-good day sir!” The man bowed so deep he dropped his straw hat and his wrinkled face became beet red. Wynne could feel him staring after them a long time afterwards.

“Well, that went alright I guess,” said Sidra. “At least he didn’t point a pitchfork at my husband.”

“He was probably too awestruck by the elves’ beauty to even notice.” Wynne winked at Legolas, who smiled briefly in return before regaining his somber face. 

He was obviously still brooding over dark memories.

“That is likely,” Thranduil agreed. “Our kind often appears intimidating to mortals.”

“And conceited,” murmured Sidra in Wynne’s ear.

“I heard that.”

The closer they came to the former Marshes, the more people they met; groups of workers, more carts and even the odd horseback rider. It was evident most of them had been forewarned about the company but still they ogled them with wide eyes and open mouths, whispering to each other about the strange sight. 

No wonder, too. Here came five impressively tall and handsome elvish warriors – on meara horses, no less – their finely sculpted faces held high, their long hair flowing in the breeze. As if this was not enough to cause wonder they were followed by a dark-skinned Haradrim woman, a grumpy uruk-hai and two half-orc children. Wynne was the only remotely normal person of the group.

The vineyards ended below the hill and were succeeded by vast orchards. Lemon, orange and apple trees grew in neat rows, still young, yet promising a bountiful harvest when autumn came.

“When I get my own house I’m having lemon trees,” Wynne decided, breathing in the lovely aroma of the white blossoms and tiny, unripe fruits. “Every guest will be served homemade lemonade.” 

“We shall visit you often, then,” said Sidra warmly. “I love lemonade.”

Wynne stifled a sigh. Would she ever have a home of her own, though? Where would she even live? If Thranduil finally accepted her as his son’s bride, customs said she would move to his palace – and that was delved underground. There would be no orchards there, and no heather meadows either. 

A group of riders cantered to meet them, giving Wynne other things to think about. The horses were of a sturdy, common breed, but she still recognized their Rohan origin. 

A dark brown gelding detached from the others and made a halt before Thranduil. The rider looked official, dressed in a short tunic and knee-high boots, and the tip of his hood was so long it reached the horse’s back.

“Greetings, King Thranduil and Prince Legolas.” The man bowed to the royals, obviously recognizing them from description, and then nodded to Wynne and Sidra. “My ladies.”

“Greetings.” Thranduil nodded curtly. “Master…?” 

“How impolite of me, my apologies! I am Lyndon, foreman of the Green Valley, as we call these lands nowadays.”

“Ah, King Éomer’s man. Well met, Master Lyndon.”

“We have already sent word to the king of your arrival, as per your wish – however, I was instructed earlier that if you passed through I was supposed to send you onwards to Osgiliath and Prince Faramir’s city residence.”

“Will the king meet us there?”

“He did not see fit to inform me of his plans but I am sure the prince will know. Oh! That reminds me… Another of the prince’s guests told me to convey a message to you, Prince Legolas.”

Legolas had been regarding the nearby fruit trees dispassionately and started at the mention of his name. “To me?” 

“Yes, sire, from the Lord of the Glittering Caves.”

“Gimli!” His face brightened considerably.

“The Lord Gimli says, wait…” Lyndon fumbled in a leather bag attached to his belt and pulled out a piece of parchment. He cleared his throat and began: “Tell the laddie to hurry and get his pretty little–” His voice faltered. “Uh, I think you better read the rest for yourself.”

Legolas read silently, his grin growing wider.

“Well, are you not going to let us hear it?” Thranduil tried to peek over his shoulder but he quickly folded the letter and stowed it away under his tunic.

“He just says to come and meet him in Osgiliath, and he wants to show a bridge and a gate he built. And he misses me.” Legolas’ smile waned. “Seeing as you would not allow him to prolong his visit in Greenwood, it has been a while.”

He looked a tiny bit guilty. “You know I have bad experiences with dwarves in my realm.”  

“Do you wish to know some of what we accomplished here?” asked the foreman, smoothly breaking the tense atmosphere.

“It would be my pleasure.” Thranduil smiled politely. 

Soon Lyndon was enthusiastically giving them detailed descriptions about the fields, crops, previous harvests and all the work they had done.

The road became wider and busier the closer to the Anduin they got. There were several big wooden wheels by the river, spinning rapidly with water flowing through them.

“These are our mills and saws. Water powers them, see? And you already saw the Lift of Rauros, as we call it.” He pointed at the huge tower where the boat had been elevated.

“This is impressive work,” admitted Thranduil.

“Thank you, sire.” Lyndon beamed like it was he alone who achieved it all. “Now, here starts the Osgiliath Road, which is all new as well. You will find that it follows the Anduin for the most part and there are several good hostels along the way. It should take you four days or so on horseback.”

They thanked the foreman and bid him farewell. Soon they were on their way, making good speed, the fresh gravel of the road crunching under the horses’ hooves. 

Legolas still gazed distractedly at the surroundings, but now a thin smile played on his lips, warming Wynne’s heart. This Gimli was clearly a good friend and meeting him was probably just what Legolas needed after his bleak mood the past days.

Chapter Text

45. Osgiliath Rebuilt

Traveling along a well-kept, large road proved a lot faster than riding in the Brown Lands or the rough terrain of the Emyn Muil. Normally they could cover ten leagues at the most, but here they would make closer to fifteen a day, which Wynne measured by counting the big, square leaguestones along the way. 

The scenery was varied and interesting. To the east she mainly saw farmlands at first, but soon they encountered expansive animal pastures with cows, sheep and even horses grazing in large herds. No mearas, of course, those would hardly have consented to stay behind fences.

To the west, the Anduin became so wide they couldn’t see the other shore. According to the map, however, the land of Anórien was situated there, a northern region of Gondor nowadays. 

They stayed in roadside inns during the three nights spent on the Osgiliath Road. Since no innkeeper was likely to accommodate an uruk-hai under his roof, Nugu wore his hood up to cover his face and carried the kids tucked in under his cloak every time they checked in at these establishments. But he almost didn’t need the disguise – with the elves around, all eyes were continuously drawn to them. Still, just in case, Thranduil made sure nobody was allowed to enter Nugu’s and Sidra’s room, even servants. 

With time, hopefully the peace treaty would be signed, and maybe then it would become possible for orcs and uruk-hai to move freely in the world of men, but it would probably take a long time before the prejudices against that race were entirely gone – if ever.

Wynne slept luxuriously well in the hostels, in her own room, no less! It was a blessing to finally have a real bed, eat nice meals, even take a hot bath for a few extra coins that Thranduil generously provided. Meanwhile, the horses were fed strong, nourishing fodder and groomed by able stablehands. 

The last inn they visited was located near Cair Andros, a wood-clad island in the middle of the river, which Legolas told them had played a part in the War of the Ring. Here an army of orcs had hindered the Rohan riders who came to aid Gondor. But the clever Rohirrim, led by the mighty King Théoden, had taken an old, secret path through the mountains and thus made it in time to the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

When they came closer to Osgiliath the traffic in the road increased further and the bypassers’ stares really began to grate on everybody’s nerves. They increased their pace even more, eager to finally be among people who knew who they were and why they had come.

There were more buildings here and Wynne watched them with curiosity, used as she was to the open plains of northeastern Rohan. The closest to a city she had been in before was the local marketplace. Here she saw farmsteads, two-storey houses, finer villas with pretty gardens, busy workshops, and simple stalls where peddlers tried to sell their goods. 

Word of their arrival must have preceded them. Before they had reached the outer wall of Osgiliath a group of city guards came to escort them the rest of the way. The men were elegantly dressed in tabards with a pattern of white stars evenly scattered over the blue fabric, and in their scabbards hung long, straight swords.

A tall, black-haired man with a neat beard, bowed eloquently to the Elvenking. “Welcome to Osgiliath, Your Majesty. I am Beregond, Captain of the White Company. Prince Faramir awaits your arrival and has prepared rooms for you in his residence.”

Legolas, who had been riding last in line, slid off his horse and went forward, a hand across his heart in greeting. “Beregond! It is very good to see you.”

“Prince Legolas!” He bowed again, a wide recognizing smile on his lips. 

“You look well, Captain. Tell me, how are your wife and sons?”

“All good, all good. Bergil is serving down south, in the prince’s country estate in Emyn Arnen, but Borlas still lives at home with us. He’s talking of becoming a guard like his brother and I, but we’ll see. His mother thinks he should take up trade. But here I babble away, let us get going. There will be a grand feast waiting for you when we arrive!” 

With the guards walking on foot, the last part of the journey took over an hour, but Wynne didn't really mind; the sights, smells and sounds of the city fascinated her. 

Vatna’s hooves clattered loudly on the paved street, the echo amplifying between the walls. Most of the buildings were constructed in stone, save a few wooden ones painted in light colors. The houses were high enough to shadow the streets in an almost eerie way, forcing her to crane her neck to see the roofs with their multitude of pointed turrets and pinnacles. Everything was clean and fresh, it looked brand new. 

It struck her that it really was brand new. Osgiliath had been wiped to the ground by Sauron’s forces during one of his many attacks on Gondor in the past. It seemed near impossible that all this had been rebuilt so soon after the war ended!

She marveled at all the people too; there were so many of them, more than she had met in her life before – gathered here, in one place. It was a bit intimidating and made her feel small and insignificant. It didn't help that they too, like the people on the road, only had eyes for the elves. 

The crowd consisted of humans for the most part, but farther into the city they encountered more and more dwarves. 

Wynne had imagined dwarves to be very short, like children, but this proved not to be the case. These looked to be her own height, some even taller. And with their broad shoulders, strong hands, big feet and rough features they appeared larger still. Every one of them had a beard, and not just any whiskers either, their facial hair was impressive. Long and wide, intricately braided and richly decorated with jewels. Their clothes were a sight as well, made of expensive materials and trimmed with fur and gems. Some dwarves were obviously warriors or guards, carrying armor and big axes, but most toiled in various workshops along the street.

“Lord Gimli’s people have been exceedingly helpful to rebuild our city,” said the captain, noticing Wynne’s curious looks. “Those you see in this street are blacksmiths and tool craftsmen, but in other parts of the city there are carpenters, masons, painters, furniture builders, tailors and even toymakers.”

Thranduil snorted rudely at that and his icy glares in the dwarves’ direction were clear evidence of his contempt for that race. His feelings were reciprocated, judging by their badly hidden hostility as they watched the elves ride by.

Prince Faramir’s city residence turned out to be a white, elaborately crafted mansion with pointed windows, pillared arcades and a rounded set of stairs leading up to a gate with double oak doors. It was located in the central part of the city, surrounded by an open plaza with a fountain. A statue stood on a dais in the clear water, carved to the likeness of two handsome men. One was straddling a prancing warhorse, a sword in one hand and a horn in the other. Beneath him, the other man gripped his leg in a comradely gesture and held a rod of office in his free hand.

“Boromir.” Legolas looked up at the rider, his face melancholy again. 

“Indeed.” Captain Beregond had followed him. “The prince’s beloved brother, and beside him their father Denethor.”

“I cannot see why he would elevate that man thus.” Legolas frowned at the other sculpture. Then he turned to the captain with a smile. “Thanks to you, he survived that man’s madness. It should be you up there.”

The captain laughed and shook his head. “No Your Highness, the steward was a good ruler until he lost his mind, he deserves his son’s love and remembrance. And I did only what any loyal guard would.”

Before Legolas could answer, a roar made them turn back to the mansion. Down the stairs came a dwarf running, two steps at a time despite his short stature. 

Legolas jumped off Stelpa and closed the distance between them in long strides. They met just below the stairs in an embrace that made Legolas’ feet leave the ground and he seemed dangerously close to getting his ribcage cracked.

“Laddie!” The dwarf put the elf down and held him at an arm’s length, observing his fair face. “Ah, ‘tis good to see ye! Still a strapping fella, ain’t ye. Nae aged one bit.” 

Legolas seemed too full of emotion to reply. He just stood there, smiling, eyes misty, while he listened to the warm, rumbling voice of his friend.

“I missed ye, ma lad. Been far too long.” Gimli kissed Legolas soundly on both cheeks and ruffled his hair, disarraying his braids. “Glad ye came before I left. I’ll be going back to ma home in a few weeks, ye see. Ye remember the Glittering Caves, I’m sure – I knew ye liked ‘em too.” The dwarf turned his gaze to Thranduil who still wore the scornful sneer he had kept the entire way through the city. “So, this must be yer pa, then. I ne’er was allowed to meet him when I visited ye. I can see where ye get yer good looks from.” He nodded at him. “G’day King Thranduil.”

“Master Gimli.” He dipped his head so slightly it was barely noticeable.

The dwarf’s hearty countenance turned frosty and his chest swelled in indignation. “Ah, but to ye, ‘tis Lord Gimli,” he huffed. 

Their interaction roused Legolas. “Ada, Gimli, please. None of this.”

The dwarf and the elf looked like they both fought an internal battle, until finally Thranduil yielded. 

“It is a pleasure to meet my son’s friend, Lord Gimli.” Somehow he even managed a thin smile.

“The pleasure’s all mine, sire.” The dwarf bowed. Stiffly, but properly.

The double doors of the mansion opened again, this time to let out a middle-aged man and a gorgeous woman of thirty or so. The woman's golden curls cascaded down to her shapely bottom, and on her arm a little boy shyly hid his face in her ample bosom.

“Welcome! Do come in,” invited the woman in a melodious voice. Even her smile was lovely on pink, shapely lips. 

Wynne could almost feel her face turn green with jealousy. 

“Prince Faramir, Lady Éowyn.” Legolas bowed to each.

Wynne’s jaw dropped. This stunning apparition was her childhood hero? Slayer of the Witch-King, Shieldmaiden of Rohan. Éowyn certainly didn’t look at all like she had imagined. 

“She is beautiful!” There was awe in Sidra’s whisper. ”And such a sweet child. Do you think he and Muzadi can be friends?” 

Nugu didn’t reply, his eyes were fixed on Lady Éowyn too and his mouth slightly open. 

”Stop that,” his wife snapped, giving him an annoyed shove. 

He flinched guiltily, his hood falling back. 

Captain Beregond gasped, eyes widening in recognition. In less than a second his sword was drawn, tip pointing straight at the uruk-hai’s throat. 

”How dare you bring an orc here!” His voice was contorted with anger. 

Chapter Text

46. Meeting an Old Friend

“Drop it.” Thranduil’s voice was commanding but the guard unwaveringly held his stance. 

Nugu didn’t speak. His arms hung at his sides and his eyes were closed as if he expected the killing blow to be dealt at any moment.

“You would die before your sword fell.” Legolas had nocked an arrow and pointed it at the guard.

Nodir and Bronedir followed his example. 

Beregond glanced over his shoulder and saw the three slender metal tips aimed at him and hesitated, but then finally lowered his weapon. “I would not believe this of you, Your Highness.” His glare at Legolas was hurt.

Sidra’s youngest took that opportunity to start wailing, possibly feeling his mother’s tension. The orclings had been riding with her and Galion as usual; they looked enough like humans to make it unnecessary to hide them when people would only see them at a distance, but now everybody’s attention was turned in their direction.

Sidra protectively pressed her son to her chest.

“A baby…” Éowyn began to walk down the steps but her husband caught her arm.

“Careful!”

“Don’t.” She shrugged him off and continued to Sidra, stretching out a tentative hand toward the child. “May I?”

She nodded permission.

The blond woman cupped the small face. “Hello, little one,” she cooed. “Let me see you, then.”

The wailing stopped. The baby had caught sight of Éowyn’s son who still rested on her hip and the other boy peered back with curiosity.

“Mama, he’s gray.”

“Shh, Elboron, don’t be rude.”

“Yes he is.” Sidra smiled at the boy. “His papa is a half-orc, that’s why.” She boldly met Éowyn’s gaze, proudly keeping her head high. 

“That half-orc?” She nodded in Nugu’s direction.

“My husband, yes. Nugu, why won’t you introduce yourself? Properly, if you will.”

Nugu looked less than pleased with the suggestion but obeyed. Wynne had always marveled at the power his wife held over him; she certainly wasn’t stronger, but maybe it was an age thing? She was the older of the two. Or it could just be their different personalities.

“I am Nugu, son of Staurz, but I’d rather forget his name. Originally from Isengard, now the Free Orc Town in Emyn Muil.” He bowed stiffly.

“I feel some explanations are due here. Free Orc Town?” Faramir frowned. 

Next to his beautiful wife the man was easy to forget, but now Wynne turned to observe him. He seemed kind, somehow reminding her of her father – but wearing finer clothes. As for colors, he had the typical Gondorian complexion with dark hair and gray eyes.

“Everything shall be explained but this is hardly the place,” said Thranduil. “I take full responsibility for the uruk-hai. You have nothing to fear from him.”

“Then you must come in,” said Faramir. 

“Are you really inviting an orc under your roof, Your Highness?” Beregond still seemed upset, and Wynne noticed he had not sheathed his sword.

“Yes I am, Captain.” He turned to the others. “Sorry about this… intermezzo. I want you to feel welcome under my roof. Allow my grooms to care for your horses while you are shown to your rooms. I’m sure you will want to refresh yourself before dinner.”

As they went inside, Legolas peered at his dwarf friend. “Have you grown taller?” 

“What? Nay…” Gimli’s face reddened under the ginger beard. “I’ll leave ye to find yer room. See ye later then.” He tried to leave but the elf blocked his path and bent to curiously examine his stout, iron capped boots. 

“Why are your soles so thick?”

“Umm, well, er…” The dwarf tried to hide his feet. “‘Tis the latest fashion from our Shoemaker’s Guild,” he murmured. 

“It has become fashionable for dwarves to walk on… stilts?” Legolas’ grin turned into a chuckle.

“Naething funny about it,” scowled Gimli. “Quite the rage in the city. Everybody who’s anybody wears ‘em. And I gotta try the merchandise, ye ken. As a leader one must encourage–” But his voice was drowned by Legolas’ laughter.

“Gotta go,” the dwarf growled and stomped off.

“You mean stilt walk,” Legolas called after his retreating back.

“I thought they were taller than I had heard.” Wynne smiled too. It was good to hear Legolas laugh again even if it was at the expense of his friend.

Actually, high soled boots were not such a bad idea. She wouldn’t have minded adding some extra inches to her own height. Maybe she should have a word with that shoemaker…

The guest rooms were located in one of the wings of the mansion and there seemed to be a ridiculous amount of them. They walked through long, carpeted corridors with rows of doors on either side. How many visitors did they usually have, this prince and his lady? 

Wynne paid careful attention when her friends were assigned rooms. There was one elf she particularly wished to speak privately to, and she stifled a giggle at the thought of knocking on Thranduil’s door by mistake. Somehow she figured he wouldn’t find that funny at all!

Her own room was airy and luxurious, with a window overlooking a neat, walled park. The bed was amazingly soft and bouncy. 

A dark haired girl came in with Wynne’s pack and curtsied. “I’m Sadoreth, m’lady, your personal maid during your stay. Anything you need? Maybe a bath before the evening meal? And I shall unpack the bag for you.”

“Oh. No, I’m all good, thank you.” Wynne dismissed the girl as politely as possible. 

A personal maid, why would she need that? Well, except maybe for pouring a bath, but she already had one yesterday at the inn. 

She unpacked the bag herself instead, for the first time glad of the two dresses Mother had insisted she take. Until now they had only been extra weight on the pack horses. They were rather too revealing for Wynne’s taste, but of course that had been part of her mother’s plan. Show skin, catch an elf. 

How silly all that seemed now! Cringing in embarrassment, Wynne recalled her pathetic attempts at flirting with Thranduil. No wonder he thought she didn’t know the difference between love and desire after witnessing that display! 

While she put one of the dresses on, it struck her that in a way, her mother’s plan would be fulfilled if she married Legolas. She had designated him to be Wynne’s second choice, because he was a prince. 

She shuddered. Thranduil could never know that, and actually it was best if Legolas was kept in the dark as well, even though she didn’t like to keep secrets from him. 

Thank Béma, she had not tried any seduction schemes with Legolas! That, at least, wouldn’t taint their relationship. When she began to have feelings for him she had long since abandoned Mother’s plan and her actions toward him had never been anything but honest. 

There was a full-figure mirror in the room and she went to stand in front of it. Her hair was a mess as usual and in the fine dress it became even more obvious how unladylike she was. Her hands were rough with a few nails broken, her face much too tanned and she had more freckles than ever after a summer outdoors. 

Why did Éowyn have to be so lovely? It would feel awkward to be in the same room as her.

It was time to go, and trying to smooth out her frown and straighten her back, Wynne left for dinner.

When she arrived she stopped to admire the beautiful dining room. It had many large, arched windows overlooking the same park as her guest room, and in the middle a set of double doors were partly opened to let in the mild evening air, taking with it the sweet scent of honeysuckle. Two chandeliers in the ceiling and several sconces on the walls spread a warm light and on the inner walls hung tapestries that she would like to look closer at later. One seemed to picture a battle scene, maybe even from the War of the Ring? Now that Legolas had told her of those famous battles she was for the first time interested to learn more about them. 

The host and hostess stood with their little boy to welcome the guests. There were a few unfamiliar faces but mostly it was their own company, for which Wynne was grateful. She didn’t like big crowds.

“You must be the young Lady Örn, Lord Vinur’s daughter,” said Éowyn when they curtsied to each other, she very elegantly and Wynne not so much. “I have heard much good about your House. My uncle would always speak warmly of your amazing horse breed and now that I have seen them for myself I can understand why.”

Wynne instantly regretted her petty jealousy before. This woman seemed like a nice person. “Thank you, my lady, and I heard so much about you too,” she blurted, for now it struck her she was in fact standing in front of the Shieldmaiden herself and she became quite at loss what to say.

Luckily, Sidra came in just then, and unaware of such things as etiquette she took the lady’s hand and shook it heartily. “I heard of what you did in the war and everything. Legolas told us just the other day and it’s frankly amazing! I’m so impressed. Are you still a warrior? Or maybe your son takes up too much of your time.” She tried to tousle the boy’s hair where he stood beside his mother but Elboron quickly evaded her and hid behind her beautiful, white dress. 

The lady laughed but looked pleased too. “Sadly there is not much time for sparring these days and now that we have peace there really is no need for it either. But I train to become a healer.” She grinned. “I never was one for sitting quietly indoors with my embroidery.”

“Nothing wrong with a lady undertaking needlework.” Thranduil had joined the hall, last of them all – probably to make a grand entrance, Wynne suspected. 

If that was the case he certainly succeeded; all heads turned his way. He wore a stunning robe, woven of pure silver (how was that even possible?) with a matching circlet resting lightly atop his silky hair. On his elegant fingers were several large rings.

Had all that finery been stowed away in his bags this entire time? No wonder the elves had needed so many pack horses and only had room for three tents!

Despite her slight annoyance at this, Wynne was awestruck at the sight of Thranduil in his king persona. He had never looked more majestic in all the time she had known him, and like earlier in their acquaintance, he frightened her. This was not the same elf who would snore at night in their shared storage bedroom and say she was a sweet girl, or who she could playfully buff in the chest and call Thranny. This was the Elvenking. This elf could send prisoners to their death with just a nod.

“King Thranduil.” Éowyn also appeared intimidated and her curtsy was deeper than before. “I am honored to invite you to our table.”

“As am I, Your Majesty.” Prince Faramir bowed.

“The honor is mine. Your house is beautiful.” He looked around him admiringly.

“We have Lord Gimli to thank for that. His brilliant workers built it in just over two years.” 

“Indeed? That is rather impressive.” 

Faramir and Thranduil commenced to discuss architecture and dwarven craftsmanship while Wynne tried to spot Legolas, hoping at least he would look his normal self. She didn’t think she could handle it if he was as imposing as his father. 

She spotted him standing by his friend Gimli, looking happier than he had in days. He wore a pale robe, less impressive than Thranduil’s but still elegant, and he too wore a circlet on his head. It looked a bit uncomfortable, and probably was too; Wynne noticed him scratch under it one or two times.

He was less imposing, yes, but this still was another side of Legolas than Wynne had seen before. He looked like a prince. 

Why must he be a prince? 

She fervently wished they were back on the road, him in his hunter’s green and worn hose, her in her comfortable tunic. She was not a dress person. If they wed, would she have to wear them all the time? Would he be princely all the time? 

She knew the answer to both questions. Yes, and yes. This was what married life with Legolas would be like: Éowyn’s and Faramir’s life. Dining in a fine hall, wearing uncomfortable outfits, entertaining an armada of guests and having servants around to continually ask if one needed anything.

The room began to simmer and Wynne hurried toward the double doors, escaping out in the park with burning eyes.

She couldn’t do it.

Chapter Text

47. Meeting a Lady Dwarf

Wynne stopped just outside the doors, struggling to compose herself and hold back her tears. She stood in a wide patio with the honeysuckle she smelled before tied to a pergola above her head; a chaotic disarray of pale, odd-shaped flowers, green leaves, and twining tendrils trying to escape in all directions. 

She appreciated how unlike it was the orderly flower beds and pruned bushes in the rest of the park. It was refreshing with a plant that wouldn’t follow rules. Rebelliously it refused to stay where it was supposed to be and it would only emit its sweet fragrance at night. 

Wynne wished she wouldn’t have to follow rules either. Never had the secluded cottage life with Legolas in her daydream felt more alluring.

A blond dwarf came out too and Wynne nodded politely, hoping her eyes were not red. He nodded back, the golden curls of his long beard flowing over his chest. His mustache was plaited into two braids and threaded with polished amber beads.

“Ye dinnae like crowds either?” he asked in a distinctly female voice. 

Wynne started in surprise, eyebrows rising.

“What?” The dwarf sounded annoyed.

“Sorry! Eh no, I don’t like crowds much, Master…?” 

“Miss, and ma name is Cheery. Ye are?”

“Wynne.”

She tried not to stare rudely at the lady dwarf despite her curiosity. Was there really no difference at all between male and female dwarves?

Gimli came out, drawing a deep breath. “Ah, lovely smell. And ye are lovely as well, ma lassies!” He kissed them both on their hands and seemed not to notice the lady dwarf rolling her eyes.

“Always the flirt, are ye,” she quipped. “Nae more of that with her or I shall be busy washing ma beard tonight.”

“How could a dwarf have eyes for another lass when yer beauty radiates brighter than mithril?” he replied smoothly. “Besides, she’s already spoken for.” He winked knowingly at Wynne.

“That ne’er stopped ye before,” muttered Cheery.

“Come, let’s nae quarrel.” He held out his arm to her. “I came to tell ye dinner’s ready.” 

Wynne followed the dwarf couple back inside, feeling a little less upset. Legolas must have told his friend about her almost directly and that warmed her heart. In addition, the fresh night air and unkempt honeysuckle had helped to calm her and she now began to think more rationally. 

Legolas loved her and he wouldn’t stand silently by if she was unhappy. They could maybe have a summer house or something? Even royalty must be allowed to relax from time to time, she figured.

She was seated between Thranduil and Faramir at dinner, and still feeling slightly intimidated by the former, she decided to talk to their host instead.

“A lovely garden you have here, my lord. I loved the honeysuckle.”

Smiling, he acknowledged the compliment. “It’s a bit wild but my wife loves it too.”

Wynne decided to introduce the reason for their visit. “Yes, talking of wild… The uruk-hai we brought really is very different from–”

“My lady, please…” he interrupted. “Let us save that talk for after dinner. And then he ought to tell his own story. Let me hear about you instead; tell me about your home and your horses.”

This, of course, was a subject she didn’t at all mind engrossing herself in. Faramir was a very good listener, attentive and seemed genuinely interested. 

After the second course, however, his butler came to ask him something about the wine and he had to excuse himself. 

Thranduil quickly took the opportunity to engage Wynne in conversation. “Are you well? You went outside in such a hurry before.” There was concern in his clear eyes, and Wynne finally saw him again under his king pose. 

She gave him an honest reply. “I’m just a bit intimidated by all this finery… the dresses, servants, luxurious dinners. Riches…” She reached out to touch the large blue stone of the ring he wore on his index finger. “That looks heavy.”

“It is not.” He captured her hand to stop her fidgeting. “You look very nice in a dress. You are a woman; you cannot keep wearing men’s clothes forever.”

“I guess not.” She sighed.

“You do not wish for this kind of life, then?” His gaze was imploring, like he tried to read her mind. 

Her mouth went dry, why had she revealed that? Now he probably thought of what an unsuitable wife she would be for his son. 

“I could get used to it,” she said a bit too quickly.

“And be unhappy.” He pressed her hand. “Make no hasty decisions, Wynne. Think it through thoroughly.” 

She didn’t have to ask him what he was talking about and when she glanced in Legolas’ direction she noticed his eyes on them. He looked serious. He must have been listening to every word they said and heard what a mess she made of it all.

oOo

After dinner when the servants efficiently had cleared the table and melted away into the shadows, Faramir finally declared himself ready to hear about the free orcs. 

Nugu rose, looking extremely uncomfortable, and told a shorter version of how he and his friends had deserted the army and found shelter in the hills of Emyn Muil, where they later had encountered the Elvenking and his companions. 

Thranduil supplied his part, describing how the orc healer had saved his son, and that they had become friends enough for him to wish for peace between their races. 

Wynne was surprised he mentioned nothing at all about their animosity in the beginning, and from Nugu’s wide eyes it was clear he was too. 

Thranduil then summarized the contents of the peace treaty and finished with his promise to the orc leader that he would try to make the other races of Middle-earth sign it as well. “I believe this treaty to be beneficial to all of us. The orcs are skilled in many crafts, and wish to establish trade with us.” 

“We intend to grow,” added Nugu earnestly, looking less nervous now. “If we had peace and freedom to move outside our town we could try and locate other tribes. Maybe find orcs who never even knew Sauron, who were born free!” He seemed excited over the prospect.

Faramir had listened intently, now he stood. “Why did you desert?” His sharp eyes were fixed on the uruk-hai. He seemed not satisfied with the abbreviated explanation. 

“It’s a long story,” he muttered, assuming his familiar scowl. But to his credit, he told it anyway this time, all of it, even the repulsive truth about Saruman’s uruk-hai breeding and some heartbreaking parts of his own upbringing. 

When he was done, the room was so silent one could have heard an elf’s footsteps. 

Gimli brusquely stood, his chair turning over and rattling to the floor. “Melkor’s arse! I wish I’d peeled the hide of that bangled bawbag of a wizard! To do such things to lassies… to bairns…“ His voice broke and his deep set eyes brimmed with tears.

Then he bowed deeply to the surprised uruk-hai. “The Lord of the Glittering Caves shall sign yer treaty.”

“I’m certain King Elessar will sign as well.” Faramir’s face was white and he looked ready to throw up.

After hearing the uruk-hai’s tale, the ambience around the table had become somber, and nobody seemed inclined to stay up long and talk. 

The host bid his guests a good night and invited them to stay in his house for as long as they wished, and then added: ”Tomorrow we shall be merry and celebrate your successful quest in the Brown Lands, but let us now retreat for some well earned rest.”

Back in her room, Wynne had no intention to go to sleep, and as quickly as possible she dismissed the unnecessary maid. She could very well undress and combe herself, thank you. 

With relief, she pulled off her uncomfortable dress, glad to be able to draw deep breaths again. Dresses really were instruments of torture. Would she ever get used to them? 

She found a flimsy night robe in her wardrobe to pull over her chemise before leaving her room on tiptoes. There was an elf nearby who probably needed to be cheered up.

Chapter Text

48. Cheering Up an Elf

Wynne tiptoed through the corridor until she found the right door. Knocking once, she fervently hoped Thranduil, whose room was nearby, wouldn’t hear too. 

There was a slight shuffle and then Legolas opened. He wore a night robe as well, darker and of a more masculine cut. He looked tired.

“Can I come in?” Without waiting for an answer she dived under his arm and went to sit on his bed. His room was almost a copy of hers, sharing the same view of the park.

“You should not,” he murmured, but instead of turning her out he closed the door and sat beside her, drawing his knees up to rest his chin on them. 

The posture made him appear younger than usual, and very unhappy.

“I made a fool of myself tonight, didn’t I?” she muttered. “Running out like that… in front of everyone.” With everyone she meant Thranduil.

“I understand why you did it. I heard what you said to Ada.” He sighed. “I should not force you to live a life with servants, dresses and finery you never asked for. I have been selfish. And foolish… It was a stupid dream. A castle in the air.”

“Don’t say that.” Wynne bit her lip to refrain from crying. “I can handle it. I can learn…”

“You shouldn’t have to. I do not want that life for you.” He looked at his toes peeking out from under the robe. “I don’t even want that life for myself, for the Valar’s sake… These past months on the road, and before that, during my time with the Fellowship… that kind of life is me. I’m not cut out to be a leader, to give orders and manage a kingdom.” He wiped away a tear. “And I hate living in a cave. Our palace is underground, as I think I mentioned, and when I was little I’d sneak out all the time to run in the forest. And Ada would have his guards bring me back, and I’d be locked up in my rooms for days.” The words came tumbling out, quite unlike his normal refined way of speaking. ”I knew I’d be caught but as soon as I was released I sneaked out again anyway.” 

Wynne silently wrapped her arms around him, not knowing what to say or do. Perhaps it was enough to just be there.

“Ada had to give in eventually and allow me to go out when I needed to. He’d send Galion along to babysit me, usually.” He laughed mirthlessly. “Poor Galion. But I never liked stone. I never liked cities.”

“I agree. They should put some trees in them. And flowers. I can have a word with Prince Faramir about that. It would be just what Osgiliath wants.” 

“Trees and flowers in a city? You are strange.” He smiled weakly. 

“I think it’s a great idea.” She pulled on his shoulder until he lay back on the bed where she could stretch out beside him. “I would love to run through a forest with you. Without Galion, preferably. I can think of many things to discover just the two of us.” She put innuendo in her voice. 

His eyes were still misty when he returned her gaze. “I would love that too.” He pulled her in for a hard kiss. 

She felt his longing, his need for her, and her body became aflame with the same emotions. The kiss grew intense and hungry. Their bare legs touched and intertwined, skin against skin. 

When lying down, their height difference was no hindrance and Wynne pressed herself against his hardness. The sensation was unlike anything she had experienced before. She was on fire and wished there were no clothes at all between them. 

As she had done once before, she slid her hand under his shirt. Her fingers trailed his silky chest, exploring the unfamiliar landscape. 

Legolas hesitated to follow her example and she remembered her reaction that time. Taking his hand, she guided it to a breast. “Touch me.”

He obeyed and this time she was prepared. This time she didn’t flinch when he cupped it. Instead his touch increased her need for him, and when his thumb softly rubbed her nipple she almost stopped breathing. All she could think of was how good it felt, and how her body responded.

“You are so beautiful.” His voice was husky. “No matter how bad I feel, just being near you makes it better.”

“Then you must understand this has to be. It’s not a stupid dream.” She kissed his forehead. “And you’re no more selfish than I, who would force you to watch me grow old and die while I have a young husband all that time.”

He rubbed away another tear. “Losing someone is hard,” he admitted. “But I know it would be worth it. Even a short time of happiness is better than an eternity alone.”

They kissed again, a slow kiss full of feelings. 

Then she remembered the reason she had come tonight and her intention to cheer him up. “What has been on your mind lately?” She pulled back so she could meet his eyes. “You have been quiet ever since Rauros.”

He looked away. “Many things. War… death… the sea. I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Perhaps you should, though. I find it often helps… You know, like I have done about the orc kidnapping and when I told you how I evaded the lake monster. You always comforted me afterwards. And now I want to comfort you.” Her chest swelled with sympathy. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

He frowned. “I told you I don’t want your pity. Or anyone’s.”

“You sound like it’s a bad thing. Whether I feel pity or sympathy or whatever it won’t matter because I love you. Like in the orc cave when you were sick. It only made me love you more to see that you were real, and could hurt, and could be afraid – just like me.” She paused to draw a breath, suddenly overcome by emotion.

He looked surprised at her outburst. “You are strange,” he said again, but he made it sound like a compliment somehow.

“No. I just want to share your burdens – and you to share mine.” She pulled his face closer, boring her eyes into his. “It’s because I care about you, you dumb elf.”

He snorted. 

“I know you’re hurting and missing your friend who died and that’s alright.” She kissed his cheek and then his lips. “I know horrible things must have happened to you during the quest that time. I still think talking about them would make you feel better.”

“Hm.” She could see emotions flicker across his features as he pondered this. Then he gave her a resigned smile. “Alright then. It is just that the past days I have relived some rather horrible memories… of the war. Memories I had hoped were safely buried.” He rolled onto his back, looking at the ceiling as he spoke. “At first, after Sauron’s defeat, I had decided to travel to the sea. I had seen seagulls and they reminded me that we elves have another option than dying; we can sail to Aman, the Undying Lands, and I had made up my mind to do so soon. I figured I could find healing there, and a way to forget.”

Wynne had heard of Aman, the island in the far west to which only elves could get. 

“But then I returned home and realized how my quest had affected Ada. He and I were always different and I have never really understood him, I think, but that day I understood him better. How lonely he is and how many he lost… his friends… his parents… his wife. How his heart would break if he lost me too.”

“Couldn’t he sail to Aman as well?” 

“For some reason he has stayed in Middle-earth despite all his losses. I almost got the impression he is afraid to go, though that sounds strange.”

”What happened to your mother?” 

”I killed her when she gave birth to me. Aye, I know it was not my fault,” he added before she could object. 

Wynne’s heart ached for Thranduil. No wonder he found it hard to let go of his son if he had nobody else left, and nowhere else to go.

“When I left with the Fellowship it was against Ada’s orders. I was only meant to bring a message to Elrond and then return, but instead I did like when I was an elfling and ran away. That time, though, I didn’t go on a harmless walk in the forest to climb trees or practice with my bow. This journey was dangerous. It could have killed me or maimed me. And it changed me. I was not the same elf when I returned.” He sighed heavily. “And so I decided to stay for his sake, and try to forget everything without leaving Middle-earth. It worked. Until Rauros… When I saw that place again where we lost Boromir everything sort of came back to me.” 

“I am glad you stayed or we wouldn’t have met.”

He pulled her closer without replying.

“Tell me about the quest.”

“Again?” 

“You didn’t tell everything the last time.”

“Nay, I did not.” 

“I want to hear it. Those bad memories – tell me about them.” 

This time he obeyed without persuasion, voice soon becoming unsteady with emotion. 

When his sad tale unfolded Wynne couldn’t hold back her tears. She had never really thought about what the members of the Fellowship had endured. Her own experiences this summer had been dangerous and frightening many times, but that was nothing in comparison. Legolas had been through countless terrifying situations and seen so much death and pain close up. 

He talked about loss; the pain of losing a friend forever. Boromir had been a mortal and he would never see him again. But there were others too, men he had only known briefly, but fought together with and then seen them die. 

He also described what it had felt like to kill. Not orcs, for at that time he had thought them little more than animals, but humans, such as the Corsairs and the Haradrim. He had heard their shrill cries in pain when his weapons cut them and spilled their blood, felt their fear, watched the light fade in their eyes as they died. He had so many lives on his conscience.

Wynne felt nauseous at that. The loving and kind elf beside her, whose tears were wetting his pillow, was also a killer. It didn’t fit into the picture; as if that puzzle piece belonged to someone else. But killing was what warriors did. 

“I see their faces sometimes at night, like they have come back to judge me,” he murmured, remorse tinting his voice. “I hear their voices too. ’Was it really necessary to shoot me?’ they ask. And I think of what I have done. Children orphaned, women made widows, all because of me. Most of the enemies probably just obeyed orders, they had no choice – like Nugu. And I killed them.” He silenced, drawing a ragged breath.

“You had no choice either,” she replied firmly. “It had to be done or we would all have been doomed.” 

”I know, I know. It still hurts to think about.”

“And that’s why you are not like Sauron and the bad people. Because you hated what you had to do.” She kissed away a tear from his cheek. 

He didn’t reply. 

Wynne started to comb through his hair with her fingers, trying to soothe him. First now, she could begin to fathom the enormous sacrifice they had made to save Middle-earth; the Fellowship, the soldiers, everybody involved. 

She wondered if the others she had met also suffered. Did Gimli, Faramir and Éowyn lay awake at night, reliving the horrors, seeing ghosts from the past?

“Do you think less of me?” It was barely more than a whisper.

“Of course not.”

“But I’m weak.” He barked a short laugh that sounded like a sob. “Just a fine warrior I am, crying over dead enemies. Afraid of the dark.”

“Weak? Afraid? You?” She huffed. “You forget all the times I’ve seen you battle orcs and lake monsters and trolls and…”

“The troll fight went well, aye,” he said bitterly.

“You never hesitated to attack and you didn’t run even when it hurt you.”

”But I feared it.”

“Of course you did, you’re not stupid. I think it’s braver to be afraid and still go out and do what you have to do.”

“Oh Wynne, I love you so much.” His voice was distorted. “Thank you for comforting me.” 

“When you’re sad, I’m sad, remember?” She hugged him close, wishing she could take away all his bad memories. But that was impossible. He would have to learn to live with them. “I’m glad you told me. I don’t think keeping everything inside you was good.”

Her fingers resumed their caress of his hair and after a while she felt his body relax and his breathing become even. 

“You were right, it does feel better,” he murmured drowsily. “Please, stay with me.”

“I will never leave you,” she breathed into his hair. 

But of course she had to; this was not out in the wilderness, there would be servants talking if they found a lady in the prince’s bed. She waited until she heard he was asleep, and then silently untangled herself from his warm body.

When she closed the door behind her she nearly bumped into someone, a stout figure coming out of the opposite room. 

“Gimli!” she whispered, surprised. His own room was in another corridor.

The dwarf started, looking guilty. Then he saw where she had come from and his expression changed into a knowing grin. “I didnae ken ye were that close already,” he sniggered. “I thought elves were all proper about… such things.”

“We have done nothing wrong,” she retorted, annoyed by his insinuation. “As I am sure you haven’t either.”

“Me? Ehm.” He coughed. “I’d better be off. Getting a wee late! Night-night, lassie!” He hurried away, his embroidered night robe billowing behind him.

Chapter Text

49. Preparing For a Party

“I knew they would be friends! Look how cute Elboron is, lending his little wood horse to Muzadi. Nugu? Nugu!” Sidra elbowed her husband whose eyes again had strayed to the boy’s mother. “Would you quit that,” she hissed.

“Um what?” His face turned a darker shade of gray.

“They are all doing it,” murmured Wynne, observing the company on the patio where chairs had been set out for the guests to enjoy the midday sun. Nodir and Bronedir sat on either side of the Shieldmaiden, engaging her in conversation, and a bit further away even Thranduil threw glances in her direction. 

Well not all, actually. Galion was more interested in playing with the children and Legolas did his stomach-strengthening exercises on the lawn. He looked unusually content today, and if he gazed at anyone, Wynne smugly noticed it was mostly at her.

Gimli came out to join them, his girlfriend in tow. “Ach, lovely morning!” 

“Try noon,” remarked Thranduil dryly. 

Éowyn abandoned the elven brothers and moved her chair to Wynne’s and Sidra’s. “Your sons are adorable, madam,” she said with a dimpled smile. 

Dimples? She even had bloody dimples! When Eru dealt out graces to his creations he must somehow have slipped and given a double share to this woman.

Sidra beamed at the praise. “Please, call me Sidra. And your boy is lovely as well. Is he going to be a big brother soon?” She indicated Éowyn’s waist, that, now that she pointed it out, actually seemed a bit swollen.

“He shall, aye.” Éowyn laughed happily. “This autumn. You must advise me how to best break it to Elboron. Your boys seem to get along so well!” 

The women began to speak animatedly about siblings and childbirths, and Wynne’s attention swiftly returned to Legolas who had just finished his last sit up. 

He wiped his face on a towel and came to sit cross legged by her feet, ignoring his father’s frown. “What a fine day! And tonight a feast too. Will there be dancing?” he asked Éowyn.

“We could have dancing if you like,” she dimpled. “My husband has engaged a group of musicians for tonight and I’m sure they can play anything we ask them.”

“Dinnae serve strong drinks to the laddie, mind ye,” sniggered Gimli, pulling a chair to sit by them. “Has Master Elf told ye of our drinking contest?” 

“Not much,” said Wynne, smirking. She knew he had not been honest that time!

“Let’s talk about something else,” Legolas suggested. “My lady, I must compliment you on this park. The honeysuckle is amazing and those cute linden saplings over there too.”

“Thank you. Faramir and I have actually been meaning to talk to you and your father about trees.”

“Oh? I love talking about trees.” His face lit up, despite Gimli’s rumbling laughter and sly comment about elves and their trees.

“The forests around our estate in Emyn Arnen are in a sad state after the many wars. We have been meaning to employ some of your wood-elves to restore the entire Ithilien if we can. Faramir can probably give you the details about payment and such when he is back from today’s meetings downtown.”

“I am sure my father would freely supply saplings and workers to such a noble cause.” He seeked out Thranduil’s gaze.

“Of course, my lady, it would be my pleasure to help.” He drew his chair nearer. 

Soon the three of them were deep into an engaged conversation about Éowyn’s visions for her country, with the elves supplying ideas about suitable tree species and how to provide the human inhabitants with firewood and building materials without disturbing the forests. 

Wynne listened, not without interest. She loved the idea of a country where humans lived in harmony with nature. Perhaps with horses grazing under the trees?

As evening approached, she became a bit nervous about the impending party. If there would be dancing and everything, should she not at least try to look a little finer than a peasant girl? 

She decided to accept Sadoreth’s offer of a bath and then had to look on as an army of servants bustled in with buckets and towels. 

“Do you need help bathing, m’lady?” asked the girl when the tub finally was filled. 

“No thank you.” She shuddered. Did fine folk even have servants washing their naked bodies for them? Had they really no sense of privacy at all?

When finally alone, Wynne sank into the tub and leaned back with closed eyes, enjoying the calming warmth. 

Was Legolas having a bath as well right now? It was likely; he probably bathed every day if he could. What would he do if she sneaked into his room and joined him? She grinned at the thought. Would he be shocked? Or happy? 

If they were married he would certainly be happy. She could picture him pulling her down into the water to sit on his lap. Then he would touch her like he did yesterday, caressing her naked skin…

Tentatively, she touched her nipple, but it didn’t feel the same to do it herself. Her fingers traveled downward instead to where she had felt him when he pressed herself against him. She imagined her hand and fingers were his body. That actually did feel a bit like it had yesterday, even better because there were no clothes in the way. 

Why had she never thought of trying this before? Of course, she normally never bathed alone; back home she would be in the laundry room with Mother or Grandmama nearby. But in bed at night? 

Well, she certainly could begin now. Might not be a bad idea to practice a little before she would get the real deal, she figured.

The bathwater had gone cold when she got up to dress, feeling unusually relaxed. She chose her other dress this time. It had a rusty red color and a ridiculously low cut that made her breasts almost fall out. Maybe Legolas would like that though? He certainly seemed to enjoy touching them. This way he would be able to see part of them as well…

Her hair was obstinate as usual. She combed it as well as she could but without the elvish hair oil it surrounded her head like a brown, fluffy sheep. If only… She had an idea.

Again on her tiptoes, she walked down the corridor and knocked at the now familiar door, secretly hoping its inhabitant would open wearing very little.

“Wynne! You cannot keep coming here…” Legolas hustled her inside, quickly shutting the door. 

He did indeed not wear much, only his shift, with the night robe hastily thrown over it. He smelled lovely, his long hair still damp and unbraided. 

“I love your dress.” His eyes were glued to her cleavage.

“Can you do my hair?”

“I really should not…” But he was already moving to her side. 

With a pleased grin she sat on his bed while he commenced to plait her hair like he had twice before. It felt like ages ago. That time she had still been shy even to look at him. Now she kissed him after he had finished, stroking his bare back under his shirt while he explored the visible parts of her cleavage.

After a long time he reluctantly broke the kiss, and with Wynne as a happy onlooker he dressed himself in almost black hose and a tunic with embroidered green leaves.

“That is my name.” He indicated a leaf. “Legolas means ’green leaves’ in our language.”

When he began to plait his own hair she noticed it was in a different pattern than his usual. He made three fishtail braids on each side of his head, just like he had done on her. 

“My father will explode when he sees this.” He smiled nervously.

“Because you made the same braids on you?”

“Aye. It means we are courting.” He hesitated. “Ada distinctly forbade me to court you until we come to Minas Tirith, so he can observe how you manage in finer society. His words.” He gave her a featherlight kiss on her cheek. “But I shall not obey. Not this time.” He repeated the action on her other cheek, sending chills down her spine. “I am an adult. He has no power over me.”

“I don’t want to stand between you.”

“You will not. He likes you.”

But Wynne was not so sure and she felt a twinge of misapprehension. She did believe Thranduil cared for her, he was not one to feign such emotions, but she was also certain he wouldn’t hesitate to take any measures to protect his son. If he thought she was bad for Legolas he would find a way to get rid of her. 

“Should we really, though?” She anxiously fingered her braids, quite forgetting it was she who had asked for them. 

Legolas took her hand and kissed her palm. “Aye. I am tired of the pretense. Last night it became so obvious to me how much I need you. I think you and I are meant to be together. Call it destiny if you will, or perhaps we were just lucky to meet. We are good for each other.”

She pondered that and then nodded. “We are. I am never more happy than when I am near you. Even talking about sad things with you feels good.”

“I am glad you see it the same way. It will help us resist. It will help us persist.” He fetched the circlet he had worn yesterday and placed it on his head. “I hate this thing,” he grumbled. Then he held out his arm to her. “Shall we?”

With her stomach full of butterflies, she obeyed, placing a small hand on his arm. 

They left his room together, walking side by side toward the dining room. Then a voice full of surprise and displeasure came from behind them.

“Legolas! And… Wynne!”

Chapter Text

50. A Furious Elvenking

“Adar,” Legolas acknowledged, straightening his back. 

Thranduil looked more regal than ever, wearing a spectacular gray tunic inlaid with tiny diamonds that created a dazzling brilliance together with his crown. 

“What on Arda do you think you are doing?” His sharp, piercing eyes impaled them like they were his twin swords. 

“Courting.” Legolas' voice was steady but she felt his tension through their joined hands.

His father didn’t reply. He didn’t have to, that silent fury was more frightening than any words.

“Ada… Please...” Legolas swallowed, the feigned calmness swiftly dissolving. “I-uh figured, if you want to observe her, you could as well do it while we are courting.” His forehead creased in defiance. “It is not like courtship is irrevocable.”

“I thought we had an agreement.” His voice could have frozen Mount Doom. 

“Come.” Legolas pulled on her arm, turning to walk away. Flee, more like it.

“Wait…” 

She let go of him and went up to Thranduil, secretly wondering if she was sane. He towered over her, equally tall as his son, and his cool gaze sent tremors through her. There was not even a hint of friendliness in his eyes. 

She reached out to take his hand, knowing that he would feel how much her own quivered. His many rings dug into her palm uncomfortably.

“We love each other, can’t you see that?” she asked earnestly. “And if my behavior somehow displeases you, then teach me. I’m not stupid, I can learn.” She silenced, hoping to discern a softness, a sign of resignation, but there was none. His clear eyes didn’t even blink. 

Suddenly she became annoyed with this cold-hearted statue of a king who thought he could command other people’s feelings. She hated quarreling, she hated when others were angry, and she was sick and tired of having to constantly weigh her words and actions to keep someone placated. 

Living in her mother’s house had felt like cohabiting with a sleeping dragon. And now here Thranduil was behaving exactly the same way except he didn’t sink to act out his rage physically.

She glanced at Legolas, taking in his sullen resentment, his jaw set and cheeks pale with anger and disappointment. Did Thranduil even know what Legolas had sacrificed to spare his father’s heart? How much it cost him to stay when he wanted peace and healing in Aman. And this was how he was repaid, with cold fury and impossible demands.

A flood of emotion overtook her and she heard her mouth speak heartfelt words without asking her brain permission. “I make your son happy but you only drive him away!” 

Then she realized what she had said and her anger dissolved. She dropped his hand like it had burned her. “Sorry… that was… I didn’t really mean that. You love him, I know that.” She took a step backwards. “I just don’t think it’s right to frighten and threaten others to get your way. Your own son too. That’s not what a father ought to do. A father should be the one you go to to be comforted, not be the cause of the pain…” Her words tumbled over each other. Why couldn’t she just shut up?

Thranduil remained silent and she hardly dared look at him after her outburst, but then she did anyway. His eyes were still fixed on her, but the coldness was gone, replaced by shock. As if he had been hit over the head, hard.

“Sorry,” she mumbled again. 

A hand caught hers. Legolas had come to stand by her side. 

Thrandul’s features smoothed and became an expressionless mask. “Then do as you please.” He swept past them, striding toward the dining room without another word.

“Sorry.” This time she said it to Legolas. 

“I guess… that could have gone worse?” He smiled somewhat shakily and bent down to kiss her cheek with cold lips. “No need to apologize. You only told the truth.”

The dining room was almost full when they got there. Three musicians on a dais in the corner played a merry beat and the guests were spread out in small groups, talking and laughing. 

Wynne’s eyes seeked out Thranduil, who was easy to spot in his shining clothes, but he didn’t acknowledge them with so much as a glance. 

So, it was going to be the silent treatment, then. 

Despite the Elvenking’s frostiness, she found herself enjoying the feast immensely. Legolas subtly arranged with the butler to be seated by her and then treated her most attentively during the meal. Galion, Sidra, Gimli and Éowyn sat around them and they soon found that the five of them got along really well. 

When the musicians, by popular request, sang the Ballad of the Ring, they all joined in the chorus: “Brave, brave, brave / Brave the Hobbit!”

Sidra was on her third glass of wine and more talkative than ever. When the song had finished and the applause and cheering died out, she leaned somewhat unsteadily across Gimli to nudge Éowyn in the shoulder. “I’m so impressed with your part in the ballad. You must be an amazing swordswoman!” 

“Thank you.” Éowyn smiled amiably enough, but Wynne noticed a shadow pass over her fair face. 

Maybe Legolas wasn’t the only one with bad memories from their adventures.

“I’m curious about one thing though,” Sidra continued. “When you went to war with an army of men… how did you manage to hide that you’re a woman? I mean, didn’t you need to pee?”

That made them all burst out laughing, Gimli loudest of them all. Seated between Sidra and Éowyn he seemed pleased like a meara in a cornfield. 

A few chairs away Cheery looked less thrilled. Quite the opposite.

“Well, I crouched behind bushes so often my comrades probably thought I had the worst case of an upset stomach.” She giggled. “But I was grateful to have Merry with me, for he at least knew about me. He helped smooth out many little difficulties along the way.” Her grin widened. “But you would not believe the way men talk when they think there are no women around! It was… educational.”

“I can imagine,” sniggered Sidra. “I traveled with a group of uruk-hai, remember? They didn’t care much about my sensitive ears.”

“What did they say? Dinnae be shy, tell us!” Gimli moved closer to the Haradrim and lowered his voice. “Ye can whisper if ye wanna.”

There was a shuffle when Cheery hastily stood. “I’m off. I shall be busy washing ma beard tonight,” she hissed. With that she stomped away in her high-heeled boots.

Gimli didn’t seem to be bothered by her outrage and remained calmly seated. “Well, talking about soldier’s slur… we had some fine battles in that war, didnae we?” He looked nostalgic. “Both in Gondor and Rohan.“ Then he gave Legolas a sly look. “Do ye remember our wee competition at Helm’s Deep, Master Elf? I got forty-two kills. How many did ye get, again?” 

Legolas pretended not to have heard. He downed the contents of his glass, wincing slightly at the taste. “The wine down here is none too great,” he remarked.

“Forty- one, was it nae?”

“Have I told you about that time when Master Gimli was caught by the Lothlórien elves?” Legolas refilled his glass from a crystal decanter. “It was right after he had told us how great his eyes and ears were. Then he almost walked straight into Haldir’s arrow.” 

After everyone had laughed at that, Gimli retaliated by describing the drinking contest he and Legolas had had once.

“I did not have to be carried out of there,” Legolas objected. “I could walk perfectly well.”

“Really?” Éowyn cut in. “Because I remember having to ask a servant to help you to bed.”

“Ach, he’s nae a strong elf when it comes to the drink, ye ken.” Gimli took a deep draught from his ale tankard that the hosts kindly had provided for their dwarven guests. “Poor wee laddie! We ought to give him fruit juice instead of wine.” 

“Maybe that was why he was so affected by the poppy medicine,” suggested Galion, happy to get his revenge after Legolas exposed his misfortune with the Elvenking’s wine barrels the other day.

“Poppies? Tell me all about it!”

Legolas gulped down his third glass, face redder than a Thaun Môr grape. “Would you like to take a walk outside, Wynne?” He rose unsteadily. “It is rather hot in here.”

“I’d love to.”

They left the others’ laughter behind and went toward the patio, passing Thranduil on their way out. 

He stood alone, wearing an indecipherable expression, distractedly swirling the wine around in his untouched glass.

Chapter Text

51. Love and Desire

Waking up next to a warm, sleeping elf was just as wonderful as Wynne had dreamed. Despite the slight urgency to get up before her maid came in she lingered in bed, reveling in the memories of yesterday night. 

Thranduil had left the feast early and with him away Wynne and Legolas had felt free, unchecked by his constant disapproval. They had stolen several kisses under the honeysuckle, talked, danced, and enjoyed much amusing banter with their friends. In the small hours Legolas had followed her to her room, more than a little drunk. 

“This is not my room,” he had observed, gaze somewhat unsteady when she pushed him onto her bed.

“No it’s mine.”

“Oh. This smells nice.” He sniffed her pillow, drawing in her scent just like that time when she borrowed his tent. 

“You smell nice.” She rubbed her nose against his collarbone, feeling the enchanting scent of him, mingled with the aroma of his herbal hair oil and a hint of wine. When she kissed him she tasted it as well, sweet and fruity on his mouth and tongue. 

Their kisses that night had been the most passionate they had yet shared; neither of them stopping to think, just allowing instinct to take over. Their hands had roamed each other’s bodies at will as their lips moved in unison, closer and more intense than ever, leaving them breathless and flustered every time they surfaced for air.

Legolas had then brushed over her neck with his lips, trailing light pecks down to her decolletage and buried his face in the cleft between her breasts. His lips sent currents of heat through her and she wriggled beneath him.

While he was occupied with her cleavage she had combed through his hair with her fingers and continued to his ear, pinching it. 

He drew in a sharp breath. “If you keep doing that I shall pull up your dress and take you here and now,” he threatened. 

She let his ear go. He wouldn't really do it, though… would he? Warmth surged through her body when she pictured it. 

“Naughty elf… Speaking so daringly to a lady!” She loved it.  

“Well, if you were a gentleman I wouldn’t be interested in doing that, so…”

His words had made them both through a fit of laughing, breaking the tension. 

Shortly afterwards they had fallen asleep, tired from all the wine and laughter. That was probably for the better; every time they were together like this they went further, and it became increasingly harder to resist the point of no turning back. 

Now it was before sunrise judging by the pale light. Wynne stretched herself, a little stiff after sleeping in her uncomfortable dress. 

Today they would leave Osgiliath and travel to Minas Tirith for a meeting with Aragorn to show him the peace treaty. She ought to wake Legolas up but couldn’t bring herself to disturb him. Instead she admired his relaxed, sleeping face. 

He looked so innocent with his long, dark lashes resting peacefully on his cheeks and his lips slightly parted. She couldn’t resist touching their upturned corners. 

His lashes fluttered open. ”Good morning,” he mumbled. 

”Morning.”

Then for a long time they just lay there, gazing at one another in silence. 

“Your eyes are so beautiful,” she said at last.

“Your braids are messed up.” He pulled out a curl and let it bounce back.

“Here I was being romantic and all you can think of is hair care.” She shoved him playfully in the chest. 

“I can redo them,” he offered, but didn’t move.

Then Wynne remembered something she had planned to do for a long time. Her fingers darted out and this time she caught him by surprise despite his elvish reflexes and warrior training, and she had the huge satisfaction of seeing him laugh and trying to push her off.

“I knew you were ticklish!” She sat on his chest, locking his arms with her legs. “Pinned you!” 

But now he was prepared and didn’t even twitch when she tried to tickle him again. A smug smile settled on his lips. Damn that elf’s self-control! 

He tried to free himself but to no avail. She was a horsewoman after all and only squeezed her strong legs harder around him. 

“Pinned you again,” she whispered, bending forward to kiss him, gradually releasing her hold and sinking down on top of him.

He raised his hands to her thighs, pulling her close. “You have impressive legs,” he murmured, moving his fingers slowly upwards, sending sparks and shivers through her as he neared a forbidden area.

There was a polite knock. “M’lady, are you up?” The maid’s voice was blunted by the closed door.

Wynne jumped off Legolas, brushing out the wrinkles of her dress. “I won’t need you today, Sadoreth. Thank you.”

“Are you sure, m’lady? I was coming for the chamber pot…” 

“Not now! You can come later. Thanks!”

“Uh, alright…”

Wynne fell back on the bed, trying to hold in her giggles. 

“Is she gone?” she whispered, knowing Legolas could hear the retreating footfalls better than her.

“She is, but I probably ought to sneak back to my own room anyway…”

“Sadly, yes.” Wynne carefully peered through the door before letting him out. “All clear.”

He leaned down for a kiss in passing. “I need one more to keep me through the day. Who knows how we will sleep in Minas Tirith. Maybe, the Valar forbid, Aragorn will make me share with my snoring father.”

Just then Gimli came tiptoeing into the corridor, carrying his boots and tunic in one hand. When he caught sight of them he grinned widely. “Laddie! Slept well tonight?”

“Very.” He looked both embarrassed and satisfied at the same time when he hurried away on soundless feet.

“I’m happy for the laddie and ye,” Gimli said when he was gone. 

The dwarf needed to turn up his head to meet her gaze, now that he wasn’t wearing high-soled boots, but instead it lingered on her cleavage. 

Mother knew what she did when she packed that dress for her.

“You look like you didn’t sleep much at all,” Wynne remarked, pointedly crossing her arms to cover her chest while taking in his half-dressed state and tired face.

“Nay.” He chuckled. “My lassie dinnae tire so soon.”

“You really do… that with her?” She was curious despite herself.

He shrugged noncommittally.

“But… what if she gets with child? It would be a scandal.”

“Ach, lassie, ye are so young. There are methods to hinder that, but ye’d blush if I told ye how.” He sniggered. 

“If you’re so intimate with her, why do you flirt with everyone else? That’s not very nice,” she accused, secretly wishing he would tell more about those methods. “Don’t you love her?”

Gimli’s deep set eyes became flinty, his jovial air gone. “That’s nae yer business, is it?” 

“Sorry.” But she was not sorry, not really. He was treating his friend badly and someone ought to tell him. 

“Cheery kens what she gets with me, take it or leave it. I cannae love her – or anyone.” He hesitated, then shrugged again. “Ma heart belongs to someone else.” 

Wynne suspected she knew who, but said nothing. He was right, it was not her business.

His rough features softened. “Dinnae ken why I show ye this, but…” He pulled out a chain from under his shirt, uncovering a golden pendant inlaid with white diamonds. Behind the glass was a tuft of blond hair. “She ne’er belonged to me… another’s wife, she was. And I shallnae see her again. She’s left Middle-earth.” Gimli stroked the pendant’s surface with a rough thumb, eyes becoming misty. ”I guess we’ve got that in common, ye and I. Both fancying an elf, huh.” He grinned at her but his rumbling voice was full of bitterness. 

Before she could answer he had gone into his room and shut the door behind him. 

Wynne returned to her own room, feeling ambivalent. So, Gimli had loved Galadriel… That was not a surprise, even the ballad hinted it, and she was sorry for his unrequited love, she really was. Still… she couldn’t see why he needed to trifle with everyone wearing a skirt just because of that. It sounded like a bad excuse in her ears. 

Then again, if Cheery knew about it and had entered into the relationship with open eyes, it was really up to her. She was a grown dwarf and could probably take care of herself. 

While she packed her things, Wynne remained thoughtful. The fact that Gimli could love one person and desire another (or several others, more correctly) was disturbing somehow. Was Thranduil right when he claimed those emotions to be separate things? 

She knew she loved Legolas but what if he merely desired her in return? 

But no… the way he always cared for her wellbeing and how he had confided in her, trusted her with his worst memories; that was proof it was more than physical.

oOo

After lunch it was time to fetch the horses and leave Faramir and Éowyn’s welcoming home for Minas Tirith and the meeting with the king. It would only be a short journey this time, a few hours at the most.

Wynne met Éowyn in the large and well kept stables where she was assigning horses to her own family.

“Oh, you’re coming too?”

“Yes, my husband wants to be there when the peace treaty is presented. We have a feeling this will be important. Something to tell the grandchildren.” She smiled. “And for my part I want to spend more time with my new friend Sidra and her dear sons.”

Wynne felt a twinge of jealousy at that. Sidra was her friend first… But she realized it was bound to happen; Sidra and Éowyn were almost the same age, and both mothers. 

But still...

Then Éowyn asked about Wynne's family and their horse breeding and she forgot her jealousy in the interesting conversation that followed that lasted well until they were all gathered in the plaza outside the mansion, ready to mount and be on their way.

Wynne looked forward to seeing Minas Tirith, the white city, home of her relative and his half-elven wife. 

Only to think, she would be exploring Arda’s most famous city with the elf she loved. And then there was the prospect of peace too. Freedom at last for the orcs of Emyn Muil. 

If only Thranduil could cease his silent treatment everything would be perfect…

Chapter Text

52. To the White City

“Ain’t she a beauty? Look at ‘em pillars.” Gimli beamed proudly at the new Bridge of Osgiliath. 

“Aye. Well done, Master Dwarf! And your workers, of course.” Legolas grinned at his friend’s enthusiasm. It was so good to be together again. He had missed the dwarf immensely.

They dismounted and crossed the beautiful stone structure on foot, guided by Gimli.

“Over here is yer plaque, Legolas. We all got one.”

The plaque was a rectangular bronze sign on one of the railing posts. It had Legolas’ name engraved under the header ”Fellowship Hero” and a crude drawing of a bow. 

It actually felt rather good to have a plaque. Hero. That had a nice ring to it.

“Mine’s bigger than yers,” said Gimli smugly. His was on the next post, similar except for an ax-drawing instead. And yes, his actually looked slightly larger.

“You did not…!” Legolas tried to hold back his laughter, not sure if he was annoyed or amused. Then he straightened his back, letting himself loom over the dwarf to emphasize their height difference. “But I guess it is only fair that your sign should be big when you are so small. Even when walking on stilts.”

“Hrmpf. Must be cold and windy for yer head up there,” the dwarf muttered, stomping off on his high-soled boots.

“This is beautiful.” Thranduil stroked the decorative edgings of the white top rail. 

Legolas turned in surprise. His adar had not spoken one word to him since they parted in the corridor yesterday. “It is,” he agreed, trying to think of something more to say. Something friendly to heal the new rift between them.

As usual, he failed. Instead he lingered, hoping his adar would break the silence. They were alone now with their friends already some way ahead. 

“Legolas.”

“Aye?” 

Their gazes met and his breath hitched. Thranduil’s face was open, his guard completely down in a way he had never seen, eyes  brimming with pain and sadness.

It nearly broke Legolas’ heart to see him like that. “What is wrong?” He tentatively reached out to touch his shoulder. 

“Am I really driving you away?”

His hand dropped again, a chill traveling down his spine. Those had been Wynne’s words. Had Thranduil taken them that much to heart to make him look this hurt? 

He tried to come up with a good answer, something to smooth things over, but his mind was blank. He settled for the truth. “Not… not as such. But you tend to shut me out. You never tell me what you think. Or feel…”

Thranduil nodded, averting his eyes. “I wanted to be a better adar than my own but I am not very good at it.” He regarded the calm surface of the Anduin, absent-mindedly rubbing Legolas’ plaque with a finger.

“You never talk about Oropher.”

“Nay.”

“So… he was not a nice person?”

“I uh… I believe he was held in high esteem by many.” He shuddered. Then he met Legolas’ gaze again. “You do know that I love you?” He didn’t have to say it; for once it was written clearly in his features.

“I always knew you loved me,” he replied earnestly. 

“Good. Good. That is something, at least.” He smiled briefly, clearly relieved. “And I never intended to shut you out. That is just… who I am – who I became. And I cannot…” He paused, apparently to think of how to continue. 

It was unsettling to witness his adar search for words, he always seemed to know what to say and in an eloquent way too.

“Ye coming, or?” Gimli bellowed from the other side of the river.

“Aye, aye, we are coming,” Legolas called back, turning to his adar. “We should talk more later.” 

There was so much he wanted to ask. About his grand adar, about his naneth, all the things his adar had never told him.

“We should.” His face lit up. “And Legolas… Forgive me.” He pulled him into a hug, a real one, not one of those half-hugs they normally shared.

“I forgive you.”

oOo

Legolas’ knees were weak when he remounted Stelpa. His adar had apologized! When had that ever happened before? And they would talk more. Perhaps Ada would finally give his blessings to his and Wynne’s relationship. 

Much as he loved her, he didn’t want to lose his adar.

“Mee-ah!” The shrill cry made them turn their heads. A large bird had landed on the railing, almost where they stood before. It looked right at them, its white head tilted like it was listening to something. 

It called a second time, the sound eerily resembling a word: “Mine!” Then it raised a pair of gray wings and soared to the sky.

Legolas felt a renewed longing to follow the white bird to the sea. Then he would take a boat west… sail into the sunset and continue until he reached Aman, the Undying Lands.

Yet, the urge to sail was not as strong as it had been. He had Wynne now, and after talking to her about all the horrible things he saw and did during the war, he felt less anxious to leave Middle-earth. He probably would do it, eventually, but there was no hurry.

A bit surprised he realized sharing his burden had helped, just like she said. Amazing. How had she become so wise?

He felt Thranduil’s gaze on him but avoided meeting it. Had he seen how the seagull affected Legolas? 

“Coming, son?”

Reluctantly he tore his eyes from the bird and followed his adar back to the horses.

oOo

After the bridge they passed through the open gates of the perimeter wall surrounding the Pelennor Fields. 

Legolas moved his horse next to Wynne’s. She gave him a questioning look, probably wondering what had passed between him and his adar, but he didn’t want the others to overhear. He would find an opportunity to tell her later.

There were farms, orchards and growing crops on both sides of the road. It was hard to picture this as it had been ten years ago when the fields were swarming with warriors. He wondered how often the farmers plowed up pieces of weaponry or arrowheads. Or bones…

Again he was plagued by memories of that battle, a both bloody and horrible fight. Neither the orcs, nor the enemy men – such as the Haradrim – had been willing to capitulate, so the armies of the west had been forced to kill every last one. Near the end of the battle it had felt like an execution.

Wynne must have noticed his bleak face for she reached out to take his hand, pressing it. Again it struck him how good it felt to know that someone else knew and understood what he went through.

He gratefully squeezed her hand back.

Soon they beheld the city ahead and many in the company reacted the way people always did at the first sight of it: with awe. 

“Ooh!”

“Ahh!”

“Sweet Elbereth!”

“It is beautiful!”

Even Thranduil, never one to give excess praise, seemed impressed. “Not too bad,” he admitted with grudging respect.

Despite having seen it before, Legolas found the sight breathtaking. The city’s seven levels climbed the mountainside, one circle smaller than the other in a cone-like stair. The walls joined the mountain on each side so seamlessly the city appeared to have grown out of it, rather than being constructed. On the uppermost wall, the tower of Ecthelion rose to the sky, a glimmering spike of pearl and silver. 

Éowyn decided this was a good spot for a break and soon her servants had spread a very elegant luncheon in the lush grass beside the road. Legolas sat close to Wynne, enjoying her relaxed and happy mood now that they were out of the city. She wore her tunic and hose again, and much as Legolas had enjoyed her exposed bosom in those dresses he found this was the Wynne he preferred; unpolished and natural. Like a tree growing wild in the forest rather than in a garden.

Thranduil came to sit by them, features again fully composed, with a silver goblet in his hand. “I miss my wine cellar,” he sighed, breathing in the aroma of the dark red liquid before taking a small sip. He winced slightly when he swallowed it. 

“So do I,” agreed Galion. His goblet was almost empty, however, so apparently he figured the inferior Gondorian variety was better than nothing.

“Drunkard,” huffed Thranduil.

Wynne had stiffened visibly when he came but now he soothingly placed his hand over hers. “I thought about what you said. And… you were right.” 

Her eyebrows flew up and she seemed at a loss for words. Understandably. 

Legolas wondered how much it had cost his adar to admit something like that. A few weeks ago he would probably not even have considered it, but this journey had changed him. For so many millennia, he had locked himself inside his palace, almost like he was hiding. Now, after finally traveling through Arda again he was opening up.

Come to think of it, those changes had started earlier, near the end of the war. His adar had helped Lady Galadriel and Lord Celeborn to conquer the fortress Dol Guldur in southern Greenwood, and kill all Sauron’s minions there. Then, after Celeborn’s wife sailed west a few years ago, he began to visit Thranduil more and more frequently. It was when Thranduil finally returned those visits and traveled to Lothlórien that he had agreed to embark upon this quest.

And now Lord Celeborn managed Thranduil’s kingdom while he was away, which spoke volumes of how much he had begun to trust his friend. In addition, Celeborn had assigned some of his subjects to rebuild Amon Lanc, the former capital of the Woodland Realm. Legolas’ grandfather had ruled from there but when the forest turned dark and infested with spiders, the wood-elves had been driven further east. And then Sauron had constructed his infamous fortress in the area. 

Celeborn had asked Thranduil to move back now that the fortress was demolished and the old city would be rebuilt, but he had declined. Maybe after this journey he would reconsider? If so, it would be a huge relief to leave their underground halls.

oOo

When everybody had rested and eaten their fill they continued the final part of their trip and soon they stood in the shadow of the city’s first wall that rose at least a hundred feet.

“Behold the Great Gate of Minas Tirith!” bellowed Gimli, again looking extremely proud. And he should be, the mithril- and steel structure was a wonder of beauty and clever mechanics, which the dwarf told them all about. He demonstrated thoroughly how smoothly it opened and closed, sliding on tracks in the street pavement, and how the controls worked.

He was just making the guards close the gate a fifth time when a commotion drew the audience’s attention. King Aragorn II Elessar, with his queen and young prince in tow, came riding down the main street.

Love welled up inside Legolas when he galloped to meet his old friend. They dismounted almost simultaneously, and caught each other in a hard hug.

“Mellon nín, am I glad to see you!” Aragorn had spoken Sindarin Elvish to Legolas, as was his habit.

“I have missed you,” he replied in the same language, taking a step back to regard his friend. He looked just the same as when they had parted; becoming a king and a father seemed not to have changed the man at all. 

”This is my son Eldarion.” He indicated a dark-haired toddler on a fat, black- and white pony. 

Legolas started with shock, stomach plummeting when he saw the boy and sensed his spirit. 

The young half-elven was mortal.

Chapter Text

53. An Unexpected Meeting

Rather starstruck, Wynne numbly rode after the king and queen. Now that she finally had met him, King Elessar was quite imposing.

Prince Faramir had briefly introduced everyone to the king upon arrival, but more formal introductions would follow later after they had time to freshen up and change clothes. Rooms were already prepared for them in the city’s finer guesthouses, near the Citadel. 

Wynne guessed this was a great honor in itself, and in addition they would be followed there personally by the king and his family. 

Only to think the King of Gondor was escorting an uruk-hai and a Haradrim into the very heart of the Guarded City! Who could have imagined that ten years ago when the city had struggled so hard to keep those peoples out of it?

Next to the king rode Queen Arwen Undómiel in an ornate side saddle, the train of her dress spilling over her beautiful young stallion’s back. 

Arwen was the first female elf (or half-elven) Wynne had ever seen and she had still not fully regained her composure. The male elves had intimidated her the first time she met them, but that was nothing compared to the reaction the queen had provoked. Her exquisite beauty was ethereal, as if she were lit from within by a multitude of stars through her pale skin. She had bright eyes framed by long, dark lashes and elegantly arched eyebrows. 

Wynne had never imagined she could be attracted to another female but now she realized she was, and she threw Legolas a guilty glance to make sure he didn’t notice her staring. 

After a while the sight of the city enabled her to tear her gaze away from the stunning half-elven and she looked around her with interest. The main street meandered from one level to the next, each time passing through a new gate. Again Gimli pointed out structures his workers had created; a house here, a segment of wall there. He had also designed most of the gates though none were as impressive as the Great Gate, of course.

Legolas rode next to Wynne, silent and lost in thought. Perhaps he regretted being inside a city of stone again? As far as she knew, only one tree grew here, the famous white one that symbolized Gondor. 

Or maybe it was something his father had said to him on the bridge? But he had seemed happy after that conversation, as if they had come to some sort of understanding, and when Thranduil apologized to Wynne during lunch she had begun to hope he might finally allow Legolas’ and her courtship. 

The stables were located at the sixth level of the city and there they must part with the horses for a while. Wynne always felt bad about leaving them, but these stables were really magnificent, big and airy, and the feed was of finest quality. 

They entered the final level on foot and the king led them out on a ledge that extended over the city like the prow of a ship. The view was breathtaking; clusters of stone houses with conical roofs and pinnacles were wedged in between the seven walls, and further out expanded the farms, pastures and orchards of the Pelennor Fields, lush green and thriving. The checkered pattern strongly reminded Wynne of the view from the Falls of Rauros.

They admired the white tree as well, with its many blossoms just beginning to fall off and mature into fruit. 

Legolas patted its slender trunk lovingly. “This has become a strapping young tree since last I saw it.”

The king smiled and replied something in a language Wynne didn’t understand. She was so used to the elves speaking Westron, the Common Speech, that she had almost forgotten this was not their first language. Now she felt left out, and it bothered her.

Before they went to their rooms they were invited to dinner in the king’s private house. “I prefer a more informal first meeting,” he explained. “Tomorrow I am expecting King Éomer and his attendants. We will begin the official peace discussions when he has arrived.”

A very properly uniformed manservant showed them to the guesthouse. The place looked a lot like Éowyn’s and Faramir’s guest rooms back in Osgiliath, but larger and more luxurious. Instead of a wooden tub in the room they had access to a whole bathhouse with one part for the ladies and one for the gentlemen, to which water from a mountain lake was brought through channels and lead pipes. The servant explained that all the city’s wells and public baths were supplied with water through those channels and the richer inhabitants even had pipes leading into their houses. By opening a tap, they could get fresh water anytime they liked! 

In addition to this luxury there was a grand lavatory with many booths. The holes in the benches lead to a channel with running water that the servant called a sewer. Through the sewer the waste was flushed down to the plains where the farmers made good use of it.

Alone in her room, Wynne washed her face and hands in a bowl on a stand and changed into a dress again. Not the red, daring one – she would see a king after all and hoped to make a good first impression.

The royal couple’s private house was cozy, not at all like the elegant Citadel – or Faramir’s residence for that matter. It was situated right underneath the mountain the city leaned on and was a white stone building with an orange, tiled roof, surrounded by a square of well mowed grass. Inside, Wynne estimated that the dining room was no larger than the one in her home, and the furniture was ordinary wooden tables and chairs.

A carpet drew Sidra’s attention. “Is this Haradrim?” She stroked its red-and-gold pattern. “Silk, right?” 

“Yes, it was a gift from the new King of Near Harad when we negotiated a trading agreement last year.” Aragorn smiled. 

He had such a kind smile. Here in his own home he no longer appeared as intimidating as at the Gate. Instead he was starting to remind Wynne of her father – both his physical features and his gentle manner.

“You are Sidra of Harad, the uruk-hai’s spouse?” he asked now, graciously ignoring that she had addressed him without a formal introduction.

She beamed at him. “That’s right. This is him, Nugu of Emyn Muil.” She indicated her husband as if it was not evident he was the uruk-hai. “And our sons are Muzadi and Rohi.”

The boys had already disappeared with Elboron and Prince Eldarion into an adjoining room; presumably the prince’s nursery judging by the unmistakable clatter of building blocks rolling on floor tiles.

Next, the two kings greeted each other. Aragorn said something, again in that foreign, lilting language Wynne didn't understand.

“What did you say?” asked Sidra, never one to be shy about such things.

“Speak Westron, love,” said Arwen. Her voice was melodious like a silver bell.

“My apologies. I said that I am honored to have the King of the Woodland Realm as my guest,” repeated Aragorn. ”I heard much about your remarkable success restoring Greenwood to its former glory.”

“Thank you. I dare say, though, that not all you heard of my kingdom was flattering.” Thranduil smiled wryly. 

“I do not pay much attention to slander.”

“That honors you.” He bowed and continued, more politely than Wynne had ever seen him: “I was profoundly impressed with what King Éomer and you have achieved in the Marshes. I had not seen that place since the Battle of Dagorlad and I could hardly recognize it.” At the mention of the battle something dark passed over his face. 

Maybe Thranduil had bad war memories just like his son.

More introductions followed. When it was Wynne’s turn, Aragorn greeted her very politely. “I am enchanted to finally meet my relative. You must be my…?”

“Third cousin’s granddaughter,” she supplied proudly. “My Grandmama’s mother was your grandfather Arador’s cousin.”

“Right. That had slipped my mind.”

Gimli sniggered and she frowned at him. “What’s funny?”

“Naething.”

Before they sat down to dinner, Aragorn wished to hear everything about the orc town and peace treaty, apparently intent on being well informed before tomorrow’s more formal council.  

Nugu had become better at telling his story by now and it had a similar effect as when he told it at Faramir's residence: the king and queen both looked horrified and at loss for words.

When Thranduil recounted the details of the peace treaty, Aragorn nodded thoughtfully. “It seems like a well drawn agreement. Still, my people would need our own treaty and it has to be supported by the nobles of Gondor and Rohan, and then signed in person by the orc leader.” He turned to Nugu. “It is unfortunate he could not be present. That means that, even if the council agrees to peace, we shall have to wait until I can meet him.”

Nugu nodded. “He doesn’t dare go out but I could lead your emissary to him. Or yourself, if you wish.”

“We shall discuss that tomorrow. Now, I am sure you must be hungry!”

Wynne enjoyed the dinner immensely. The food was tasty but not extraordinary and there were only very few servants around. It made her a bit hopeful about Legolas’ and her future – for, if the King of Gondor could have such a simple private life, what was to say they couldn’t too?

The conversation, however, was rather dull in her opinion. At the head of the table, Aragorn, Thranduil and Faramir talked of finances. Faramir had told of his plans to restore southern Ithilien and build a city in the hills of Emyn Arnen, where his summer estate was located, and asked if Aragorn  could help fund this project. Building up Osgiliath had more or less emptied his coffers.

“I shall see what I can do.” Aragorn sighed. “Transforming the Marshes and building the Lift of Rauros has nearly drained my treasury as well. I am sure the increase in trade and taxes will make it pay off eventually, but I am yet to see that happen.”

“You should establish a trade route to my realm,” suggested Thranduil. He swirled the contents of his glass. “I could export Dorwinion wine down the Anduin.”

Meanwhile, Arwen was talking with Sidra and Éowyn about children, something concerning potty training by the sound of it. Hearing an otherworldly beauty such as Arwen speak of poop and diapers was disconcerting, and besides, the topic bored Wynne almost as much as economy. She asked Nugu to tell some of his riddles instead, and soon she was agreeably occupied at guessing them with Legolas and the other elves.

When they left Aragorn’s house later Legolas walked close to Wynne. “Do not come to my room tonight,” he mumbled in her ear. “And I know you planned to, do not lie.” He smirked at the face she made. “Ada wants to speak to me and I think I shall finally be able to persuade him to accept our relationship.”

Wynne had no objections against that, of course. She didn’t really mind anyway; she was tired and could use having an early night for a change.

oOo

Breakfast the next morning was served in an airy room on the guesthouse’s second floor. The many windows faced the city below and the view was magnificent.

“King Elessar knows how to impress his guests,” remarked Thranduil when he entered together with Legolas. The Elvenking looked unusually relaxed and lighthearted, and the same went for his son. 

Wynne felt a twinge of happiness. Whatever they had talked about last night had clearly changed something in their relationship. 

She tried to ask Legolas about it after their hearty meal of bread, cheese, hams and sausages.

“I shall tell you later. My father and I must go and greet King Éomer, he just arrived.” 

“I will go with you. He is my king, after all, not yours.” She grinned. 

Legolas gave her a quick peck on the cheek which made her smile grow wider. He had kissed her in front of his father! That must be a good sign.

When they arrived at the seventh gate the King of Rohan was just walking up from the stables, surrounded by a group of lords and vassals. Éomer wore no crown and his clothes were simple, but Wynne recognized him easily. She had met him once before, several years ago in Edoras, when she was twelve. Her mother had had an errand there and decided it would be good for Wynne to come along and hopefully catch the eye of the king. This was obviously before she came up with the elf-marriage plan, back when she still would be satisfied if her daughter became Queen of Rohan. 

It had not worked, of course, the young king had still been overcome with grief after his uncle’s demise, and besides, he was more than twice Wynne’s age. He had barely even noticed she was there and only focused on the horses he wished to buy. 

Not long afterwards, news of his impending marriage with a princess had reached them and Mother had been furious, because that meant there were no royal bachelors left in Rohan or Gondor. The following years she had researched kings and princes of other countries, making lists and grand plans, until finally came the opportunity to send Wynne on a journey with both a king and a prince.

Soon, Mother’s scheme to marry her off advantageously might prove successful. Wynne could just hope her intended and his father would never find out about it…

That was when she saw something in Éomer’s entourage, an all too familiar face.

“Mother…?”

Chapter Text

54. Mother Knows Best

Wynne tried to hide her shock and surprise. Why was Mother here? The plan was for Wynne to return home with the horses and an elf fiancé as soon as they finished their quest. Mother had not mentioned any intentions to meet them on the way. How had she even known they would be here? Through Éomer?  

“Oh my darling , how I missed you!” Mother caught her in a hard hug, and then held her at an arm’s length as if to memorize her features. “You look so well, so healthy, only a little tanned but that is only natural I suppose!” Despite her warm greeting her smile didn’t reach her eyes. Instead her penetrating gaze scanned Wynne from head to toe. 

Maybe she was trying to discern symptoms of pregnancy? 

Now Wynne noticed her father, waiting patiently behind his wife. Her chest grew tight with emotion. “Father!” She wrapped her arms around him, drawing in his familiar smell of tobacco, horses and leather. “I missed you,” she murmured against the wool of his tunic. 

As usual he replied only with an approving hum, but his strong arms around her spoke clearly enough, and when he pulled back his eyes were damp.

“How are Grandmama and Grandpapa?”

“Oh they are very well, my dear, don’t you worry about them now.” Mother took her arm and herded her toward the guesthouse. “Let’s have you changed into something nicer.”

King Éomer and his lords would stay down another corridor in the same house as Wynne. She noticed none of the other lords had brought their wives, only her father. It was not hard to figure out whose idea it had been.

Mother looked around in her room with satisfaction. Father and her had been assigned a suite; two rooms joined by a door in the middle, the latter completely unnecessary as it would probably never be opened if Wynne knew her parents. 

“Lovely place. Finally I shall sleep somewhere decent!” 

She explained they had initially planned to arrive yesterday evening, but then the king’s horse had come down with a limp and they had been obliged to sleep another night on the road, with Minas Tirith less than a league ahead. “It was horrible, I tell you. But what would I not do for my dear daughter?”

Two servants came in, heavily burdened with bags and a chest. 

“Oh, here is my luggage. Wonderful!” She picked out a large bag. “I brought more clothes for you, my darling. I can only imagine what state your old ones must be in by now.”

Her friendly smile disappeared as soon as the door closed behind the servants. “Now, how did it go? Have you succeeded with the elf king?” 

“No.”

“No? No?” She sighed dramatically. “Vána, give me strength… How could a girl fail at something so simple? Didn’t you show skin?”

“I did.” Wynne found her gaze had wandered to her feet. How come Mother always could make her feel this small and weak?

“And serve them fire water?”

“Yes!”

“Well no wonder it didn’t work if this is how you have been looking! What on Arda happened to that dress?” Without asking permission she swiftly pulled it over her head. Then she tut-tutted over the chemise too and removed that as well. 

Wynne hugged her naked chest, feeling exposed and slightly ill while Mother rummaged in the bag. “Here, put this on. But what have you done with your hair? Wynne, Wynne... Have I taught you nothing at all? With that round face of yours you must wear your hair up.” She briskly untangled the braids Legolas had plaited. 

She had to bite her lips to hold back her tears.

When Mother was finally satisfied, she wore a dark gown with a wide skirt and very low decolletage, painfully tight around the waist. Her hair was combed back and confined in a pearl hairnet, and between her breasts rested a heart shaped diamond pendant on a silver chain, one Wynne recognized as belonging to her Grandmama. It was a dreadful, heavy thing.

Mother eyed her critically. “It will have to do, I guess. Now, during the meeting today you must introduce me to King Thranduil and I shall see what I can do. There is probably something he needs that I can supply in exchange for his taking you as a bride. A large dowry, jewels, horses… there is always something. And now that he already knows you it will be easier to persuade him. You have made friends with him, at least?”

“Yes.” Her stomach sank; this would end in a disaster. Should she tell Mother of her feelings for Legolas and end this circus? But she was still not sure Thranduil had agreed to their courtship, and the minute her mother realized Legolas liked her she would be on Thranduil’s back, making plans and demands. Something which might very well make him change his mind. 

No, it was best to keep silent for now.

The first meeting with the uruk-hai would be held in Merethrond, or the Great Hall of Feasts as it was called in the Common Speech, which was larger than the throne room. To this event all the more notable citizens of Minas Tirith were invited, for Aragorn had decided during the dinner the previous day that it would be beneficial if as many as possible could hear Nugu’s story. Gossip would spread through the city and enable him to walk freely on the streets without anyone attacking him or sounding the alarm by mistake. Later, the kings and lords would council alone and discuss the peace treaty.

The Hall was indeed great; it was the most grandiose room Wynne had ever been in. White stone pillars held up a far distant roof and the curved windows were more than twice a grown man’s height, with stained glass panes assembled into pictures of queens, kings, animals and dragons. A round window above a platform on one side was the largest of them all, painted midnight blue with the white tree in its center and seven stars around its branches. 

The Hall was almost full of finely dressed guests. On long tables along the walls sat bowls and platters with fruit, nuts and cheeses, from which they helped themselves while waiting for the king to arrive and open the meeting.

“Don’t eat anything, it makes you seem immoderate,” Mother instructed.

Wynne had no appetite anyway and instead silently observed the people. It was easy to spot the Rohirrim among the Gondorians; they were more simple dressed and had blond hair and beards, as compared to the others’ dark brown or black nuances. Her parents were exceptions; Father had inherited his dark colors from Grandmama, who was Dúnedain like Aragorn, and Mother was born in Gondor.

In a corner Wynne spotted her friends; the elves, Gimli, Sidra and her husband. Nugu wore his hood up so he wouldn’t cause fear among the assembled before he had been introduced. 

Thranduil and Legolas were both looking at Wynne and her parents, probably curious about who they were. She wished she could tell them to look away; if Mother perceived it she might understand the truth.

Luckily a herald sounded his trumpet then and everyone's attention was turned to the big double doors from the throne room that opened to announce King Elessar, the queen and the young prince. The people parted, bowing and curtsying deeply, as the royalty walked through the Hall to stand on the raised dais under the round window. 

Aragorn began with a short speech introducing the topic, and thanks to the room’s acoustics his voice was easy to hear. “Extraordinary news has reached me, news of a new colony whose inhabitants wish to establish peace with the free races of Arda. Long have they been our enemies but now they humbly come before us, seeking to overcome past grievances.”

A murmur rose in the Hall when the guests whispered to one another, probably trying to guess who those enemies were and very likely guessing wrong.

“If you would come forward, Nugu son of Staurz.” Aragorn’s clear voice carried over the chatter.

The uruk-hai obeyed and stood next to him. Even from this distance, Wynne saw he was trembling and felt sorry for him. How would the audience react? 

Nugu folded back his hood and there was a collective gasp, shortly followed by shrill squeals from some of the finer ladies as they feigned swooning.

As soon as she perceived the other ladies’ reaction Mother screamed too. “An orc! Darling, hold me or I shall swoon!” She leaned heavily on Father’s shoulder, fanning herself.

When the Hall became silent at last, Nugu told his story. He spoke well, but his nervousness shone through and made it sometimes hard to hear. When he came to the part where he had met Sidra, she joined him on the stage with the orclings, again generating gasps of surprise, and in many cases, disgust.

“She wedded that… thing? I feel sick. Races should not mix! It’s unnatural!” Mother’s loud whispers were less than subtle and Wynne clenched her jaw not to snap at her to shut up. 

So mixing races was unnatural, was it? Well, she shouldn’t try to make her daughter marry an elf then!

The elf in question and his son just then went to stand by the uruk-hai’s family. Thranduil elaborately described how well he had been treated in the orc town, and how his son had been healed. Legolas filled in some details of the graveness of his injury and that he would probably not have survived without Goltur’s skill. Since he was a Fellowship hero, that probably added weight to the argument.

“They are beautiful! So tall, so muscular! And that blond hair, too,” breathed Mother, clearly not listening to what the elves said. She nudged Wynne. “The son is almost as handsome as the father.”

She bit her lip to hold back a sharp answer. She didn't like at all to see her mother drooling over Legolas like that. 

When Aragorn at last ended the meeting, the Hall again was filled with an excited din as the guests discussed what they had learned. Wynne left her parents to walk around the room, subtly eavesdropping on the Gondorians to learn how they had taken the news. It appeared that most seemed not altogether negative to the idea of friendly orcs, though there were of course many who were opposed to it as well. There were also disgusted – but also fascinated – whispers about Saruman’s evil deeds in the breeding dens. Particularly among the ladies, surprisingly.

Wynne had come to the other side of the room when she almost bumped into Gimli, who was talking to Éowyn and King Éomer. He had known the king since they fought together in the war.

“You must meet my brother,” said Éowyn when she caught sight of her. “This is Wynne Örn of Limliht. Lord Vinur’s daughter.”

She curtsied as deep as she could without losing her balance, awed to be in front of her fierce warrior king for the second time in her life. Just like last time though, he barely noticed her, except for a slight dip of his head.

“How do you think it went?” asked Éowyn. “I do hope this will work. Sidra’s boys should not be forced to grow up in a cave, it is not healthy for them.”

“The people seem mostly positive,” said Wynne, recounting some of what she had heard.

“When they ken the mighty Dwarf Lord of the Glittering Caves has signed the treaty they’ll agree to it,” said Gimli.

“I am not so certain.” Éomer frowned. “I cannot trust an uruk-hai so easily, and neither can my vassals, I dare say. Helm’s Deep is still fresh in our memories, as well as other ill deeds done by those abominations.”

“Ach, ye will come around when ye talk with the laddie. He’s a bit shy, but there’s a good heart in him. And his wee bairns are lovely.”

“They are,” Galion cut in. He and the other elves had joined them and Wynne’s heart fluttered with happiness when Legolas came to stand next to her. Again he wore his pale blue prince outfit, and though she was getting more used to seeing him look elegant she still preferred him in his hunter’s green. 

Thranduil wore an impossibly wide, red velvet robe with a white leaf pattern. How many luxurious garments had that elf brought?

“I like your dress,” whispered Legolas. “But what happened to your braids?” He seemed disappointed but before she could explain, Mother had caught up with her.

“Wynne my darling! I looked everywhere for you!” She kissed the air an inch beside her cheek. “Well? Are you not going to introduce me to your friends?”

Chapter Text

55. Truths Revealed

“I’m charmed . A pleasure to meet you. Thank you, yes a very pleasant trip. Thank you, it belonged to my mother-in-law. Indeed, the quality was something else back in the day! Yes indeed. Yes. Yes. And I must compliment Your Grace on your marvelous robe, it goes so well with your fair complexion. Oh, Your Grace is too modest! Quite unpretentious!” Mother’s sharp voice drowned all nearby conversations as she monopolized the Elvenking. “Oh they are, are they not, I’m so glad you were pleased with them! Yes sire, we bred them for generations. Outstanding. Finest meara breed!”