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Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5824 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings (and associated) book series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Part 1
- 2-Part 2
- 3-Part 3
- 4-Part 4
- 5-Part 5
- 6-Part 6
- 7-Part 7
- 2
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- 4
Part III

Imladris, tuilë-yavië TA 2777

As Legolas had promised he traveled to Rivendell as soon as the snow melted away and the passes of Hithaeglir were cleared once again. Hardly were the first buds of the year open when he left Mirkwood and made the long trek to the hidden vale. With him was Nimeithel.

As soon as he had asked leave from the Elvenking for an extended visit to the brethren, she had pleaded to be allowed to accompany him to Rivendell.

“I have long yearned to see Imladris,” she earnestly said. “Always have I contented myself with what tales you care to tell me, Legolas. But now I desire very much to see for myself what wonders there are to see. Please, tôr iuar”—older brother—do not leave me behind yet again.”

Legolas had looked at Thranduil who in turn considered his daughter’s request. “I suppose I can trust Legolas to look after you,” he commented mildly.

“Ada, she is no infant in need of a nursemaid,” Legolas pointed out indignantly.

“But she is still an Elf-maid venturing into new territory,” Thranduil shot back dryly. “And the twins’ territory no less.”

Legolas had to laugh at the king’s lack of trust when it came to the twins and carnal matters. But then considering their voracious appetites... “I will keep her virtue safe, Ada,” he grinned.

“Then I see no reason why you cannot go with your brother, iell”—daughter—the Elf-king told his only daughter.

He was rewarded with a hug so tight, he had to draw a deep breath afterwards to replenish his air supply. So it was that, three weeks later, Nimeithel rode at Legolas’ side as they negotiated the steep slope leading down into the deep-cloven valley that harbored the elven refuge. They were met by the twins ere they came to the Bruinen and they crossed the bridge together.

It was a joyful meeting; one that Nimeithel had cause to envy. Only a year had gone by since the twins’ visit to Mirkwood yet they greeted each other as if it was three score instead. But then she supposed it was to be expected since before that, twenty years had passed with little more than brief missives between them. She cautiously observed Elrohir’s demeanor around her brother, mindful of her previous discussion with Elladan. That in turn led her to regard the older twin; surreptitiously lest someone note her undue interest and give importance to it.

“‘Tis a pity that Nimeithel should visit when Arwen is in Lórien,” she heard Elrohir say. “They would get along splendidly, I warrant.”

“Aye, they are very much alike though Arwen has ever been the more tart of tongue,” Elladan added.

“Yet she has greatly mellowed, gwaniuar”—older twin—Elrohir remarked. “Our grandam’s influence no doubt.”

“She spends much time in Lórien?” Legolas asked.

“Since Mother’s passing she spends years at a time with our grandparents,” Elladan explained. “More than twenty five years the last visit and no doubt it will be many years before she returns from this one.”

“Lord Elrond must be very lonely with all his children gone for such lengths of time,” Legolas said pointedly. He had never been able to bring himself to approve of the brethren’s vengeance-driven errantry.

“We never do so together,” Elrohir gently said. “Arwen remains with Adar”—Father—“when we are gone for longer than a year and we do the same in turn. We would never forsake our father thusly.”

“I should hope not,” Legolas said. “Though you seem to think nothing of forsaking others.”

“Ah, the truth will out,” Elladan said. “‘Tis our abandonment of your company that you dislike.”

Legolas blushed slightly. “Well, ‘tis only that your absences have grown longer with the passing years. Twenty this last and more than forty the one before that. I have oft times wondered if I would ever have the pleasure of your society again.”

“It will not happen again, Calenlass,” Elrohir quietly promised, eliciting a look of surprise from his own brother.

Watching him, Nimeithel had the distinct impression that the Elf-knight had made that decision only at that very instant and in response to Legolas’ displeasure.

Legolas looked at the younger twin keenly. “Truly?”

Elrohir returned his gaze. “I swear this last will indeed by our last long sojourn. Should we venture forth in the future, we shall keep such journeying brief. I hope this will content you?”

Touched that Elrohir should so speedily acquiesce to his wishes, Legolas beamed affectionately at him and said: “Aye, it will and it pleases me greatly as well. Thank you, meldiren.”—my friend.

Feeling rather invisible, Nimeithel decided to make her presence felt. She cleared her throat loudly, drawing the others’ attention.

“Nimeithel, forgive us,” Legolas said contritely. “We did not mean to ignore you.”

“Aye, ‘twas not intentional,” Elladan warmly said. “Elrohir and I shall make amends for this egregious oversight, I promise.”

She dimpled charmingly. “I understand your forgetfulness,” she said. “And hold no ill-will towards you. But I hope ‘twill not be repeated for I have no mind to be treated like so much extra baggage.”

“Ah, that stings,” Elrohir chuckled. “I doubt we will miss Arwen overmuch with your sister here in her stead,” he said to Legolas

Legolas laughed, casting Nimeithel a fond glance. “You had best take that as high praise, muinthel”—sister—he said.

“I do,” she smiled. “I have heard enough from you about the Lady Arwen to know I should esteem her.”

“And fear her,” Elladan added with a wicked grin. “But let us not tarry. I imagine you must be weary from your journey and long for some rest.”

“That I do, Elladan,” she agreed.

He smiled then with such heartfelt kindness that his already handsome face glowed with even greater beauty. To her horror, Nimeithel felt her cheeks heat up and she hastily bowed her head to let her loose hair obscure her face.

“Let us hurry,” Elladan said to Legolas with concern, mistaking her posture for exhaustion. “I would have your sister resting in her chamber soonest.” None saw her cheeks turn even more crimson under his tender regard.

They proceeded to the Last Homely House at a markedly brisker pace.

*******

Nimeithel soon discovered that a visit to Imladris with her brother was not all leisure and enjoyment. While the first weeks were indeed all that she could have desired—walks and rides in the valley and the woods and hills around it; constant company with such legends as Glorfindel and Erestor, not to mention Lord Elrond himself and his renowned sons; Lindir’s wondrous music, his fair voice rivaling those of the Silvan Elves; the comfort of Almáriel and Iorwen’s maternal attentions long missed since her mother’s passing; and enticing insights into daily life in the fabled refuge—the exigencies of the times eventually reared their not so attractive heads.

Just as the twins oft took part in patrols or the chase with Legolas when they visited Mirkwood, so now did Legolas offer his skill in arms whenever either brother or both joined scouting or hunting expeditions out of Rivendell. At such times, she felt torn between concern for the three of them and impatience at being left to her own devices until her brother should return.

The other male members of the household had responsibilities to attend to and she was not one for endless sewing and cooking, kind as Iorwen and Almáriel were. Nor could she keep company with either Elladan or Elrohir when either stayed behind in Rivendell. Legolas had warned her never to remain alone with one twin or the other. The Elf-prince trusted his friends with his very life but he was not as trusting when it came to his only sister’s innocence. Not when he knew their reputations much too well and the exploits behind said reputations.

She began to chafe at the restriction and the feeling of rebellion became especially strong after spending nearly a week doing naught but embroidering, weaving and kitchen duty when the three took off with an Imladrin hunting party. They could not fail to notice her expression of displeasure when they returned and offered to assuage it with anything in their power to bestow.

Nonetheless, they were still surprised by the demand she made when she did take up their offer. Elladan was tasked to lead a patrol investigating renewed orkish activity southwest of Rivendell and Legolas was going with him. Elrohir would stay behind to help Elrond with his many duties not least of which was serving in the healing halls. All three were surprised when Nimeithel asked to join the patrol.

“This will be no walk in the woods, Nimeithel,” Elrohir pointed out. “There will be fighting and you are no warrior.”

“I am well aware of that,” Nimeithel conceded. “But I want to help. I promise I will stay out of the way.”

“Nimeithel—” Legolas began doubtfully.

“I can help with any wounded,” she hastily added. “And I can do the cooking.”

They stared at her, nonplussed for a moment. And then Elladan chuckled. “You are as persistent as a Dwarf in search of mithril,” he remarked. “Tell me, can you climb trees?”

It was Nimeithel’s turn to stare. “I beg your pardon?” she managed to say. “Why should I know how to climb trees?

“Because if there is any danger, it will probably be the safest place for you to be,” Elladan replied. “I know you can move quietly and I will assume, correctly I hope, that you can also move quickly. Therefore, all I wish to know is if you can climb a tree.”

Nimeithel shook her head in some disbelief. “I can scramble up any tree you choose, Elladan. I am a Wood-elf, remember?”

Elladan studied her a moment longer. Accurately surmising that she would not be dissuaded and might even do something rash to get her way, he looked at Legolas. A glance of question and agreement passed between them, Legolas shrugging in resignation. Elladan gave in.

“Very well, you may come. But you will have to stay with me or Legolas at all times and follow everything I say. Is that understood?”

“Understood,” Nimeithel quickly agreed.

“Then I suggest you rest well tonight for we leave at dawn. I will have proper raiment provided for you in the morning.”

********

No walk in the woods. Not even when one was on horseback, Nimeithel thought confusedly in her weariness. She hung on to her steed tenaciously, determined not to disgrace herself by falling of it as no proper Elf would. She tugged self-consciously at the hem of her tunic.

She had blushed deeply when she beheld her image in a mirror after donning the clothing Elladan had sent to her. She’d never worn anything that revealed more than her ankles in all her life and now here she was in a garment that showed her shapely legs. The form-hugging long breeches did nothing at all to ease her embarrassment. The tunic and long-sleeved under-shirt were no help either, as both opened at the sides and, therefore, oft revealed the contours of her thighs as well. Definitely most unseemly for a maiden, she thought, discomfited anew. Only stern warrior-maids could get away with such brief garments.

The patrol was now some five days traveling distance from Rivendell. They’d seldom paused for rest, always hastening on once they picked up the trail of their prey. They’d already come across evidence of the Orcs’ brutish activities – ravaged hamlets, strung up corpses and grisly feasts, human peasants fleeing their burning homes and fields. Already driven by his need to avenge his mother’s suffering, Elladan was all the more enraged by these further atrocities and pushed on with grim intent. Meanwhile, Nimeithel kept to her word, always staying by his or Legolas’ side and taking over most of the cooking to free up the other scouts.

By noon, the troop had discovered the Orcs’ exact whereabouts near a small wooded area several miles north of the last settlement they’d attacked. Elladan swiftly laid a trap for them. While a few scout headed off to lure them into the snare, everyone else disappeared into the high branches of the trees. Nimeithel felt her heart pounding wildly as she followed Elladan and Legolas up a large oak. One restrictive glance from Elladan warned her to stay put no matter what happened.

In what seemed like mere seconds, the scouts dashed by below them, the sounds of heavy treads and feral curses close on their heels. Soon the Orcs arrived beneath the trees. Bedlam broke out as a rain of arrows greeted them. Panicking, the Orcs scattered. The Elves dropped down to finish off the survivors.

Watching anxiously from her perch, Nimeithel spotted a wounded soldier as he limped away from the center of the fray. Fearing for his safety, she climbed down against Elladan’s orders and hurried to help the Elf get out of harm’s way. Just as she’d gotten him behind a wide-trunked tree, she felt the hairs on her nape stand up. Glancing behind her, she froze when she realized an Orc had her in its sights.

Elladan saw her peril and sprinted to shield her. She screamed when he took the arrow meant for her in his left shoulder. Only his superb reflexes and strength enabled him to fling a knife at the Orc archer in retaliation, thereby killing it. Nimeithel caught him as he sagged to the ground, his face paling considerably as blood oozed steadily from the injury.

The fighting soon came to an end with nary a Goblin left alive to so much as whimper. Seeing that Elladan was injured, Legolas hastened to him to tend to the wound. Nimeithel had helped the older twin sit up against a tree. Legolas bent over the wound, his nimble fingers examining the severity of the damage. Though not as skilled a healer as the twins, he was familiar with the treatment of injuries sustained in battle.

“I think ‘tis poisoned,” Elladan managed to whisper. “It burns and the pain is spreading.”

Worried, Legolas inspected the arrow’s position in the wound. They exchange grimaced looks. Without another word, Legolas took out his knife and, before Nimeithel’s horrified eyes, proceeded to dig out the arrowhead.

She glanced at Elladan. He was white beyond belief, pain etched into his features. Yet he made no sound beyond an occasional moan. How can he withstand such pain? she thought, her heart breaking for him. She blamed herself. This is my fault, she thought. If I hadn’t been here, this wouldn’t have happened!

Instinctively she took his hand. A hiss of pain escaped his lips and he clutched convulsively at her hand.

Legolas managed to pull the arrowhead free. This time Elladan could not stifle a gasping groan. Shuddering, he turned and buried his face in Nimeithel’s breast. Intuitively, she wrapped her arms around him and held him closer, trying to impart whatever comfort she could give.

“There is poison at work,” Legolas said vexedly. He handed Nimeithel a clean cloth. “Here, staunch his wound,” he told her. “We must get him back to Lord Elrond as soon as possible. I will see to the others.” He hurried off.

Nimeithel pressed down on the wound as she was told but Elladan raised his hand and stopped her. “Help Legolas,” he told her.

“But I cannot leave you like this,” Nimeithel protested.

“There are others more grievously injured than I,” he reminded her. “They need your help.”

“But, Elladan—”

“Do as I say, Nimeithel! Go!”

Nimeithel flinched at his sharp command. He had spoken to her as a captain and not as a friend. Biting back her tears, she dumbly nodded and rose to her feet.

As she moved among the wounded, she kept glancing back at the Elf-lord. Injured as he was, he remained in command, directing his warriors and giving comfort to those more seriously hurt than himself. She was awed by his strength and humbled by his courage. It then came to her.

She knew she had began to care for him far beyond what one felt for a friend but she had suppressed those feelings by reminding herself that, as he saw her as no more than his best friend’s sister, he was beyond her reach. Now she could no longer deny them.

I’m falling in love with him.

Hours later, she found herself watching from the door of one of the healing rooms as they laid him down on a bed. Elrohir had met them at the Ford of the Bruinen and helped bear his twin back to the Last Homely House. Now Elrond and his healers moved in to strip him of his bloodied tunic, jerkin and shirt and examine the wound.

Nimeithel observed her brother and Elrohir speaking in hushed tones with one of the healers. She wondered what was happening but could not discern anything intelligible.

At last Elrohir came out, his fair face sober. He noticed Nimeithel standing by the door. Her face was an open book. He read misery and guilt and fear in her expressive features and took pity.

“He will be all right, meldis”—friend—he gently assured her. “We have drained most of the poison and his body will be able to deal with whatever remains. But he will be in much pain for another day or so.”

Nimeithel swallowed hard. “I wish there was something I could do to help,” she whispered.

Elrohir glanced back into his twin’s chamber. One healer was binding the wounds and to one side Elrond was mixing a medicinal draught. He turned back to Nimeithel. “He will sleep soundly for now but when he awakens, he will likely feel the pain,” he informed her. “Father is preparing something for it. And he wants Elladan watched this night.”

Nimeithel looked at the younger twin gratefully. “Please, I wish to take that duty,” she softly pleaded.

Elrohir nodded. “It will be a long night,” he said. “And there is nothing you can do right now. I suggest you freshen up and get something to eat.”

Nimeithel agreed. She took one more long glance into the chamber then departed for her own. Elrohir watched her receding figure. A hand on his shoulder told him Legolas had come up beside him and was watching his sister as well.

“She blames herself for this,” Elrohir murmured. Legolas nodded in assent.

*******

Nimeithel gazed down at Elladan. She had pulled a chair up to his bedside and settled there for the night. She’d been staring at him for the better part of four hours but found she did not tire of studying the contours of his face or the line of his shoulders and torso.

He was beautiful, of that she had always been keenly aware. But it was only now that she had a chance to appreciate his beauty in full. Asleep, with his silken hair spread out in sable waves on the pristine pillow, he looked so much like an innocent. But the innocence was deceptive, she mused with a shiver. Here was one who wielded power with ease and grace. He could be as gentle as day or as perilous as night, a loyal friend or a ruthless enemy.

She was thankful that his eyes were closed. It was all too easy to lose one’s self in those blue-tinged grey eyes. As warm as sunlight or as cold as ice, this changeability as charming as it was bewildering. They were dangerous, those eyes, for they saw too much yet gave little away and lured one into betraying one’s secrets. It did not do to gaze too long into them if one wanted to keep something to one’s self. Her gaze drifted to his mouth.

She wondered at the power of his smile. One was uplifted by it but also unnerved. Those same lips could turn grim or stern and make you rue ever having crossed him. She sighed. Their last exchange had not been pleasant. She had been foolish to try and countermand a direct order. I should have known better, she regretfully admitted to herself. Her eyes drifted lower once more.

It was the first time she had seen him unclothed, at least from the waist up. He was slender like her brother but his torso and limbs were slightly more solid. His Peredhil heritage she realized. Nevertheless, he was perfection personified in her eyes. Only the bandages on his shoulder marred the flawlessness of his body. The bandages whose snowy whiteness was now slightly stained with blood. They don’t belong there, she thought. They wouldn’t even be there if not for me.

Elladan turned his head slightly, a soft sound escaping his lips. Nimeithel immediately came closer, kneeling by the bed. When he opened his eyes, her face was the first thing he saw.

Before he could speak, pain lanced from his shoulder down his arm and radiated outward to his chest. A sharp breath escaped him and he was forced to grit his teeth in order not to cry out. Nimeithel gasped and quickly rose to fetch from the bedside table the draught prepared by Elrond. Hurriedly, she knelt once more the drinking cup in hand.

“Here,” she murmured. “This will help ease the pain.”

Slipping an arm under his neck, she gently helped him up. She held the cup to his lips. He took a few swallows then lay back once more, eyes still closed in pain. Nimeithel felt her heart constrict with hurt and guilt as she gazed at his white face.

Tears streamed down her cheeks and a smothered sob burst from her. Elladan opened his eyes at the sound and looked at the silently weeping princess. Reaching out his hand he took hers and squeezed it reassuringly.

“‘Tis all right, Nimeithel,” he whispered.

The Elf-maid looked at him incredulously. “How can it be all right? You are hurting so terribly!”

Elladan managed a wan smile. “Nay, I’ve known worse.”

“Worse?” Nimeithel stared at him, appalled. “What could possibly be worse than this?”

The Elvenlord shook his head. “I do not think you want to know. You will have to get used to this; ‘tis part of our lives.”

Nimeithel swallowed her tears. “I must change the bandages,” she thickly said. She hurriedly unraveled the long panels of cloth. Baring the injury, she was reminded of the reason for it and was stricken with guilt once more. As she sponged away the dried blood, she chided herself for having insisted on going along on the sortie.

“This is my fault,” she whispered. “I am so sorry, Elladan.”

Elladan glanced at her, a frown between his brows. “Do not say that,” he admonished. "'Tis no one’s fault.”

“But if I had not come along, you would not have had to shield me from that arrow,” she said bitterly. “What use was I anyway? Just a useless piece of baggage.”

When he didn’t respond, she thought he agreed with her. Biting her lower lip, she proceeded to clean the wound. But as she moved to get up and fetch fresh bindings, he took her hand and pulled her back.

“Do not think of yourself thusly,” he told her gently. “You wanted to help and you did help wherever and whenever needed. I hardly call that useless.”

“But if I had not been in the way, you—”

He put a finger to her lips, startling her into silence. “The fortunes of war,” he reminded her. “‘Tis not your fault. Do not speak of it again.”

Nimeithel hesitated then nodded and rose. As she gathered the bandages, scissors and medicaments on the bedside table, she found her thoughts wandering in a totally unexpected direction.

His finger on her lips had taken her by surprise. But more than that it had suddenly made her feel an intimacy with him that had not been there before. To love from afar was one thing. To experience any physical closeness, no matter how fleeting, was another. In the space of one day and one night he had set her on a course from which there could be no return. She could not tell whether she was pleased or frightened.

When she returned to his side, she realized he had fallen back into slumber caused no doubt by the draught she had given him. As gently as she could, she dressed his wound, praying she would not awaken him and renew his discomfort.

When she was done she stared at his peaceful features. With infinite tenderness, she brushed the strands of raven hair from his cheek. And then she took a chance and dared to press a kiss to his smooth forehead.

Sleep well, Eledhîren.

******************

Glossary:

tuilë and yavië - Quenya for spring and autumn

Calenlass - Greenleaf (Elrohir’s pet name for Legolas)

Eledhiren - my Elvenlord

To be continued…
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Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make