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Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make	By : MPB Category: -Multi-Age > General Views: 5831 -:- 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
- 3
- 4
- 5
Part IV

Five days later, Elladan was out in the drill yard honing his skills. His brother and friend chided him for getting back into training so soon but he was unmoved. Trouble could very well be upon them sooner than expected. He did not intend to be caught unprepared.

Nimeithel watched as he and Elrohir dueled with knives. Despite his injury, Elladan remained a formidable opponent. The match ended in a draw, leading Legolas to laud the older twin and tease the younger.

“If that is all you can manage with an Elf lately come from his sickbed, how in Arda are you going to defeat one who is well and whole?” Legolas commented with a smirk.

“Nay, I was only being gentle,” protested Elrohir. “Would you have me be the cause of his relapse into illness? Nimeithel would string me up from the highest tree if she doesn’t flay me alive first!”

Nimeithel blushed at his banter while amused laughter resounded around her. In the middle of a chuckle, Elrohir caught the almost guilty expression on her face and paused to ponder it. He traced her sneaked glances to his twin. The Elf-knight wondered.

*******

Spring went by and summer soon reached its peak. The four companions had no lack of activities to indulge in though Nimeithel, chastened by what had happened to Elladan, no longer insisted on going along on patrol or hunts. She did, however, request that she be taught the rudiments of fighting that she be at least able to defend herself.

“Mother died defending our honor,” she soberly told Elladan one fine day as they watched Elrohir and Legolas spar with sword and knife. “Had she not known how to wield a knife, we would have been despoiled ere Legolas arrived.”

“You have been sheltered overmuch,” Elladan agreed. “‘Tis surprising for an Elf of Mirkwood.”

Nimeithel sighed. “I suppose it comes of being an only daughter and the youngest as well.” She glanced shyly at the Elf-lord. “Legolas is reluctant to teach me. Will you convince him to do so?”

Elladan smiled. “I will do better than that,” he said. “I will teach you.”

Nimeithel blinked. “You?” she almost squeaked.

“Why so shocked?” he grinned. “I promise, I will not slice you up too much.”

Nimeithel gulped. Nay, you will just make mincemeat of me, she thought frantically.

Will she, nill she, the Elf-princess found herself the fumbling student to Elladan’s patient teacher. Though initially resistant to the suggestion, Legolas eventually acquiesced and Elladan wasted no time at all beginning Nimeithel’s lessons. Before long, Elrohir started to train her as well and, at long last, Legolas decided to put in time to teach his sister the basics of archery.

She soon rued her request when she would retire each night a mass of aching muscles and protesting joints, some of which she did not even realize existed. How could any elleth desire to be a warrior, she would groaningly think each time she sank into a hot bath to ease her sore body. Obviously they are misled into thinking it a charming profession, she would scowlingly conclude before whimpering as another ache made itself known.

Nevertheless, under the twins and her brother’s able tutelage, she learned enough to wield sword and knife though she knew she would never be more than adequate. It was in archery, though, that her Silvan heritage became apparent for she soon became quite adept at it.

She was practicing one early morning by herself, intent on perfecting this martial skill that seemed to come to her much more easily than the others. Such was her surprise and discomfiture when she suddenly heard Elladan speak up just behind her.

“Your grip is too high,” he murmured. “Here, let me show you.”

She caught her breath as he came close and reached around her to adjust her grip on the bow. Faint crimson stains touched her cheeks as his scent teased her nostrils. For several weeks now that scent had beguiled her whenever they grappled with one weapon or another. It was utterly tantalizing to say the least. Nothing like the forest scent of a Wood-elf but bewitchingly evocative of the aromas of the hidden vale instead. Small wonder Legolas had swiftly surrendered to Elrohir that first night they lay together, she distractedly thought. The twins’ scents alone were enough to undo anyone!

It was with relief that she felt him release her and move away. Any longer and she would have given herself away with some foolish action or remark. She glanced up at him to thank him only to have her words die before they left her lips.

He was looking at her in the oddest manner, his brow slightly creased and his eyes glittering darkly. She nearly forgot to breathe, so strong was the spell of his gray gaze. And then, he abruptly released her from his compelling eyes, and, with a curt nod, strode away. She stared after him in bewilderment.

The afternoon found the brethren and Legolas headed out for a dip in the Bruinen. As they followed the pebbled path to the river, they heard raised, agitated voices.

Rounding a small cluster of trees, they came upon Daurin and Enedrion in the middle of what looked like, for all intents and purposes, a lovers’ quarrel. The two warriors were startled by their sudden appearance. Enedrion flushed then turned and fled into the concealment of the woods, unheeding of Daurin’s calls to him. But none of the three had missed the utter despair on his usually stoic features.

Glorfindel’s second-in-command looked miserable to say the least. Elladan placed a comforting hand on his arm and asked: “What has happened? What were you fighting about?”

The warrior swallowed hard. “I-I told him that I wished to end our relationship that I might woo Almariel in full,” he mumbled. “I did not realize – did not know he loved me so—” The Elf stopped, unable to continue. After a long pause, he shuddered and said dolorously: “I never meant to hurt him.”

“I am sure you did not,” Elladan said gently.

“But I did nonetheless,” the Elf said remorsefully. “He did not deserve that.”

“He did not,” Elrohir frankly agreed. “‘Tis a pity you did not anticipate this possibility when you took him and kept him as lover all these years.”

“Elrohir!” Elladan exclaimed. “You are too harsh, gwanneth.”— younger twin.

But Daurin shook his head and said: “Nay, ‘tis the truth. I should have known how he felt after so long. Instead, I led him to believe... I am naught but an inconsiderate fool.”

He turned and walked away, head bent in regret and despondency.

Elrohir watched the warrior return to the barracks, his eyes glittering with a little anger. "'Twas inevitable that someone would be hurt,” he said tightly. “Enedrion’s heartbreak might have been averted had Daurin been more forthright from the start.”

Elladan nodded slowly, unable to disagree. “‘Tis at times like this that I am glad I lack the intensity of your feelings, muindor”—brother—he admitted.

Legolas glanced at the brothers with brooding eyes. He kept silent. His lack of response drew Elrohir’s attention and the younger twin looked at him wonderingly. He noted the expression on his friend’s face.

“Calenlass? What ails you?” he softly asked.

Legolas started and returned his gaze. The prince looked deeply shaken. “So it was with Sirgon. As it was when Naneth”—Mother —“died,” he whispered harshly. “And when your mother departed.” He shuddered, remembering Sirgon’s despair, his father’s agony echoed later in Elrond’s eyes. “Love is cruel. I will never love like that,” he suddenly vowed. “I will not let my heart endure such grief!”

The twins stared at him.

“You cannot mean that, mellon nîn”—my friend—Elladan said. “The heart cannot be denied once it chooses its life’s mate.”

Legolas shook his head almost violently. “But I will deny it!” he said fiercely. “I will not give it away only to suffer from grief and pain. I have seen enough of others’ sorrows to know I cannot bear it.”

“Do not speak rashly, Legolas. You cannot know what the fates have in store for you. None of us can.”

“Let the fates unleash what they will upon me,” the archer declared. “So long as they leave my heart alone.” He noted Elrohir’s frown. “Do not try to dissuade me, Elrohir,” he said sharply. “My heart is mine to give and I choose to give it to no one. From this day forth it is shut.”

For the space of a moment, Elrohir regarded him somberly. Finally he spoke in a low voice. “And will you shut Elladan and me out as well?”

Legolas started then stared at the Elf-knight. His argent eyes were sad but understanding. He then glanced at Elladan and realized the sorrow was mirrored in the older twin’s eyes. The prince felt guilt smite him that he should have hurt his dearest friends. “Nay, gwedeir”—sworn brothers—“that love I will cleave to even more closely,” he softly amended. “‘Tis the binding of hearts and spirits I shun, not the bonds of brotherhood between friends. Elrohir, I feared to lose you then; I could not endure losing either of you now.”

“You would never lose us, Legolas,” the younger twin pointed out. “Whether you want it or not, you will always have our love.”

Legolas smiled, warmed by the other’s words. “‘Tis is all the love I need,” he replied. “But my heart I will keep.”

Elrohir nodded resignedly. "'Tis your choice,” he murmured.

He looked at his brother. Elladan stilled a start of consternation at the bleakness in the depths of his twin’s eyes. But Elrohir’s gaze also conveyed a clear desire not to discuss the matter and so the older twin was forced to set it aside for the present.

********

As summer slowly ran its course, so did Nimeithel’s diffidence in weapons use give way to burgeoning confidence. Indeed, so satisfied was Elladan with her progress that he surprised her by asking her if she wished to join him and the others on a brief patrol of the easternmost borders of the woods along the Bruinen.

Flattered that he should think her capable enough to bring along, she accepted with alacrity. And firmly put her self-consciousness aside insofar as revealing tunics and tight breeches were concerned.

They expected little to happen that day. But, like any day in the all too uncertain present, things could and did happen. As they followed the tree-lined course of the Loudwater, the sound of frantic cries for help reached them. Spurring their steeds forward, they came upon a small party of outlaws chasing a young boy. Unhesitatingly, the Elves charged into battle.

Nimeithel held back, determined not to be a hindrance to the others. She did keep an anxious eye on her brother and the twins though common sense told her it was a waste of a good worry. The three were formidable in any battle. This was just a skirmish; a mere romp to such seasoned fighters. She tried to direct her attention elsewhere.

It was while she was perusing the other soldiers that she spotted the child once more. With a thrill of horror, she realized he had been driven to the very banks of the river by a knife-wielding brigand.

Without further ado, she sped toward him, drawing her sword as she ran. She swung it up just in time to block the bandit’s downward stroke then, acting purely on instinct, brought it down hard, slicing through the man’s shoulder. He cried out in agony and staggered back, dropping his weapon.

But the boy, already teetering on the edge of the high banks, lost his balance and toppled into the swift running water. He was swept away almost at once, screaming in terror as the cold waters drew him down now and again. Realizing the child did not know how to swim, Nimeithel dove in after him.

Like most Elves, she was a strong and natural swimmer and soon reached the floundering child. Grasping him by the scruff of his collar, she managed to hold him above water but found she could not fight the currents at the same time. Grabbing at a large boulder in the middle of the river, she desperately called for help.

In the midst of gutting his opponent, Elladan heard her cries. Seeing her predicament, he raced to the riverbank and dove into the chill waters. Powerful strokes brought him swiftly to Nimeithel. Reaching her, he quickly relieved her of the child.

“Can you swim back?” he asked.

“Without the child, yes!” she replied and proceeded to prove her capability.

Back on solid ground, they found the situation well in hand. Not a single bandit had escaped the Elves’ charge. And thanks to Nimeithel, the child was safe and able to convey in full what had befallen him.

After donning dry clothes, Elladan joined Elrohir as he briefly questioned the child. Legolas, on the other hand, saw to his sister’s welfare. Reassured that she was well, he left her that she might change into fresh clothing behind a stout tree. That done, she settled on the grass, her pack by her side, toweling her hair dry.

She looked up, startled, when Elladan appeared and knelt at her side. He handed her a simple flask and bade her drink from it.

She obediently complied, taking a mouthful of the mead-like liquor. Almost immediately, warmth suffused her body.

“What in Arda—?” she gasped.

Elladan chuckled. “Has Legolas never told you about our cordial?”

“Oh. So this is the famous miruvor,” she said. “I must say I am impressed. ‘Tis far more potent than I’d expected.”

Again, Elladan chuckled before taking a swig of the cordial himself. Afterwards, he regarded her intently.

“That was brave of you to go in and help that child,” he quietly told her.

Slight color stained the Elf-maid’s cheeks but she strove to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“I couldn’t let him drown,” she answered, shrugging. She winced as the motion caused her shoulders to ache. “Ai, my poor muscles. I did not realize the current would be so strong. How is the boy?”

“He will be all right. ‘Twas fortunate you saved him. He was looking for help, Nimeithel. His village was raided and some women were taken captive. We must leave as soon as possible if we are to catch up with the rest of the band.”

Nimeithel nodded and tried to brush her now unruly hair into some semblance of neatness. Elladan watched her frustration for a while then smiled and said: “Here, let me help.”

He moved behind her and, to her confusion, plaited her hair swiftly and deftly. She blushed furiously for there was a familiarity in the act that made her shiver with feelings she did not dare examine. Mercifully, in what seemed like a matter of seconds, he was done and no longer did bothersome strands of hair brush against her face.

“That was quick,” she managed to comment.

“A warrior cannot waste time on his hair,” he pointed out. Noticing her frown, he chuckled lightly and said: ”Do not worry, it suits you.”

Still unsure, Nimeithel dug into her pack and brought out a small silver object. Elladan burst out laughing when he realized what it was.

“A mirror?” he grinned. “You brought a mirror with you out here?”

Nimeithel scowled. “I am still an elleth”—Elf-maid—she retorted with as much dignity as she could muster before studying her reflection.

“Did I not say it suits you?” he teasingly chided her.

Nimeithel had to admit that he was right. Not only did the style show off the fine angles of her face, it was also very practical, holding back her hair effectively from her face. Then remembering that it was Elladan who had arranged it so, she blushed again. He raised an eyebrow in inquiry as color washed over her cheeks.

“‘Tis strange to think that you braided my hair,” she murmured with some embarrassment.

Elladan smiled and rose. Before he walked off he grinned at her once more. “Who knows, you may do the same for me one day,” he said lightly.

Nimeithel stared after his retreating back. His words made her actually imagine what it would be like to run her hands through his raven hair, feeling the midnight strands between her fingers. “If you only knew how much I would love to!” she muttered with a scowl before gathering her things and following him.

They had little more trouble pursuing the remaining bandits and dispensing with them. To Nimeithel’s relief, none of the human females had yet been touched though that had clearly been their captors’ intent. After escorting the women back to their village and their grateful families, the Elves returned to Rivendell.

Henceforth, Nimeithel wore her locks as Elladan had plaited them. What he made of the gesture, she could not guess. But she arranged her hair thusly because it obviously pleased him and that pleased her greatly in turn.

*******

All too soon, or so it seemed, summer ended and autumn made its appearance. With the turn of the seasons came the closing of Legolas and Nimeithel’s visit to Rivendell.

“Time flies too swiftly when one is enjoying one’s self,” Legolas growled as he and Elrohir made their way up the hills behind the Last Homely House. It was the twins’ begetting day and, as was his wont, the woodland prince always awaited its passing before departing for home. “When will you come to Mirkwood again, gwador?”—sworn brother?

Elrohir shrugged. “I cannot say for certain. With Arwen in Lórien, Father desires for us to remain close by. Though there is the possibility of some hunting come next spring should the Orcs dare to encroach on our territory again,” he added. At the beginnings of a scowl on his friend’s face, he said quietly: “We will keep it brief. I will not break my promise to you.”

Legolas regarded him solemnly for a spell. Then he nodded and they went on, wending their way up a hidden trail that led to a wide tree-shaded shelf overlooking the valley. Here they sat and gazed upon Imladris in comradely silence.

The vale was awash in the gold and browns of autumn. Already, it was cooler and the bracing breezes would soon give way to chill ones. Of course, Rivendell, sheltered by the power of Vilya, never experienced anything worse than the mildest of winters though Elrond did not entirely shield his realm from all inclement weather either. The two Elves drew in their fill of sweet, pine-scented air.

The archer sighed at length. “Just take care, Elrohir,” he softly said. “Don’t let your anger rule you.” He glanced at the Elf-knight, then took his hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “I always worry that you will heedlessly run on your death. I could not bear to lose you.”

“I am never so heedless as to foolishly court ruin,” Elrohir assured him. “I have not forgotten your counsel all those years ago when first you hunted with us.” He squeezed Legolas’ hand in turn. “And you are too precious a friend to go without for too long. I regret our prolonged absences, Legolas. ‘Tis time lost that would have been better spent in your company.”

Legolas smiled at the tender utterance. “Then do not waste much more of it in vengeful endeavors. Come to Mirkwood soonest, Elf-knight.”

The twin’s eyes gleamed with argent fire. “As you wish, Calenlass.”

********

The Mirkwood siblings departed before the first full chill descended on the vale. There was still much to say and too little time to say it. And so they made do with gentle words of parting, confident that they would be together again ere too long.

As the youngest children of Thranduil rode out of Imladris, the brethren felt themselves bereft. A shared look between them silently affirmed that they would indeed not wait for too many years to pass before following their friends to their forest realm.

Greenwood the Great beckoned. They would heed its summons.

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

Glossary:

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

To be continued…
- 3
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- 5
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Greenleaf & Imladris 13 - The Choices We Must Make