Shadow of Angmar

Death is inevitable. It always lurks in the darkest corners of one’s mind, always in waiting, always constant. Although the world changes, life, and death are constant. But death is also a mysterious event, different for every being. It is said that when your final days approach, all your memories come like a flood and you can see your whole life pass in front of your eyes. Some say that the soul leaves the body and goes into the world, becomes one with it. Others say that the soul is judged by God and then it can go either to Heaven, to be happy forever, or to Hell, to everlasting torture. And there is one story about a world beyond the limits of our earth, where beings rarely die and where it is always light and joy and love. But elves do die, too.

Darkness can be found too in the light that shines as bright as the stars. Coldness can still be felt in the warmth of a home and silence can be heard in the noisiest halls. Hatred can corrupt the pure souls of the naïve and kind and the sparkle in their eyes can turn into nothing. Emptiness can be found where once was love and life. Death brings all these elements together and forces them upon the soul. You can admit or deny it, but your past cannot be changed. And so, in the middle of that vast hall where the soul has to see itself for what it is and what it did, there is no place to hide or run.

The ground was damp, or at least so it was where this particular soul was, sprawled on the floor, dirty and in terrible pain. She could barely move or talk, she felt as though her whole body was paralyzed, but she was aware that it was not a dream, yet not reality either. She was thirsty, hungry, she had so much to say and yet she wouldn’t reply if asked about her story. What was the point in sharing her truth; she felt that if she spoke, then it all really happened. Reality hurt the most. But she did not regret it, nothing she has done in her life was worth regretting, and if she were to return in time, she would make exactly the same mistakes and would confide in the same people.

“You have come so far, but you cannot go all the way. Life is not over yet, at least not for you, not for now.” a man said, his tone soft at the beginning yet audibly growing more authoritarian.

“Nothing you do will redeem me and nothing I do will allow me peace.” She said with a trembling voice, feeling very uncomfortable standing there, all weak and barely able to raise her head and look at him.

“You are not to be redeemed, daughter of Valdaglerion. You are to be punished,” the man said in a loud voice, contemplating her state.

“There is no punishment that can even my faults,” she added, chuckling under her breath. “You cannot change what has already happened and nothing that follows will be worth my return.”

He did not respond but instead, he reached down, placed his hands over her eyes and light came from his palms. She screamed, feeling like a million needles were piercing her head. For this particular soul, returning to life was more terrible than dying.

Nature could feel something happened, that a new path was being built and a new story was about to begin. Trees were moving without a single gust of wind and animals were restless. It was a change that could either save or kill and the chances seemed to lean towards the latter. However, just because something seemed evil, it did not mean it was, and there were many more sparkling elements around.

A man was running from tree to tree, searching for something very important, although his face wouldn’t hint he was under any type of stress. But he was tense and he was holding his bow tightly in his hand, ready to pull it into action if the case arose. It wasn’t exactly his line of work to go around without a clear aim. Now, he did have a purpose at the moment but not one that he was accustomed to. He was an archer, not a babysitter and although he loved the prince, he would have preferred to do something of more benefit to the kingdom than play hide and seek with an elfling. His king trusted (or maybe punished) him with the safety of his son for the whole afternoon and yet he lost him.

“I can’t believe this is happening,” he mumbled to himself growing more alarmed as he realized he was getting closer to the northern borders.

On the other hand, prince Legolas seemed to be greatly amused by his new guard. It was always the same: have a majority of elleths in his palm inside the palace and have warriors, usually, archers, babysit him when he was out and about in the forest.

“If only they’d be able to keep up...” Legolas said bemused by how easy he could escape every single time.

He knew where he was, he didn’t want to stray far from home so he mostly followed the elven path. But even if he did wander further, he wouldn’t get completely lost.

“Why do they act like I’m still a child, I’ll be of age very soon...” complained the silver-haired elf as he jumped off a tree and started to walk around, always taking a glance behind to make sure he could still see the Elven Path.

If his looks were as fair as a teenager’s after puberty, which would be around 17 or 18 years in a human’s cycle, Legolas was 50 years old and still hoping to grow taller. He was the prince of Greenwood, the land of the wood elves, and he loved his position but it felt like everyone pleased him, from games to education and even day-to-day conversation. Nothing he ever did or said was wrong, it was always just slightly misinterpreted because he was young. That answer always left him with no sense of achievement.

The presence of the elfling had disturbed the trees even more but it also seemed to balance the darkness that was lying hidden through leaves and dirt and blood. The branches shifted and the trees made way for the prince. He looked around sensing that he was being shown his direction. Following their lead, he came upon a body lying on the grass. It would have been really easy to miss since it was a few good miles from the Path, almost across the border of the wood land.

“Are you alright?” He asked, approaching the body woodland

His grey eyes widened he saw her chest was not rising and she seemed to be dead. Curiosity took over him as he scooped closer and took a long look at the woman. First of all, she was covered in dirt and blood, some not hers from the colour of it and it seemed like she had been out in the forest for at least a few days. There were signs that rain and strong wind had passed and yet not one creature approached her. Another detail that surprised the young elf was her pain; even with her eyes closed, she looked like she was in terrible pain. His eyes moved downwards to her clothing: she had dark tights under what looked like a man’s tunic that came down to her knees. It looked like it has been modified here and there and wrapped tightly around her waist was a leather belt and a hilt where once must have been a sword. The tunic was worn out and it had holes with blood gushing out from wounds that he couldn’t see. Going further down, he noticed an arrow that was still very much stuck in her side.

Oddly enough, there was something written on her wrist. It was nothing familiar and yet he could understand it was not good. Drawn by the words, the elf leaned forward, immersed into the mystery behind it. At that moment, her hand jolted, scaring him to death.

“Prince Legolas!”

The boy looked up at the archer before he glanced back at the woman. He waited for him to approach enough to notice her too. The head of the guards, an imposing elf with broad shoulders and a stiff face ran to his prince, worry in his blue eyes even though his face was blank.

“You have to stop running, my prince. I could not find you for several hours and was deeply worried for your safety.”

“Dorondir, this woman is deadly wounded,” Legolas said, not at all listening to his guard.

Dorondir looked at the woman lying on the ground thoughtfully but no matter how hard he tried, there was no sign that she was alive.

“We have to help her. She’s fallen in our land.” Legolas added, hoping that enough will make him take action.

The guard sighed but couldn’t really deny his prince’s wish.

“Very well. But it may be too late.”

“Trust me, she’s still alive. She almost hit me,” Legolas explained watching Dorondir scoop her in his arms as if she was a sack of potatoes.

“It could have been just a muscle contraction,” Dorondir said not content at all with how his day turned out.

“Be careful, she’ll feel if you mistreat her. As the prince, I need to take care of any fallen into my land.”

Dorondir did not reply and not because Legolas held power over him but because the elfling was incredibly stubborn.

On the way back to the Halls, Legolas kept watch over the woman, just in case she’d wake up and he could prove he did not imagine her move. But nothing really happened and Dorondir believed more than before that he was carrying a corpse.

The guards were talking to each other, nudging one another to go and inform their king of what his son has done recently. But in the end, Dorondir arrived with a disgruntled expression and dirty tunic after having carried a bloody elf to the healing rooms.

“My lord, I have news regarding your son. In his recent activities outside, he has come across an interesting sight. Unfortunately, I could not deny his desire to bring it into the kingdom.” Dorondir explained, knowing this news will zoom through the woodland like fire.

The Elvenking was on his throne, thinking about his trades with the people of Esgaroth and how it seemed like there was a need for more supplies for the banquet in his son’s name. After all, he was finally coming of age and a big celebration was in order.

“And what is so interesting about this pet?” The king asked, not even glancing at Dorondir.

“It is not a pet, sir, it is a woman; an elleth to be exact. From what I could note, she must have been in that clearing for approximately two weeks. She has many wounds, among which the deadly one on her side from a poisoned arrow. She must have been running from goblins if she came from the Misty Mountains but we don’t know that for sure.” Dorondir explained.

“Then why did my son bring a dead elleth into my Halls?” the king asked, far more troubled by how Legolas was far too nice for his own good.

“We haven’t encountered any goblins in our patrol, sir,” Interfered one of the lower guards.

Thranduil sighed and rubbed his forehead as he thought about what his next move should be.

“The prince is sure that she is still alive, although I tried to convince him otherwise,” Dorondir added. “How should we proceed? He is adamant to have the healers treat her.”

Thranduil didn’t sketch a single movement but it was obvious he was annoyed with the news.

“Let him do as he wishes for now but bury her as soon as he understands she is dead. And call Gaelvel. We need to discuss the itinerary for the banquet.” Thranduil asked thinking how he did not want it to ruin the festivities with her rotten smell.

Dorondir nodded and turned to the lower guards who were still intrigued by the news.

“Leave for that clearing and make sure there are no goblins hiding,” He ordered since the two were too nosy.

Once the healer was called upon, they literally had to force the prince out.

Seeing no sign that she was breathing, the elves of the woods did what was in their power to tend to her wounds. Several times they checked to see if they could find any sign that she was alive, just as Legolas implied, but nothing happened for hours. It was already dawn when they left for other important matters.

Behind closed doors and in complete silence, under no lights because the room had no windows, her eyes opened wide and she took a long and loud breath in. The woman rose in a sitting position and breathed heavily, her heart pounding in her chest. She looked around but could not recognize the room. Heavy steps came towards the door, she could hear a lot of murmurs outside before the door opened, and in came an elf. It took a moment for him to enlighten the room and realize that his dead patient was now looking at him in a standing position.

“Oh my! You’re awake! Lord Gweluven, come quickly!” he exclaimed, sticking his head out the door before more feet approached. Two more elves entered, a woman with brown hair and brown eyes dressed in a long blue robe and a man so tall that it took the patient aback, especially because he had silver hair which she hadn’t seen in a long time.

The elf with silver hair was just as surprised. He hurried to her side and gaped at the colour in her cheeks.

“We believed you dead.” He explained, very pleased to see her awake. “The prince will be delighted to find that he was right.”

Seeing her now, she looked a lot more like an elf. Her dark red hair was an amazing contrast to her green eyes; it looked just like the way the sun glazes over the forest at twilight.

“Where am I?” she asked in a hoarse voice. It felt like she did nothing but scream before she woke up.

“This is Greenwood the Great. You’re in the Halls of King Thranduil. The prince found you stabbed by a poisoned arrow.” The brown-haired elleth explained, all the time staring into those green eyes.

The patient looked down at her hands before she looked at the healers. They were all watching her patiently, waiting for something or another. Taking her time adjusting to her new surroundings, she took care to memorize their faces: the elleth was short yet very elegant, with a long swan neck and eyes the colour of chocolate; next was the elf that entered first who seemed to be in constant awestruck, his short dark hair spiked up in a very human style, and there was the healer in charge. He was tall and clean and smelled nice. Standing next to him made her feel safe.

“Is there something wrong?” the spiky-haired one asked once he saw her eyes sparkling in the light.

“It is odd indeed. I cannot remember, no matter how much I try, just what was that happened to me.” She answered looking confused at the elves.

“A poisoned arrow means you were attacked by goblins or orcs. Maybe you were traveling when you met them. It is a miracle you are alive. You were out there for weeks before you were brought in.” he answered taking a step closer.

The woman took a peek at her wound but found that the bandages hid nothing. Her side looked as if nothing happened, confusing even the healers. The silver-haired healer looked up at her and noticed how dirty she really was. It was hard to figure out how she looked exactly with so much blood and dirt on her face and in her hair.

“You should bathe and dress in clean clothes. Miluinir will bring you one shortly.” As he said that the spiky-haired elf left the room.

Waiting took very little because the elf had run and came back with a simple green dress, one that matched her eyes. Taking the piece of clothing from him, she couldn’t help but look into his grey eyes and ask.

“What is this place?”

“Gweluven will answer all your questions,” Miluinir said with a smile before he turned to the other elleth and both retreated out of the room, leaving the patient with Gweluven.

The healer smiled softly, making him look so much older than before. He obviously did not have the constitution of a warrior –he was too slender and soft- but that was especially why she felt so comfortable with him.

“Gweluven is my name, my lady. I am the eldest healer in Greenwood. And what is your name if I may ask?”

It took a moment and to be sincere, she couldn’t remember her name yet it was there, on the tip of her tongue. Gweluven understood she could barely walk so maybe it was not surprising that she couldn’t remember who she was and where she came from.

“My name,” she mumbled to herself, confused. She knew it and yet her mind was a mess. She flinched as the many voices inside her head started to talk at once but when that was over, her eyes rose to his. “Mistril,” she said.

“Do you remember anything else?” Gweluven asked watching her carefully.

“No, not now,” She admitted finding no reason to lie to this person.

Gweluven nodded and decided that was a good start. It seemed if she had more time to reflect there were details about herself that could unconsciously come around. He smiled kindly and led her to a room made of stone. In the middle of it was a basin where a small waterfall was pouring down from somewhere very high. The water was not cold but not hot either and the healer gave her something in a bottle that smelled of roses.

He left swiftly afterwards. Mistril undressed and got in the basin, a smile widening on her face at the clean touch of the water. She spent a few minutes just relaxing before she actually started to clean herself. Her skin was fair as if years haven’t touched her one bit. While she was cleaning her hair, her eyes were closed so she couldn’t notice how something else was coming off except dirt.

Once she was done she dressed and spun around, amusing herself with the feeling of it. For some reason, wearing a dress made her feel like an elfling once more. Turning towards the basin, she looked at her reflection and frowned. She touched her cheek with one hand and her hair with the other. Her dark red hair was now an orange colour. Without thinking, she reached for her leather belt and grabbed a small knife out of it. She cut her long locks until the tip of her hair could barely touch her collarbone.

“I see you are ready,” Gweluven said from the archway towards the halls. He couldn’t help but gasp at how she looked now compared to just a few minutes ago. “The king wants to see you.”

It felt like Mistril was being led to her death sentence because every elf that had the opportunity was staring at her. She only had to meet the king, bow, and explain what she could but the attention she was receiving, although it was from afar, was unnerving.

“You cut your hair,” Gweluven commented, glancing at her anxious form. “You could have waited for a bit and I could have asked one of the elleths of the court to help you with it.”

“It was bothersome. I wanted to do it myself.” She replied not looking at him, only ahead.

The healer couldn’t help but keep throwing brief glances at her for the rest of the way. She was alive and well but she looked empty. Her light was so dim, but that was to be understood since she literally just returned from the dead.

“My king,” Gweluven announced their arrival, walking up on a platform high above. There was nothing but columns and a throne that seemed to have sight over the halls. King Thranduil was sitting, one leg over the other, and his cold blue eyes scanning her from head to toe.

“A dead body was brought in and my best healers tended to it so, tell me, how come you are alive?” he asked, not even acting sympathetically.

“I don’t know what happened. I was dead, indeed, but then this light engulfed me and I woke up here,” she explained, frowning at the pain she felt before she woke up.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes and in one swift movement, he cast his long golden coat aside, baring his long legs before he descended the few stairs towards his throne and approached Mistril just enough to make her understand how much authority he held.

“And what is your name?” He asked, realizing she was almost as tall as him.

“Mistril, sir,” she answered, knowing she had to act properly in order not to return to the wilderness.

“And why were you found in my land, wounded by goblins nonetheless?” he continued, his tone polite yet there was a tinge of animosity. “Where did you come from?”

Mistril’s eyes widened as she figured there was no real reason for the king to keep her there. She had no answers for him and she could understand how odd and suspicious her situation was.

“You tell me you cannot recall anything from before you woke up here? Especially your fight with those foul creatures?” she nodded which made him angrier, “And why would I believe you?” Thranduil asked, taking one step closer. She was fidgeting which gave him a glimpse of her hands. He did not like what he saw.

“I do not mean any harm. I’m just-“she stopped when she realized whatever she was about to say was not going to change the king’s perspective.

It took the Elvenking a few more minutes to be sure she was not a threat. Thranduil circled her staring at her with interest and suspicion. Her eyes were like stone, he could not understand what she was thinking about. She was so guarded that it brought more questions to the king.

“How did I get here?” she asked, wanting to change the subject.

“My son took pity on you and brought you here.” The king answered, not once faltering from his suspicion.

“And where is he now? I’d like to express my gratitude to him.”

“What makes you believe that I will allow you to meet him? That I will allow you to stay?”

Mistril’s eyes sparkled in a way that made everyone near her remember that she returned from the dead, therefore the Valar clearly had other plans for her. But the reason was still mysterious. Thranduil could vaguely form a theory based on what he noticed on her wrists but he didn’t want to jump to wrong assumptions. Another reason to worry was her flickering light, which could only mean that her soul was restless.

“Until I decide what to do with you, you will have a guard at your side at all times. I trust Gweluven will make all the needed arrangements.”

It was quite clear he was incredibly paranoid and overprotective so Mistril nodded and kept her opinions to herself. Gweluven bowed to his king and with a subtle touch of her elbow, they retreated down the stairs, leaving a thoughtful elf king behind.

“What is the name of the prince?” Mistril asked when she was sure they walked a good while from the ears of the king.

“Legolas.” The healer responded with a soft smile. “The young prince will be of age soon. There will be a banquet tomorrow night in his name. There are songs written about him and his adventures in the woods. He seems to love nature and the feeling is mutual.”

“I wish I could remember how that felt,” she started, making the healer turn to her with a confused expression, “I feel like nature doesn’t like me much. I was out there for days as you said. Who knows what happened in that time to my body.”

“If that was true, you wouldn’t be here.”

It wasn’t long before Mistril met the prince. He was very excited to see her walk and breathe and he was waiting in the room she woke up in. His eyes widened at the sight of her figure and joy flew from the depth of his heart.

“I knew you were alive!” he exclaimed.

Mistril smiled widely, her eyes sparkling with joy at the sight of this young elf. He was quite tall compared to what she imagined but she could see it in his eyes, he was still so pure, so young.

“I’ll always be in your debt, prince Legolas.” She said as she bowed to him, “Thank you for saving my life.”

Legolas blushed faintly, not ready to see her so lively now that she was awake. She looked so sour before and now it seemed like a new elf completely.

“My name is Mistril,” she introduced herself, knowing the prince must have been curious about it. His eyes were very clear and she saw many more questions zoom through them and yet he wasn’t in any hurry.

“Will you be staying with us for a while? I’d be more than pleased to have you at the banquet tomorrow.”

“I’d love to but will that be alright?” she asked turning to Gweluven. He raised an eyebrow, surprised that she asked him for his approval.

“Of course it will! It’s my birthday after all! I decide who comes,” Legolas answered sassily.

“That isn’t exactly how it goes but you do have a word in the guest list.” Gweluven interfered since the teenager was growing a bit commanding. “I’m afraid Mistril needs more rest if she wants to attend the banquet tomorrow.”

“Sure, sure. See you around, Mistril!” Legolas said with a wide smile as he waved the two goodbyes. Mistril waved right back, confused how someone could be so bright both in personality and in spirits.

Gweluven led Mistril to her room, one that couldn’t have been deeper into the kingdom even if they tried. Her keen eyes noticed that if she were to move more towards the left side, she’d probably be going down to the cellars; she could feel cold air brush her hand from that side. But Gweluven led her to the right, where a room was prepared for the guest.

“We arranged this room because you will need a healer to watch over you as your condition evolves. Miluinir will check on you every day since we would like to keep you alive for as long as the Valar wants.” Gweluven explained seeing her measuring how far she was from the rest.

Mistril frowned at the mention of the Valar but she also frowned at how the healer could read her expressions so easily.

“I will have someone bring you a second dress and maybe you will find her presence more comfortable than mine.”

“I find your presence soothing,” she said quickly, not wanting the healer to get the wrong impression. Gweluven smiled softly and nodded before he left Mistril get used to her room.

The room proved to be more than Mistril expected. She might have lived through worst because the simple sight of a clean bed and a window were more than enough. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she saw a dresser as tall as her and a mirror in the corner next to the window. Growing curious of the sight beyond the four walls, she rose and approached the window. Mistril smiled at the view over the forest. It was not the greatest and it was not towards the way she came from but it made her happy.

“My lady,” a soft voice came from the doorway.

Mistril turned her head, her short orange hair uncovering her green eyes as she looked upon the elf.

“Your robes,” The newcomer said as she walked in and placed them carefully on the bed.

“What’s your name if I may?” asked Mistril walking to the elf with curiosity. She wanted to know more about the wood elves and their kingdom.

“Edenith. I am a musician at the court.” She explained, her soft voice making Mistril wonder if she wasn’t maybe a bit wary.

“I’m Mistril.”

“I know. Everybody does, we saw you when you were brought in and then sent to meet the king. Do not worry, we don’t believe you are here with vile intentions but most of us are curious.” Edenith explained blushing when Mistril came right in front of her.

The truth was that Mistril was imposing from both afar and near. Edenith was a short and fragile elleth, with elegance and construction of a person whose life revolved around the court. Compared to her, Mistril was rough around the edges, maybe as tall as Gweluven and even in a dress anyone could see her body was bulkier than a musician’s. It was clear for Edenith that the elf in front of her was not one to play songs and write poems but one to run and fight.

“I’m not here to bring anything. I’m not even sure how I got into the forest.” Mistril started, placing a warm hand on Edenith’s shoulder. The musician froze at the contact and not because it was a strong grasp but because her grey eyes noticed the rune on Mistril’s wrist.

“I believe it’s time I take my leave. I will come back again later or if you will be too tired, tomorrow morning.” Edenith said and excused herself swiftly, almost running out of the room.

Mistril watched the elf hurry out with eerie. Something about her seemed to make the others wary and she did not enjoy it. Elves were supposed to help each other and probably that was the main reason King Thranduil didn’t kick her out yet.

Those thoughts played with her mind for the whole night. Once she fell asleep, she had dreams that were so messy she couldn’t extract much from them. And there were other images, snippets of darkness she had not wanted to see. There were orcs, many of them, and there was a fire. She could hear people shouting in pain and fear while running from the enemy. She turned her head and in that mess she saw an elfling with long red hair and bright blue eyes. They looked at each other, the young one looking scared yet content. And then a sword came through her chest, killing her instantly. Mistril couldn’t do anything but cry out.

“No! No you can’t! No!”

“Lady Mistril, please wake up. It’s just a dream!” She heard Gweluven’s voice and opened her eyes. “It was a nightmare.”

“No, it was real. It was real.” She said, looking at the healer with worry in her eyes. “I witnessed it, must had because it pierced my soul.”

Gweluven sighed and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She was so helpless at that point that she grabbed his arm and held it tightly. Gweluven only watched and let her do whatever she wanted.

“Can you tell me what the dream was about?” He asked, knowing from her eyes that she will tell him.

“An elfling was killed and I just stood there watching. It was war.”

“War? Do you mean against the darkness of Mordor?” Gweluven asked growing curious if she was even around that battle.

“Mordor?” She whispered, the name sending chills up her arms.

“You don’t know about it?” Gweluven asked seeing how it definitely affected her in some way. “Can you remember that name and its meaning?”

Mistril flinched as the voices started to mess with her head, growing louder and louder until she couldn’t hear anything else. Gweluven placed a comforting hand on her back and waited but she did not utter another word.

“She had witnessed war? What makes you think that?” asked the king at the briefing in the morning in his study. He wanted to know everything his guest said or did.

“I believe she saw someone dear be killed in a battle. When I mentioned Mordor, she seemed to have an idea of what happened but she didn’t talk about it.” Gweluven added with a frown. “And my lord, she sleeps with her eyes closed.”

King Thranduil was surprised, which was not an emotion he felt often. He was also suspicious what Mistril has done up to this point and who she met in her travels. He did not want any trouble in his kingdom just because an elf stumbled in.

“What else?” He ordered.

“Nothing. She will probably have more nightmares and our image of her past will come in sight.” The healer said before he looked towards the path to her room. “Maybe you should give her something to do, my king. She is healthy and we can use her services as a token of thankfulness.”

“Work?” Mistril asked once Gweluven asked for her in his office. “I am not sure what I am good at.”

“What about music?”

Edenith gave Mistril a harp but the sound was noise not music. They tried several more instruments but it was so bad, although Mistril did enjoy making the others run or screech at the sound.

“Alright, maybe music is a bit of a stretch for someone who obviously has rough hands. What about healing? I can teach you some things that will also help in the future.” Miluinir said as they made their way to the healing rooms.

But Mistril knew just the basics and nothing more could be done. Every time there was a patient with a broken bone or just light wounds made while working, her hands wouldn’t stop trembling.

And there were many more things they tried but Mistril was not good at housework or politics. She almost set Faervel’s documents on fire, a first meeting with the head of the army that she did not want to repeat.

“I’m bad at everything.” She moaned falling on her back.

Legolas caught sight of her a bit after she started searching for her talent and he couldn’t lie; she was really bad at everything.

“Come to my arching lesson and maybe you’ll learn how to handle a bow and arrow. Who knows, maybe you have a keen eye!” Legolas encouraged her. “Come on! I’m sure Tudor will be pleased to meet you! Besides, how bad can you be at throwing some arrows into trees and training dolls? Nobody will get hurt.” he hoped so.

In the end, Legolas had to pull Mistril up and half drag her to the woods. Now, she was outside and the fresh air was clearing her head of trouble. Having so many voices sing in perfect harmony, Mistril closed her eyes and let herself dance along. She didn’t see or expect the flying arrow coming her way but she heard it from the moment it was pulled out. Mistril caught it with ease before she opened her eyes and met an elf slightly smaller than her but with eyes that were staring into her soul.

“Very well newcomer. Quick reflexes save lives.” Tudor explained seemingly pleased by her luck.

“Mistril, this is Tudor. He is an archer and fought in many battles with my father.”

“Not that many...” he mumbled, scratching his ear. “But I do know one or two things. So you are the elleth that angered Faervel? I heard he needed to go out into the forest for a few hours in order to calm down. Those were important documents.” The archer added bemusedly.

“Yes, that’s me.” she replied visibly uncomfortable.