Chapter 3

The forest of Greenwood was silent. Mistril had gone out several times but only around the kingdom, never outside the borders. Now, they were one step in and one out and the difference was felt in how nature was acting around them. It felt like nature was watching, not interfering but just watching. A breeze moved Mistril's hair softly and she closed her eyes, listening in for any type of sound coming from fauna or flora. What she heard was a person pulling out an arrow and firing it in her direction.

"Don't lose yourself into the sight. The enemy can be anywhere," was the friendly advice that followed.

That was not Maerdor but the archer Tudor. He waved at her with a lose smile before someone walked up behind him. It was an elleth with long brown hair and brown eyes and she was dressed the same as Mistril, only her clothes fit her better. Her eyes landed on Mistril and gave a quick nod as sign of acknowledgement before she pushed Tudor forward.

"That's Hathelwen. She's an archer too."

"She seems very strict."

"She's an angel compared to Faervel." Maerdor explained listening for any sign that the subject he spoke of was near. "I only heard stories from when he used to fight for King Oropher. It is said that he continued the fight at Dagorlad even after he got severely wounded. He denied aid from healers and killed hundreds of orcs with the blade that wounded him." Maerdor added, his eyes widening at the scale of his own words.

"What happened at Dagorlad?" she asked innocently. Maerdor stopped and stared at her with an incredulous expression. "What?" she was genuinely confused and curious.

"The war happened. It was the greatest and most horrific set of battles that Middle Earth has ever seen. There were many casualties from both sides." Maerdor explained still finding it hard that she didn't know. "I know once it ended, elves from everywhere decided not to talk about it if possible but haven't you heard any stories about it before?"

"Even if I did, I can't remember." 

Maerdor frowned before he opened his mouth and spoke words that he should have not.

"Consider yourself lucky." the tone of his voice was almost as if he was envying her condition, even though there was no need to. 

"So the advice would be to keep my mouth shut in front of Faervel?" She changed the subject and the mood along with it.

"You cannot begin to imagine what lies behind Faervel's calm façade."

Nothing happened afterwards and time passed incredibly slowly during the first half of the day. Mistril leaned against the tree and listened. Except the other elves moving around and whispers here and there, nothing was out of ordinary.

By the time they returned, she was hungry and felt like sparing with somebody just for the fun of moving around. Her muscles were numb and her eyes felt sore but everything else was fine and no memory surfaced for the next few weeks. It was as if she finally settled in this new environment and having Miluinir close to her side made her loosen up.

"Are you enjoying the life of a guard?" he asked while they were in the library on one of the days the king trusted they wouldn't set anything on fire.

"It's boring but that's better than being attacked." she said, partially hoping a battle will ensue at some point.

"What about archery? Have you gotten on Legolas' level yet?" 

"No," she replied right away, "I need 150 more years to get to that level when I can also move while holding a bow and arrow. I'm afraid I'll hit somebody if I do as much as breathe." she added, self aware of how much of a beginner she was. "My hands tremble a lot."

"I noticed. Even when we were trying to coerce you into being a healer, or a helper, your hands would start trembling worse than the patient. Does it happen when you go on patrol as well?"

"No. But sometimes Tudor finds it amusing to scare me by firing arrows at my body."

Miluinir frowned which brought a content smile on her face. He was worried for her safety and it looked genuine besides, the concoction given to her by Hinnorbes seemed to diminish the constant state of anxiety she felt and life became quite joyful.

"I'll inform her of your trembling hands and she will prepare something for that too. Hinnorbes is exceptional at chemistry."

"She looks like she would make a wonderful mother."

"Of course she does! Her son is as tall as I am and he is only 100 years older than Legolas." Miluinir explained laughing at her shocked face. "We're the same age but I never married. I like being a wondrous elf."

"Have you ever been outside Greenwood?" Mistril asked eyeing him suspiciously. He seemed to know nothing but the forest he grew up in. 

"Yes, of course! I've been to Esgaroth!" he said proudly which made the elleth scoff. "It's enough for me! The world is wide and beautiful but it's also dangerous for an elf like me. I'm a healer not a warrior." he added, pulling his precious hands close to his chest lovingly.  

"Can you hold a sword?" she asked bemusedly which only made the healer glare at her in offence.

"Of course I can! My father is a craftsman. He works down at the store with my brothers."

"I guess you were the rebel that decided he is far too delicate for such hard work." that was a statement not a question and it sounded even worse in Miluinir's ears.

"My hands heal while theirs create and forge weapons, among other things. I prefer to save people rather than make the mean of their death." Miluinir explained, having a valid point that impressed Mistril, especially because she could see passion in his eyes.

"I wish I could remember my family. That's the only memory I want." she mumbled feeling like she just damped the mood but Miluinir wrapped an arm around her should and patted her in a friendly way. 

"You have all the time in the world. The king seems to have decided you are safe and you can live here for as long as the Valar wants." 

That would have been nice, they both thought, but the king had moods and he had advisers, Gweluven and Faervel among that very limited group.  But Miluinir succeeded in sending her off to her patrolling duties with a positive attitude, which was not fit for Maerdor, who liked her better when she was brooding.

"Maerdor, what's around Greenwood?" she suddenly asked, jumping into a tree for a better view.

"It stretches from the foothills of the Grey Mountains in the north to the North Undeep in the south, and from the east edge of the vale of Anduin to Erebor." He replied playing with one of Mistril's daggers.

"Where did I come from?" She asked receiving a curious glance. "What direction did I come from? Where was I found?"

"From what I heard, you most certainly came from the Misty Mountains and if I were to guess, you were probably going to Esgaroth. Goblins found you and didn't think much what to do with you." He said nonchalantly.

"Do you think that maybe I was their prisoner?"

"I don't know and I can't say. But if you knew how to fight then maybe you did escape." Maerdor said not convinced of his own words.

"I wish I could remember bits but everything is so blurry."

"What can you remember?" Maerdor asked moving closer to the tree she was in.

"War. Red haired elves dying. Fear and panic and...orcs."

"Usually orcs do come with fear and panic." Maerdor commented almost getting hit by another dagger. He raised an eyebrow surprised at how precise she threw it. "Try now and think about it. What do you see?"

Mistril closed her eyes and listened to the wind. He was soothing her with songs by flowers and leaves but there, in the very back, she could hear screams. They were horrible, very low in tone and among them there were swears spoken in many languages. If she were to try even harder, she could hear a soft voice, telling her that everything will be alright, but if she were to be sicnere, that was probably her own desire.

"Nothing much," She replied before she jumped next to him. "You said it yourself, lucky I am for not remembering the pain."

----------------------------------------------------

For an elf 100 years pass in the blink of an eye. Mistril got used to going on patrol every day and even helped Legolas with his training. In those 100 years the prince grew both in height and in skills. The bow became his favorite, as expected, and he started to join the guards whenever they had to go out.

Mistril learned a lot about wood elves as well. The Halls had a very complicated system and if she wasn't careful she could get lost. Although her room was so remote, she had the favor of occupying one of the few rooms in the Halls; it wasn't that remote either after she learned of the innermost cell and other places hidden in case of an attack.

After a while wood elves warmed up to her too and let her see their houses in the forest. They were spread all around either made on the trees or inside them. It was marvelous seeing such abodes and she wished she could live there too. Once Hinnorbes opened her door to the newcomer, many others followed mostly because Mistril seemed to be fit for the type of work that Miluinir strongly disliked: handy work. She could repair anything and she almost begged the king to let her work at the forgery. 

"Why would I trust you near a fire based job? Last time you almost burned down my library and did burn important documents." he said coldly, looking at her with skepticism. 

"But I talked to Miluinir's father and he said he will be watching me for the first few days." 

"Miluinir's father is under my command, Mistril. If I deny you access, he will comply." he couldn't believe she was so persistent when she was a sheep, all yes sir no sir only 100 years ago.  

"But I talked to Legolas and-"

"I am your king and I decide, not Legolas. Do not use your companionship with my son to gain favors." 

"You're not my king." she hissed, regretting her words as soon as they came out but still not showing it.

"Then you may as well leave my kingdom, where my word is rule and your statement could send you to prison." he replied, visibly growing angry although his face was in the same scornful expression she found him in.

Mistril tried her hardest not to growl; instead, she hurried out of his sight and went out into the kingdom. She could understand why Faervel would run into the forest when he was angry because she wanted nothing else but to scream and punch something. 

It was on a particularly interesting day of patrolling the grounds south when she decided she should ask Faervel her curiosities.

"There are many rumors concerning your warrior past." She started walking by his side.

Faervel was a tall elf, comparable with Thranduil and Gweluven. They were also the oldest wood elves to live in Greenwood and they seemed to share a type of melancholy that was not coming from circumstances but from deep within. While all three of them had very different personalities and ways to deal with their emotional wounds, it did seem like at the end of the day, these three were always spending more time alone rather than blend in with the rest.

"I heard you fought alongside the king's father. Oropher was his name, right? He led you to this place and because he gave you a safe life, you all followed him to battle against the enemy."

She was speaking about a tragedy with a tone that sincerely pissed him off.

"You don't know anything and they don't either."

"What about the story about you slaying hundreds of pests at Dagorlad with the sword that wounded you?" she asked without the slightest worry that he will get angry.

Faervel was almost sure who told her such stories so he wasn't surprised she finally asked. She looked like a curious person, one without a filter which was exactly the kind of people he hated. Gweluven was the one that could answer in riddles and could shift the attention off important and sensible subjects. Faervel was a bold person and it was hard lying to her so he did the opposite.

"And? What do you want me to say?"

"Dagorlad." She said, her eyes staring at him with more than just curiosity, "I want to know about Dagorlad."

Faervel took a long look at the woman in front of him. She stopped and waited for her superior to give her the information she wanted.

"Dagorlad is a grand, treeless, open plain between the Emyn Muil and Cirith Gorgor." He answered.

Mistril was expecting more but Faervel didn't give any details about the battle he fought in or its repercussions. He walked forward and continued to keep a few feet distance from her just in case she had other questions. From behind him, Mistril could see how he was different from Maerdor and Tudor; he had medium silver hair in the first place, and his eyes were icy blue. Dressed in his light armor, with his back straight and the tight atmosphere around him, Faervel felt like a frozen river.

On the other side, Gweluven was the definition of warmth yet Mistril always felt this apathy towards strangers oozing off him. Gweluven was incredibly loyal, to the point he'd lay down his life in front of Thranduil but to those outside Greenwood –elves or not- he kept a wall. 'No sympathy for those who are not our own' that was a way of simplifying his character.

Walking down the halls towards her room, Mistril thought about Dagorlad. She could ask Gweluven about it, or if she felt brave enough even Thranduil, but it wasn't the same. Faervel was a warrior through and through and could give her details that could explain why she felt like she knew that place.

Someone was following her, lurking in the shadows ready to attack. When that happened she didn't flinch but turned to look her perpetuator in the eye.

"You asked Faervel about Dagorlad?" Tudor asked, showing himself. "Are you out of your mind?" he asked although his tone was leaning more towards amusement rather than surprise.

"I can't remember a great deal of what happened in the last years. I cannot even remember my own childhood so of course, I want to know." She explained. "If Faervel won't tell me then maybe I should ask king Thranduil."

Tudor's eyes widened, those grey eyes looking at her with amazement.

"Why not ask me or Maerdor? We fought at Dagorlad too."

"Really?" she asked eyeing the archer suspiciously. "How old are you anyway?"

"Old enough! Just because I look young doesn't mean I am you should know that better than anyone." Tudor said narrowing his eye at the woman in front of him. He had noticed how she had this way of looking down at the elves that held no high ranking. Maybe he was mistaken but those green eyes were so cold and distant at times.

"Fine then. Tell me." 

"It was horrible. I fought for King Oropher but we weren't the only army; the Last Alliance between Men and Elves, that's how it remained known in history. I will never forget those moments when I thought death to be the only way we would leave those grounds." He stopped and frowned, memories coming back to him. "The Enemy was strong and patient. I was with the archers and to be sincere, we were in a safer position than the others. Our commander died in battle, as did many warriors."

"What happened to the enemy?" she asked.

"He came out from his fortress, eventually. The Black Gate opened and this dark creature walked out, his power greater than anything we have seen before." He shuddered, "There were many vicious creatures that followed him. They had their heads covered by black helmets but I heard their black eyes were glinting with malice."

"You heard? Weren't you there?"

"I wasn't in the front lane. My main problems were orcs and men of wild nature. Maerdor was there, fighting alongside Faervel. He saw something that scared him on that last night. Faervel too."

There was a long pause in which Mistril waited patiently for the archer to tell her details about this fearful beast. Tudor was looking ahead, remembering the sight he had watched long ago.

"What?" she asked seeing how Tudor didn't have any intention to continue by himself.

"I don't want to know. I prefer to think Sauron was the worst darkness could create."

----------------------------------------------------

"Tudor,"

Once Mistril left for her room, the archer was called by his king.

"My lord," He bowed and then he realized one small detail, "How long have you been here for?" Tudor asked seeing how Thranduil could have been there all the time, listening to his and Mistril's conversation. From his expression alone it was hard to figure out.

"What did she ask you?" Thranduil asked approaching the archer as if he was floating under that long robe.

"She's curious about the war but that it is to be understood since she cannot remember it." Tudor answered, finding himself defend Mistril.

"And what did you tell her?"

Tudor caught the glint in Thranduil's eyes and realized quickly that his king was very involved into Mistril's life.

"I told her what I saw and how it felt. It was only my point of view over a tragedy that we moved on from." Tudor replied in the same manner he would have talked to Faervel.

"How did she react?" Thranduil pestered, his face never changing and tone never letting out what was indeed in his mind.

"Normally. Was she supposed to react in a certain way?" The archer asked eyeing his king suspiciously.

But Thranduil didn't answer. He left swiftly on the same way as Mistril, his steps heavy as if he was going into a battle. Tudor sighed as he watched his king act oddly for the first time in a while. Mistril was a bundle of curiosity but her interests lied only in the subject of battle.

----------------------------------------------------

Mistril herself knew that for an elleth it was strange to find no interest in anything but swords and past traumatic events but she couldn't control herself. She wanted to know all there was that made the Elvenking act so overprotective. 

But now she heard a new name. One that sent shivers up her arms and down her spine. It became a routine for her to think while looking over the forest through her window. It was dark outside but the moon was shining brightly like a source of hope.

"Sauron," she mumbled, feeling fear creep up her spine.

As she repeated that name, she felt a shadow elongate next to hers and she froze. She turned around and followed it up to someone moving in the shadows of her room. It lured her in and without a second thought she went up to him.

It was a creature she had seen before, she had talked to before and she had definitely bowed to at some point. She was scared of him but not to the extent she would have sacrificed for him. It wasn't Sauron.

"You should not disappoint me in this battle or you will return to that cave." Hissed the cloaked man, his voice once human and raspy but now it was just a screech.

She remained staring at him with a sense of gratefulness. What that was for she couldn't say but whoever he was, he offered her an opportunity and she took it.

Two knocks drew her attention and the dark form vanished.

"Yes?" She called out expecting Gweluven since he used to visit her at around the same time.

Surprisingly, Thranduil's face appeared from around the door and he entered the room as if it was his own. He didn't sit but walked to her and looked into her green eyes.

"I'd like you to stop inquiring information of an event that you did not take part in. If you have any curiosities that cannot be refrained, ask me directly. My warriors do not need to remember the past." He said as elegantly as possible.

But Mistril didn't seem impressed. She was, on the other hand, surprised that he gave her an alternative instead of shutting her out completely.

"Tudor told me about your father, former-king Oropher. When he mentioned that name, a face appeared into my mind."

"Of my father?" Thranduil asked not quite believing it.

"I could see this noble man, dressed in his armor and leading his army bravely into a suicidal mission. His hair was the color of bright white clouds, his eyes were firm yet if you were to look closer, there was worry for his people not for himself." She said looking ahead with admiration for the man in her image.

"What makes you believe that man was my father?"

"I know. I only met two men with such noblesse in my life and one of them was Oropher." She explained before she looked at him, "You do not believe a word that comes out from my mouth." She stated not necessarily waiting for him to agree. "Why are you so hostile with me? I've been living here in peace for more than 100 years and yet you still doubt my intentions. I befriended Legolas out of respect and gratitude for saving my life not because I have later intentions! Why can't you look at me and see me for what I am?!" She shouted feeling pressured by all the glances and all the whispers she had seen and heard. It was horrible to feel like an outcast among your people.

Thranduil's eye twitched as he finally lost his calm facade. He grabbed one of her arms and forced it to her eyes.

"Do you see this? This is the black language, used by no one and nothing out of Mordor. You know what it says don't you? It's a mark that binds you to them." He hissed before he pulled her closer. His eyes were full of hatred and whole face was a sneer. "How can I trust an elf that came from that place?"

"You don't know anything about me." She hissed yet she wasn't angry.

If anything, her heart beat slightly different. She looked at his face and noticed little details that she had never seen before. It was the first time she looked at him as an elf rather than the king. He was very handsome and his skin, just like hers, was only briefly touched by time. It was also the first time she looked into his eyes. Those grey eyes made her feel like a flood of emotions was about to take her along. Those eyes have seen war at a young age and he had to take the crown when he wasn't confident enough to decide the future of his people. She could see that he had fought long to keep himself in check all the time and there were times when he suffered and felt helpless.

Being so angry, he didn't realize how much of his true self he let her see.

"You should leave." She whispered, feeling like her heart might explode soon.

He growled or maybe that was a scoff- sounded the same in her ears- before he left in a hurry.

----------------------------------------------------

Thranduil felt a bit perturbed now that he could think more clearly about it. She looked at him differently than before; there was no amusement, no teasing. Instead it was like a huge depth of emptiness which was exactly why he felt a bit off.

When he walked into his room, the first sight his eyes met was a bow.

"Legolas, what is it that you want?" Thranduil asked, pushing the bow aside as his son let him in.

"I heard just now that Faervel wants to send Mistril patrol near Dol Guldur."

"And?" Thranduil asked nonchalantly.

"You cannot allow it! You know well that in the past year men have been talking about orcs going in and out of there."

"What do men know..."Thranduil scoffed.

"If you send her there, worse rumors will spread. Her wrists...they will believe she's also involved with orcs."

"She could be for all we know."

Legolas narrowed his eyes at his father but didn't mutter another word. It was infuriating seeing the king act so stubborn.

"Be wise, Legolas. You found her wounded just outside Greenwood yet she was on the Elf Path. Our forest was not chosen randomly."

"That was more than 100 years ago! She proved to be a good fighter and a good friend."

"Do you know what those marks mean in our language? They translate to Dark Fire. There were rumors when I was just like you about bindings that do not leave you to die. If touched by the dark fire, an elf will not be welcomed to the Halls of Mandos or in Valinor."

"And you believe such ancient stories?" Legolas asked rising an eyebrow suspiciously.

"I didn't until I saw her."

"She is not evil." Legolas repeated the statement that he has been saying ever since he brought Mistril in.

"And she couldn't die either, could she? You didn't save her, Legolas. Her soul was sent back."