Chapter 2

"One important aspect of archery is patience. You cannot rush it, not when you are a beginner at least. You also need to listen. The wind will tell you everything you need to know." Tudor explained, lining both Legolas and Mistril in front. "Prince Legolas already has his own bow and quiver so I'll let you use my spares."

Mistril nodded thankfully and took the equipment from her teacher. Tudor was a warm and gentle elf, not exactly one she would imagine to fight in battles. Thinking about that again, she felt her forehead ache but it passed quickly.

"Now, take an arrow and place it on the bow. Look at the target in front of you and try to keep your hands steady. If you twitch, the arrow will not hit its intended target." Tudor explained, watching Mistril carefully. Legolas was already used to the lessons and was growing comfortable with the bow in hand. "Shoot!" He said suddenly.

Legolas hit forward and so did Mistril but hers missed the target altogether. Her deep green eyes narrowed at the feeling not at the way she missed but Legolas believed otherwise.

"You'll get better if you try. We can practice together." The prince said boldly. Mistril raised an eyebrow as Tudor started to chuckle to himself.

They fired all the arrows in the quiver and then exchanged so they could fire again. Legolas was getting better with every shot while Mistril's hands started to tremble at some point and miss the hit before shooting. Seeing how they spent half a day like that, Tudor chose to stop.

"Great work, prince Legolas. Lady Mistril, you did well for your first time." Tudor said, taking the quivers from his students. "And I mean it. Not many beginners get to hit the target from the first shoot. If you practice more you won't get tired as fast."

"Thank you but if I continue practicing I'm afraid that King Thranduil will start suspecting my motives." She explained genuinely worried she'll get shunned.

"Not if I ask him for you to be my practice partner. Then he will have no choice but to sacrifice you, in case I miss my target."

Legolas spoke so innocently that it was impressive he could be so sly. Tudor didn't seem surprised but he nodded along, trusting the influence the elfling had on his father.

"Then, what else is it that you practice except archery? Swordsmanship?" she asked feeling excited for some reason.

"Yes but not tonight. Prince Legolas has to get ready for his coming of age." Tudor interfered. "I have to go now but I suppose I will see you at the banquet." He said before he waved and left.

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"You don't have to call me prince. You are not a wooden elf so it feels odd." Legolas started on their way back.

"Won't your father overreact at my impoliteness?" She asked, being polite when talking about the king.

"You don't need to worry. He isn't your king."

"But he can throw me out and I do not wish to find myself on the brink of death once more." She explained, glancing at the elfling. Legolas was not a small and fragile elf he was actually tall and could definitely handle himself even in front of the king. But he was still young and protected. 

"I saved you, not my father. I decide when you leave." Legolas said with a tinge of the same coldness as Thranduil. She looked at him fondly and ruffled his blond hair. "Hey! I'm not a child!" He moaned narrowing his eyes at her.

"I apologize, Legolas." She answered making him smile although he was still throwing her nasty looks. "Well then, I'll drop you off at your rooms and I'll go back to my own after a quick visit to the healer." She announced.

Once that was done, she did remember where to meet Gweluven. His office was close to the stone stage where she met Thranduil and his unique throne. But Mistril had to give the woodland king some merit, his kingdom was filled with elegance and a strong connection to the forest. They held so much adoration and respect for every living thing in the world...something she didn't feel drawn to.

The one to open the door and welcome Mistril was Miluinir. The young ellon smiled brightly at her and urged her inside.

"How do you feel?" He asked once she sat down. The brown haired elleth was there too, mixing some herbs for other patients. 

"Will you go to the banquet? I'm sure Hinnorbes can get you a dress for it. She has many." Miluinir said glancing at the woman, emphasizing what became her hobby.

Hinnorbes rolled her eyes and ignored him as she approached Mistril with a phial.

"For nerves. You will need it if Miluinir will have to follow you around." She said throwing the young elf the same look he did just a few minutes ago. 

Mistril laughed as the two started to bicker. Watching them made her feel happy and gave her a sense of friendship that she missed. Miluinir was childish and fun while Hinnorbes was serious and motherly and there was Gweluven, whose sudden entrance put a stop to the two healers.

"I was wondering why there is so much noise coming from here. Your voices echo down the hall." He said with a smirk, scolding the two. Then his eyes fell on his patient and the slight mischievous glint in his eye faded. "How are you Mistril?" 

Looking up into his eyes, Mistril found herself pondering on his question. She was alive and well and her memory did not improve nor did her talents.

"I met Faervel early today. It wasn't pleasant." she answered feeling a shiver down her spine at the memory.

Gweluven watched her in silence but Miluinir's reaction was a lot louder. Hinnorbes hit him several times but it looked like he could implode if he wouldn't express his amusement.

"Does your side hurt anymore?" Gweluven asked as soon as he saw her shift.

"No. I feel good. I-" she stopped and glanced at Hinnorbes for a moment before she looked back at Gweluven. "I don't know if I should go to the banquet. I feel like everybody will look at me the same way Edenith did."

"Edenith?" The healer asked curiously. "How did she look at you?"

"I don't mean to judge her since I am a stranger and I was brought in here under certain circumstances but she might have been a bit too...wary." 

"What do you mean?" He asked not suspicious but intrigued. 

Mistril needed a moment to arrange her response. Thinking how Edenith hurried out of her room, another flash passed through her eyes. She was cornered and chained in a cell. Someone was bantering outside, violence ringing through the dark place. Then she felt immense pain and she fell on her knees.

"Mistril!" Gweluven did not expect her to react so strongly. He reached out to touch her but she stopped him.

"I'm fine! I'm fine." She repeated that like a mantra until she calmed down. She looked up at the healer with a glint of darkness but it faded quickly.

Maybe the difference wasn't felt but Gweluven saw her eyes becoming grey for a moment before returning to their natural color. But he chose not to tell her, not yet. That, of course, did not mean the rest haven't noticed. Once Mistril left, Miluinir and Hinnorbes approached their teacher with worry in their eyes.

"Will she be alright?" Miluinir asked. 

"I gave her a concoction of Roman Chamomile and Heimia Salicifolia to relax her mind. It might be enough for her to remember more." Hinnorbes added, suddenly having a bad feeling about how vivid Mistril will dream at night.

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"I look strange."

Mistril was staring at her reflection with doubt. She hadn't dressed in such feminine clothes before, she could feel it. The robe she wore was long and vapory but the sleeves were long and tight. The material around her collarbone intertwined silk with lace and granted to an elleth her hair was braided in the front like she had a crown.

"You look beautiful." Miluinir said from his spot at the door. He was supposed to be her partner for the night and help her get acquainted with the rest of the guests. 

"I feel odd, though. It's hard to move in this and even harder to fight in it." She explained still spinning all ways.

"It's a night of joy and honor. I assure you there won't be any fights; only dancing and drinking." Miluinir replied not bothering to contain his excitement.

Walking to the halls of the banquet, she started to feel less and less confident. Her shoes were white and the dress was a pale blue color. Her eyes were wandering over every elf and elleth and couldn't help but smile at the sight. They were having fun, they were at peace with each other and they seemed busy with their own discussions.

As soon as she entered the hall, she saw the long wooden table where important elves were drinking and eating. Gweluven was there, talking with an elf that did not look like he was part of the wooden realm either. At the head of the table was Thranduil. It was hard to say for sure if he was content because his lips were set in a straight line.

"Mistril!" Legolas saw her as soon as she stepped in, "I'm glad you actually came. I was afraid you'd want to avoid Faervel and lock yourself in your room." The prince added narrowing his eyes at her in a teasing manner.

Miluinir chuckled under his hand but did keep an eye on her after her recent episode. But Mistril seemed to be lenient and enjoy Legolas' sense of humour.

Not many elves paid attention to them but Mistril 's eyes traveled around the wide space and noticed both familiar faces -which were very limited- and many others that she was not so sure she wanted to meet. It was quite clear everyone inside the hall was of some kind of importance for the kingdom: there were healers, soldiers, politicians and so on. 

Legolas grabbed her arm and pulled her where other elves were dancing. He kept her so focused on that that she completely forgot what the banquet was about. Legolas was smiling joyfully and she found herself following him wherever he led her, losing Miluinir on the way. She danced with more people once she loosened up and many more danced around her.

Thranduil was watching closely, his hand hiding the ghost of a smile. Mistril was not a wooden elf and she was very bad at everything his wife exceeded. But somehow she reminded him of his mother and the elleths he knew before he followed his father to Greenwood.

Mistril's laughter made Thranduil remember his youthful years. The celebrations at Oropher's court were filled with good food and music and many more elves and elflings. It was a good time.

"My king," Gweluven's voice forced the king to open his eyes and return to the present. "I believe that lady Mistril can remember her past if we give her time but my lord, what if it isn't in her best interest to remember?"

"What do you mean?"

"She went through terrible pain a few hours ago. Her eyes, they turned grey for a moment. The pain she felt was most definitely psychological, a ghost of an older wound."

Thranduil took a peek at the woman laughing with his son. He knew everything she did earlier that day, how she failed at being a lady and turned to archery. Tudor didn't give him an exact answer when asked what her level was which let Thranduil question what exactly she could do.

"Keep her under your watch." Thranduil ordered.

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Music was still filling the halls when Mistril decided she should take a break and go into the outer garden, which was one of the few open spaces. The moon was shining over the forest warmly as if it knew it was a special night. Trees were whispering to each other and wind was sending messages from one corner of the forest to the other. Most wood elves were inside the hall celebrating but some were doing the same in their own personal spaces. Song and laughter filled Greenwood and it made the elleth smile.  

"It sounds beautiful doesn't it?"

Mistril spun around surprised somebody else followed her idea and walked out for fresh air. But she tensed when she didn't recognize the face.

"I didn't mean to scare you. I thought you sensed my presence." The man apologized.

"No, I guess I was expecting someone else. You're a warrior." She concluded by how the elf in front of her didn't seem to enjoy parties much. "Not quite your place inside, is it?"

"Do I seem that tortured?" He asked jokingly but seeing how she was so serious he sighed. "I feel weary. We haven't had a battle in a while and even orcs have become foolish. I feel like this style of life does not suit me." He admitted easily in front of her.

"What is your name?"

"Maerdor. I used to fight alongside my king before peace settled in. I am both happy and sour and even on this special night I cannot mimic joy." He said looking up at the moon with melancholy.

"I know peace is better than war. I'm not sure what I've gone through or if I had gone through anything at all but war brings so much pain and loss and-" she stopped, the eyes of the red headed elfling coming back into her mind. Mistril tried to continue but her heart was breaking at the thought.

"Who did you lose in war?" Maerdor asked seeing how she knew too much not to have felt it.

No! Father! Father, we have to- but everywhere she was looking, she could only see swords clashing against each other. It was gruesome. People she had known were slayed while others were trying to survive and run. Spinning around she came to see another red haired elf but visibly older than the last one. He was putting up quite a fight but he didn't see it coming, didn't even blink before a huge orc decapitated him.

Mistril looked at her hands, blood covering them and most of her clothes. She felt sick to the stomach and without any preparation, she vomited.

"Are you alright? Did you drink too much or ate too much?" Maerdor asked the elleth once he saw her crouch and throw up. It was really sudden. One moment they were talking and the next she looked to the side with a frown before she vomited.

He tried to sooth her by patting her back but the feeling of disgust was making her feel even sicker.

Maerdor helped Mistril return to her room and then left her when she asked to be alone. The warrior nodded and complied but instead of returning to the party he went to the healers quarter. 

"Maerdor, why so worried?" The healer asked calmly finding the warrior pace in front of his room.

"It's lady Mistril. We were talking in the garden and then she felt sick. I helped her to her room and hoped I would find you on my way back."

Gweluven glanced at the corridor towards the back of the kingdom where her room was. He wondered if maybe she remembered something again and if she took the concoction already.

"I'll take care of it." assured Gweluven with a gentle pat on Maerdor's arm.

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In the darkness of her room, Mistril was squirming in her own skin. She could see the two red haired elves die over and over again and the clash of weapons became so much more vivid in her ears.

Battles. She had seen battles before and they must have left a deep impression on her. Looking down at her hands, she too noticed how poignant the runes on her wrists were. Placed next to each other they seemed to match into a word. Even weirder was how she knew what it meant and it didn't seem to faze her much.

A knock drew her attention away from the words and she turned her hands so they wouldn't jump to the eye. The door opened and Gweluven entered looking at her intently.

"You seem to know every time I get sick."

"That's because we worry about you. It is not safe for an elf to go through such pain so many times in two days." He explained coming and sitting next to her.

"They're memories. I don't want to remember but they flood my mind at times."

"I know. You should drink the mixture Hinnorbes prepared and rest." Gweluven said, eyeing the woman attentively.

"I already did, hoping it would calm me for this party. It wasn't strong enough." She said, opening up in front of the healer once again. "I'm anxious that I will make a fool of myself in front of a whole kingdom, one by one."

"There is no need for you to feel anxious at all. Lean on Miluinir if you feel the need; he's by your side in order to ease your pain, no matter what form it takes." Gweluven advised her. "You looked happy dancing with the others at the banquet."

"That's- as long as they don't notice my marks, everything is fine." she muttered, finally giving away the real reason of her worries.

"Those marks on your wrists, I have seen them too. Is that what made Edenith wary of your presence?" Gweluven asked knowing she already gave an answer in the moment she mentioned them. "Do you know what they mean?" he added, curiousity getting the best of him.

Mistril thought carefully how to respond as she traced her left wrist. In truth, the marks were fain and she could hide them if she tried but Edenith caught sight of them once and she knew they existed now.

"The meaning of these..." she sighed heavily. "I was hoping you could tell me." 

"Rest," was Gweluven's answer before he left silently.

Next day Mistril woke up at the insistent knocking on her door. The reason was Legolas who was expecting her to come along to his swordsmanship training.

"I'm not as good with a sword as with a bow." He said on the way into the forest.

"You don't have to be good at everything. Concentrate on what you improve at fast." She said, having the vague idea that someone told her that before.

Surprisingly, the one teaching Legolas was Maerdor. He smiled at the sight of her healthy face and nodded in greeting.

"Good morning. Glad to see you well." The swordsman started before he turned to Legolas, his eyes getting serious. "Prince Legolas."

"He's always so formal." Legolas whispered not so silently to Mistril.

"That's because he's the prince." Maerdor teased him by doing the same. "So! Have you practiced, my lord?"

Legolas mumbled something under his breath on the line of too busy or not enough time for everything. Maerdor narrowed his eyes at him but let it slide.  

Legolas and the sword were not very friendly to each other. It was from the moment he grasped the handle when Mistril noticed it was not the same as with the bow. He wasn't in control and he didn't want to be. The sword was harder to maneuver than pulling out an arrow and shooting it.

"Why don't you like fighting with a sword?" She asked when Maerdor decided they should take a break.

"It makes me look bad." Legolas replied but had to add more for the elleth to understand. "It makes me sweaty and it looks far from elegant and noble."

Maerdor coughed in the background but Legolas didn't seem eager to change his opinion.

"I believe swords are majestic. Their glint can bring people hope." She said having a faint memory of a beautiful elfish sword sparkling in the sunlight.

"But they are troublesome to carry around and take a lot of space. I haven't seen anyone that could hide their sword from view."

"That can apply to the quiver and bow too." Maerdor interfered. "It's not the sword, my prince, but the one using it that makes a difference."

Legolas pouted and turned to Mistril for help in the argument but she seemed to side with the swordsman.

"Why don't you try, Mistril?" Legolas started, seeing how he might see something interesting. 

Mistril seemed surprised but eager. She got up and went to Maerdor, her eye searching for a sword that would suit her. Most elfish swords are light and well done but none seemed to appeal to her. In the end she chose one of medium size and felt empowered for some reason. Just holding it was sending shivers up her back, as if she held the future of the world in her hands and nobody could harm her.

"Well?" Maerdor seemed just as eager seeing how she might actually know what she was doing. 

Mistril turned to the warrior with newfound seriousness. Her eyes darkened a bit and her attitude changed. Legolas was watching closely and so was Gweluven but from another spot.

Mistril did not wait for Maerdor to attack but did so herself. Their swords clashed against each other before she spun around and kicked him behind his knee. Maerdor was surprised that she could kneel him so fast. Maybe he should take her seriously. And he did by attacking her, unleashing more strength than he originally intended. Mistril looked like she was dancing, swaying the sword as if it was a stick. She used her whole body not just her hands and she looked like she could go on forever without a sweat. Maerdor's eyes narrowed at her and he applied more force, trying to destabilize her but Mistril duck and swayed and blocked like a professional.

"You've done this before." He said when he had the chance before their swords clashed again.

"I had seen better, I'm sure of that." She replied in a smug tone. With a quick spin she wrapped her legs around him and swiftly pulled him on the ground, blocking the hand holding the sword. "I win."

Legolas clapped as he ran towards the pair with new found desire to spare. Mistril gave him her sword, feeling proud of her little victory but Gweluven did not seem happy.

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"I believe she fought in battles not just witnessed them. The way she moved was not one of a novice." Gweluven informed his king as soon as possible. 

"Do you believe she is a threat?" Thranduil said coldly, seeing how it wasn't his choice in the first place but Legolas'. "My son likes her. I wouldn't like him to be in any type of danger."

"My king, her past may be dark and that darkness may still reside inside her, asleep for now. You had seen her wrists and she is aware they are not to be taken lightly. But she doesn't represent a threat and she seems to fight her own will by pushing her memories back." Gweluven continued, taking Mistril's side to his king's surprise. But the healer cared more for Legolas and the prince enjoyed spending time with the stranger.

"My lord, Gweluven," Faervel approached the two with a bow for Thranduil. "If I may, I have been informed by Maerdor that lady Mistril might like a bit of adventure. I'd like her to join the guards on their patrol." He said in his usual scornful expression. It was odd to see Faervel, the commander of the woodland army, sketch any expression but distrust and dislike.

"Let her go with Maerdor since they seem to have battled once. But have him report to me directly everything she says and does." Thranduil ordered before going down the corridor.

"Is that a good idea? What if goblins come down from the mountain once again?" Gweluven asked Faervel as they retreated.

"She is not a child, no matter how much you try to see her as one. She could be as old as me and you for all we know." The strict commander replied, going straight for his office near the library. 

Thranduil was walking to Legolas' room when he saw the subject of their late distress stand on a bench looking at her hands. Her short orange hair was hard to miss and she wasn't exactly an elf he could avoid forever. She was a guest in his kingdom and he had to be sure she wasn't a threat but she didn't seem to be aware of the rumors about her situation.

"What are you doing?" He asked approaching her. He raised an eyebrow when he noticed how she particularly took care to hide her wrists. "You will be going on patrol from tomorrow onward. Faervel will inform you in the morning and you will take every round until I choose what to do with you."

"What about swords?" She asked looking up at him.

It was the second time Thranduil saw her so close and he could see his past in her green eyes. It was like all that loss and darkness were returning to him but also the good times with his father and the time he met his wife.

 "King Thranduil, you're leaning in."

The glaze over his eyes vanished and he realized he did lean in too close to her. Their noses were almost touching and yet she didn't lean back or move her head to the side. Staring at her, he saw a quick flash of amusement cross her face and knew she was taunting him. Taking a step back, he remembered her question.

"What about swords?"

"I'd like to have one if I am to go on patrol."

She made it sound so common.

"You will get whatever Faervel gives you."

But he sounded so vague.

The next day, right before the sunrise, the guards met in front of the gate so they could go outside. Mistril was not very happy, though. She got a set of dark leggings and a green tunic. That was all and it was really little compared to the others. Also, her weapon was...

"A dagger," She stated feeling suddenly like the king was looking down upon her skills.

"Two daggers," Faervel said placing another one in her hand. "They can be deadly if you use them well." He added without an ounce of sympathy.

Mistril glanced at her hands before she looked up at Faervel. He turned his back to her and walked to his partner. Farvel was incredibly muscular and had broad shoulders compared to Maerdor for example. While the melancholic warrior had softened up in time of peace, it looked like Faervel was naturally in a state of continuous battle. Thinking more about how imposing and respectful he was, his image blurred around the corners and Mistril could swear there was someone alike yet different in his place.

"Are you ready?" asked Maerdor dragging her from her dreamy state. "We will partner up and take the northern part."

"What are we waiting for?" She asked when she realized everybody gathered already but nothing seemed to happen.

"The gates do not open unless the king decides so." Maerdor answered, arranging his tunic. He looked a bit messy compared to the last two times she had seen him but it was not even dawn yet.

"Is he even awake? He seems like a late riser." She muttered to herself grumpily but just then the doors opened and the guards walked into the forest.