Middle Earth || OS

54. Meludir | Here You Are I

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Thorin's company was well into its unplanned extended stay in the Woodland Realm, in the most cramped and dank of quarters.

The near-constant echoes of conversations large and small throughout the halls, from all directions, kept you up at night. At times there was a macabre chill to the air, an invention of your hopelessness and worry, freezing you to the bone.

Always one to come up with a last-minute solution to any problem, you were just another prisoner now. There was absolutely nothing you could do except occasionally hold depressing talks with Ori or Bofur in the darkness.

And yet increasingly, day by day, a light and a sweetness passed your cell, lingering a little longer each time.

The guard started off bringing you extra food and water, then went on to slip you a small pillow and blanket. He even took the chance on opening the cell and bringing you a washing basin, towel and lemony soap.

Fine, tall, and graceful, he looked at you through large, shy eyes and luscious eyelashes.

He knew your name, having overheard Bofur say it during one your late-night chats, but you didn't know this. You didn't see him mouth your name as he smiled, walking away.

The conversations were his next gift. You were suspicious at first, of course. Thinking he might try to extract some juicy information from you about the quest, you just listened as he casually spoke of the weather, or mentioned some of the stranger things that occurred on his watch.

Soon you were looking forward to hearing his voice, of knowing about his day. It not only provided some small degree of normalcy, but...you liked him.

You didn't ask his name, though. What, take the risk of repeating it in your head, replacing it with counting sheep, turning it into a lullaby? No.

It was beyond foolish to think of him as anything more than one of King Thranduil's minions. You needed to hate him, in case you had to kill him.

But you truly hoped it wouldn't come to that.

He was probably duller than a butter knife, you told yourself one night - the same night he slipped a book of poetry through your cell as you sat on your cot and ate a plate of hearty fresh garden vegetables.

"From my lord's personal library," he whispered. "No carrot bits on it, please."

Then he turned to leave. You put your plate on the cot and rushed over to the bars.

"Stop."

Your guard heeded the command.

"Face me."

He pivoted gracefully on the heel of his right foot, followed by a smooth swivel of his left - two movements fluidly combining into one. His long hair lifted from against his back and traced an imaginary half-arc from his right shoulder to his left, the straight ends coming to rest there, as his eyes seem to light up in the surrounding lantern's soft amber rays.

"Yes?"

"Why are you always here, talking to me and bringing me things?"

His body was fully facing you, but except for his initial turnabout, he had not taken another step.

He stood as still as a monument, and for the first time, just as expressionless. He was trying very, very hard to be very, very stern.

But underneath it, from the flushing of his cheeks to the small twitch in his upper lip, you saw what you always saw: compassion.

"Answer me, guard," you said. Your words were demanding but your tone was not. It would have sounded amicable if you knew his name.

He blew out a slow breath, gathering his nerve, then walked up to the cell bars, perfectly erect, his head high but his manner humble.

"My name is Meludir," he said. His bergamot-scented breath and starry eyes reminded you of summer. Of freedom.

"I did not ask you your name." Your fingers were tightening around the cold bars and your chest pressed up against them, your body reacting to this new knowledge, your mind already forming a tune to set his name to.

"I am on duty," Meludir answered, lowering his eyes.

You cocked your head and bent down a little, searching his shy face, getting him to look back up, which he finally he did after seconds of feeling your heated gaze on him.

"Why else are you here, Meludir?"

It took him another moment to attempt an answer, the sound of his name on your lips sending him flying.

"I...I find you," he stumbled. "I just think you're..."

"Let me guess. You find me out of place?"

That's usually how people reacted to seeing a woman among the company of Dwarves - correction, a half-elf, half-human woman at that. You should have been used to it, but in all honesty you'd been dealing with such stares and whispers all your life, not just now. You never quite fit in, no matter who you were with, no matter how honorable your intentions.

"Pardon?" Meludir asked, confused.

"I'm out of place. Whether I'm among Dwarves, or Elves, or men, or just here alone in this awful cell. You've taken pity on the oddity."

He reared his head back a bit, looking at you with tenderness. When his lips parted and spread into a wide grin, you weren't prepared for the flurry of emotions that fluttered through you.

"There is no reason to pity you, my lady."

He stopped and kept smiling. You could see he was working up the confidence to continue.

But before you realized what you were doing, you unwisely reached through the bars with your right hand and touched his armored chest.

With pure foolhardiness, you stared into his dreamy eyes and formed a crooked smile of your own. And he covered his left hand over your fingers, caressing them.

"It is you who should pity me." His voice broke as he stroked your fingers.

"Then we're both out of place," you said. "I don't belong anywhere, and you shouldn't be with me. Yet here you are."

He lifted your hand to his right cheek, and you swore on everything sacred that it was the strangest, most inexplicable, intimate and extraordinary moment of your life.

Suddenly his eyes and mouth blazed open wide and he released your hand and stepped back.

"What is it, Meludir?" You matched his grin, which was infectious.

"I'll return momentarily, my lady!"

And he was off.

In your heart, you counted down the moments, which turned into minutes, which stretched into an hour, then another, and another.

Your heart sank as you realized a new day was dawning. Meludir was probably assigned elsewhere.

Or, more likely, he finally realized what a silly fantasy this was.

Maybe I should too.

Still, you peered eagerly through the cell at the sound of footsteps, quickly discerning that it was not your Meludir.

In fact, based on the shuffling you had become familiar with, it wasn't an Elf at all.