Finding my way Home

Where you Belong

Notes:

Apologies for the delay. Life has been topsy-turvy for the past couple of weeks. Here is to finding where you belong.

Chapter Text

Melora was sure her brain short-circuited. This was the elf that hours before she watched break another elf's bow, his hand resting on her cheek. She stepped back, moving Tilda back with her. No one that she could remember had ever held her face that way. She had been self-conscious since she had woken up with the burns on her face. After her plastic surgery, it was a little better, but the skin was still rough and puckered in some places. She did not like when people touched her face. She felt Tilda pull on the back of her dress, and while she wondered if it was wise to put her back to the elf that her brain was having a hard time figuring out, Tilda came first. "Tilda, are you alright?" Melora asked softly as her eyes roamed over the girl. Melora felt way over her head and worried that the Elf King had frightened Tilda.

"M'fine," Tilda answered softly. "Can we go now that he has seen you?" she asked.

"Y/N is not going anywhere," The Elven King declared, "except for home."
Melora watched Tilda's face scrunch up. Glancing over Tilda's shoulder, she saw that Sigrid and Bain's mouths were set in a hard line. She looked at Bard, and by the way he looked between the King and herself, it seemed like he was trying to figure out how best to approach the situation.

"King Thranduil," Feren started. "I rís, she suffers from memory loss since her accident," he finished quietly.

"No," Thranduil whispered, and Melora missed that his face seemed to fall, but he quickly hid it behind the cold mask he had worn for centuries. Bard Witnessed it, though. "It is of no consequence the healers will be consulted once we are back in Mirkwood. Feren, please bring a horse. I rís looks like she has suffered hardship, and I wish the journey to be as easy as possible." Thranduil took a break and looked at Bard, "Mirkwood, thanks you for harboring one of our own. We are." He paused, and it seemed almost painful, "In your debt."

"You can't take her," Sigrid exclaimed.

"We won't allow it," Bain added.

"Melora belongs with us," Tilda argued, moving so she was again in front of Melora.

"Children," Bard was the one to pull Tilda back this time. He knew of the Elven King's reputation and did not want his children to face his wrath.

"You dare to tell me what I can and cannot do," Thranduil seethed as he moved closer to Bard's family, "I am the king of Mirkwood, and I do not answer to mortals, especially children."

Melora felt her temper rising, and it was replacing her anxiety. Her brain was still fuzzy, trying to fit puzzle pieces together when she still felt like pieces were missing, but no one was going to speak to her family like this. She didn't care who they were. "What is wrong with you?" Melora asked him bluntly, "They are children; you do not speak to children in that tone. You also should not use intimidation tactics on them," she added as she huffed. She looked at the Elven King's face again. His eyes were wide with shock. His mouth was neither frowning nor smiling, and he blinked slowly. Melora almost felt the panic rise again as she remembered him shattering the Elf's bow earlier when he spoke.

"You're right, Nin Mel," he said softly, returning his hand to her cheek and using his thumb to caress it. Part of her wanted to lean into the touch; something about it seemed familiar, but the rational part of Melora's brain was telling her she needed to find out what was going on. She moved her head back out of his hand and stepped back. She needed to understand why he needed to keep touching her.

"Nin Mel, Is that a name?" She asks. He had said it once earlier, and in her dreams, someone was calling her Mel. Was it possible that Mel was not short for anything, that her name was Nin Mel, and the voice without a face was the Elven king?