To Live Again: In her Hands {Lord of the Rings / Thranduil fanfic}

10. Roots

"They are a weed, madam! We do not grow weeds in the royal gardens!"

"Madam...I hardly think that madam is an appropriate address between you and I, Raffyn?"

"It is entirely appropriate, you are betrothed to his royal highness and...Clara stop sniggering...my lady...restrain yourself...put the dandelion down!"

I give an amused chuckle as I watch a rather delighted Clara blow dandelion downs across Raffyn's face. He looks entirely hassled and it reminds me of the years I spent being an eternal thorn in that stuck-up, straight-laced, staunch advisor's side. He always did take things far too seriously.

Casually, I swing my right leg off the marble ledge I have seated myself on. There is a partial shade here, from the rowan trees and ivy branches that hide the structure overlooking the gardens...her gardens. I give a contented sigh and return to running a wet stone over the length of my sword. It won't do to have it blunt if we are to travel to Imladris. I expect Elrond and his Noldorian kinsfolk will be surprised to see me there...wielding a sword...but I need them to know I'm not to be sidelined just yet.

"Lady Clara I must insist you stop this frivolity this instant!" Raffyn's indignant shout has me scowling in the general vicinity of her musical laughter I was most enjoying.

With a sigh, I drop from the height of the ledge and casually swing the sword across the broad of my back - Clara will get a kick out of this.

"Raffyn!" I snap, schooling my features into a mask of cold intolerance.  The elf lord literally leaps in the air, my presence was clearly unexpected.

"Y-yes my prince?" He stammers and attempts to pick the downy fluff from the ends of his mousy hair.

"Is there a problem, because as I was made aware this is a healing garden," I gesture to the wide green space. The land quite literally melts into the fringes of the forest as they meet with the caves.  It is truly spectacular, and in every way perfect...at least to me.

"My lord," Raffyn huffs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "The lady Clara requires tuition if you wish her to accompany us to Imladris...and quite frankly two days is not nearly enough time to turn this...this..."

"I dare you to finish that sentence!"

I barely contain my laughter when a slightly infuriated Clara pops her head up from behind an oversized clay flower pot. She literally fumes at my father's advisor, and he glares straight back. Evidently I may not need to threaten him with my sword, my betrothed looks terrifying enough!

Clara is drowned in the basin of the pot, for it is truly a monstrosity of a broken bronze contraption, but she liked it, and she thinks she can bring it back to life...I have no doubt that she can. With that being said she certainly looks more like a scullery maid, and less like an authoritative Princess, as she hangs over the rim of said ugly pot.

It is absolutely adorable to behold.

"Raffyn, I believe you have offended my betrothed?" I say evenly, motioning inconspicuously for Clara to pipe down - I know she isn't truly offended but I just adore watching Raffyn squirm.

"I-I-I did not...I mean...'twas unintentional my lord," he splutters and eyes Clara peevishly, but she is quick in reassembling her features to appear mournful and hurt. "Your father insists she be prepared to greet the foreign dignitaries by name, and be able to converse with them as is expected of a noble lady. We have lists to get through, and we haven't even discussed Noldorian court etiquette. My lord, she cannot even recite the names of Lord Elrond's chancellors...she is nowhere near ready-"