The Prince's Pretend Mother

First Entry - Aught We Cherish

I gaped at his back, at the wide swath of sable fabric spreading from behind him, and sought the appropriate words. At last I said, "I was not aware my lord was familiar with my family."

"What I did not know I inquired after."

Another pause. "I am honored by your regard."

He finally turned. I could see from the chill in his eyes that he was still burned with grief. His eyes glazed right past my face, never settling on anything so ephemeral as another life that may be proven as not immortal. "My regard has little to do with the matter; I have judged your demeanor and your character to be the most satisfactory for this post." He strode to me and adjusted his grip on his sleeping child, and I hastened to accept the infant-not even a year old-from his stiff arms. "Return him in the evening. I will expect you every morning."

And with that he left. I gazed, shocked, down into the crumpled face of the prince who had been deemed my responsibility.

The prince and I soon understood each other to be companions. Legolas frequently asked for his mother, and I had to tell him more than once that she would not be coming home. She had gone to Valinor and would not be returning. But how do you explain to a child who understands himself and his people to be immortal that his mother has died? Death is not meant to touch us. It is unnatural. It is invasive. It should not exist in our lives. But as I always told him the truth, and promised to continue to do so for the rest of his long life, he soon came to trust me. He spent the majority of his waking hours in my presence so we were bound to fall in love with each other.

I learned to regard tears and stains in my clothes as less catastrophic than they once had been, and gave up trying to protect myself from them. Often others or Thranduil came upon us with me on my knees and elbows on the floor of some hall or corridor-wherever Legolas decided he wished to play that day-poking his toy soldiers and horses about and laughing together over how one horse always fell over and would have to have its hoof trimmed to balance properly. Finding it easier to add to the other three hooves than to trim the one, I welded a dot of bronze to the hoof of each to make the horse stand the night after the day the horse continually collapsed, and Legolas was relieved to add another steed to his armful army.

At first I was hesitant to approach the royal suites for Legolas's clothes or belongings if I needed them throughout the day, but when first he saw me hovering at the door the king gave me distinct and unquestionable permission and welcome to the use of Legolas's rooms and common areas of the house. If Legolas did not wish to play in the halls or outside, often we played in the dining room or the spacious living room with its high windows. On occasion his father swept through and I always greeted him with a smile, Legolas with a cheer and an embrace, before his father had to leave again. The only time the king ever smiled was when he looked upon the face of his son. Even then, however, his smile was soft and pained.

Within the year I had grown accustomed to Thranduil's habit of treating everyone with the same cool or chilly distance, and came to the decision that him having someone in his life who treated him warmly would be good for him. Legolas showered upon his father all the adoration his small body could carry, but there were few close adults in the king's life, I noticed, and fewer still who treated him with any cordiality.

Gently, easing into the practice, I began to treat the king more or less as I treated my own brother. Not as familiarly, but with the same habitual kindness one reserves for their family. I smiled whenever I saw him-whether or not the smile was dry with some other influence-told him of Legolas's progress in this or in that, congratulated him where I felt was necessary, and teased him where appropriate. I saw the upward flick of his eyes that indicated his first awareness of this budding change in my attitude toward him, from unquestionable subservience to gentle friendship, but he never faulted me for it, which only encouraged my belief of its benefits to him. The king never genuinely smiled at me, but as he only genuinely smiled at one person I knew I would not be the exception. Neither did he ever dismiss me from his presence, which was as clear an indication of his benevolence as I could need. Few other people could claim they had never been sent away.