~ Wynne is offered shelter from the rain – in a very pleasant place, and realizes her feelings are still the same. ~
24. It Always Rains on Camping Trips
Wynne drifted off to sleep eventually, only to wake up in the small hours by heavy drops striking her face and thunder rolling in the distance. Oh, was this not just typical? On the one night she had no tent it would begin to rain.
She hurried back to the camp in an increasing downpour, pulling out a blanket from one of the packs. Pulling it over her, she sat down to huddle miserably by Thranduil who had the present watch.
He had covered himself with a navy blue cloak that matched his eyes beautifully. "I see you decided to be charitable," he remarked dryly.
"Some people actually bother about the well-being of other people."
"Wasted on the likes of them. An orc does not deserve the comfort of a tent."
"Half-orc. And Sidra is human."
He didn't reply so they sat in silence for a while. The blanket soon became heavy over Wynne's shoulders, soaked through, and not helping much to shield her from the torrents. It was getting lighter despite the cloudy sky, dawn was approaching, but she felt tired and bleary eyed.
Legolas soundlessly joined them, also wearing a cloak, his a nice hunter's green. "Why did you not wake me, Ada? My watch is long overdue."
Thranduil hesitated before answering. "I did not mind staying up."
"Very well. I am here now." Legolas sat down between them, drawing up his hood. He peered at his father curiously. "You are not leaving?"
"The thunder will only keep me awake. I might as well accompany you."
Wynne gave him a suspicious look. That had sounded rather lame, like an excuse. Then it dawned on her: he didn't want his son to be alone with her, that was why. He thought they needed a chaperone.
She set her jaw. They had complied with Thranduil's wishes all this time, and both of them well knew why they could only ever be friends. There was absolutely no cause for this irrational mistrust.
"You think we need watching over," she said, unable to hide her anger.
His eyebrows rose in surprise at her outburst, but he remained silent.
"That was uncalled for." Legolas too looked displeased. He turned to Wynne. "Seeing as our tent apparently shall remain empty, you might as well get out of this bleak weather and get some more rest. My bed is the one on the left."
Wynne nodded gratefully. Leaving the drenched blanket outside she crept in under the robust canvas canopy. It felt like she did something forbidden when she pulled the wet chemise over her head and snuggled down under Legolas' blanket in only her underpants.
His bed was wonderfully soft, covered with a thin, white sheet of some flimsy material, silk perhaps. She buried her nose in his equally silky pillow and inhaled deeply. It smelled of soap and elvish hair oil, but something else as well, some undefined musky aroma that was just him.
Closing her eyes, she could easier than ever picture herself in that cottage four poster bed with Legolas beside her.
Sometimes she wondered why she kept torturing herself like that, thinking about someone she could never have and imagining something that could never be. But there was a bittersweetness to it. An equal blend of pain and pleasure that was addictive.
In hardly any time the best part of her daydream gently lulled her to sleep.
oOo
When Wynne woke again she was a lot less tired. The patter of rain against canvas had almost ceased but the air was still damp, with droplets of moisture forming under the canopy. She heard voices from the outside, indicating the others were up, but she felt so warm and cozy in the nest of silky sheets that she just couldn't bring herself to rise. She wished she could stay there all day, wallowing in the softness and Legolas' bewitching scent.
When at last she mustered the energy to get dressed and leave the tent she found everybody gathered around a cooking fire, where exotic, spicy smells wafted from a kettle. Sidra was ladling thick soup into bowls and distributing them among the elves.
When Wynne appeared the woman startled her by giving her a quick hug. "I didn't know you gave us your tent. That was really decent of you. Now I feel bad forcing you to sleep in the rain."
"Don't. You couldn't have known it would rain – and I slept really well in the morning." She gave Legolas a grateful look and was warmed by his pleased smile.
His father looked the opposite of pleased and Wynne wickedly hoped he regretted taking an extra, needless watch in the rain and deprive himself of sleep. If he was tired it suited him just right.
Sidra's soup tasted different but very good. Lentils and wheat kernels had been boiled together with dried vegetables and herbs, mostly carrots, parsley and peppermint, and seasoned with an unknown spice that Sidra only had a Haradrim word for, kammun.
She had also made a dark tea, a lot more bitter than the mint tea Wynne liked, but somehow she felt invigorated after having a mug.
"How did you come by Haradrim spices and tea leaves this far north?" Bronedir asked her.
Wynne recalled that his mother had come from the south. Perhaps he had tasted this kind of food before.
"We made a journey to my home a couple of years ago. I brought back a large supply, seeing as I'm not likely to return." Sidra looked sad.
"We should trade more with Harad." Bronedir sipped his tea appreciatively.
"Maybe when King Elessar has rebuilt Gondor and Ithilien, we can," said Thranduil.
When it was time to break camp, the rain had increased again, making everything damp or outright wet. It was the worst kind of traveling weather. Down in the Brown Lands the air had been dry and Wynne could count the rainy days they had experienced on the fingers of one hand. Here in the highland the climate was more humid.
As usual their packs were loaded onto the horses with speedy efficiency. Wynne saw how Legolas briefly held his pillow to his face before stuffing it in the rolled up blanket. He must have tried to pick out her scent just like she had done with his. It both warmed her heart and saddened it.
When they rode, she conversed pleasantly with Sidra, mostly about Rohan and her life there. "They are very different and I have often wondered what brought them together." Wynne had been telling the history of the Örn House and had now come to her mother and father. "I suspect maybe Mother's relatives arranged it with my father's parents. She didn't grow up with her own parents, you see."
"No? Why not?" Sidra was a good listener and showed genuine interest.
"Not sure, really. Mother never talks about it."
"It must have been sad."
"Perhaps." Wynne couldn't really picture her mother sad.
"What's your family like?"
"Mother is clever. When she plans things, they happen. Before they married, Father was rather poor, 'with nothing but his good name to show', as she puts it – but she made him wealthy. Everybody respects her. When we trade horses or supplies she always handles it, for Father knows she will get the best deal."
Wynne felt a pang of longing after her mother; she had never been apart from her this long before. When things were going her way, Mother was charming, one just had to be careful never to oppose her.
"As for Father, he's... I don't know. Quiet. He likes to be with the horses, same as me. He knows them. Like, which one to keep and which to sell. And which ones to mate to get the finest foals. I think I inherited much from him, actually." Wynne smiled fondly to herself. "I even look like him."
"He must look nice then." Galion was riding behind them, again with Sidra's eldest son in front of him.
"You're eavesdropping." Wynne frowned at him. It was sweet of him to give her a compliment but it strengthened her suspicion from yesterday.
"It is not possible to close one's ears. I am an elf, remember?"
Wynne looked around her and realized she had been the only one talking, which meant everyone had been listening. Oh well, she was telling no secrets anyway.
"I don't think Father's considered good looking," she said, still in Galion's direction. "At least Mother says he and I are both very plain. That we have the Örn looks rather than Grandmama's Dúnedain traits. She was a beauty when she was young."
"What is a Dúnedain?" Sidra wondered.
"Descendants of Elendil, the first High King of Gondor. And he was descended from the elves, so they are often tall, handsome and long-lived – just like them." Her eyes had strayed in Legolas' direction before she could check them. He was the epitome of someone tall, handsome and long-lived.
Then she added, rather proudly: "The King of Gondor is Dúnedain and we are related. Distantly."
"I think your mother is too harsh on you. I love those curls you got." Sidra pulled on one of Wynne's brown tresses. "Besides, who cares about the outside anyway. What matters is what the heart looks like." She sent her husband a loving look that made him smile. He had a surprisingly gentle smile.
"According to Mother, looks are everything. She worries I shall never be married. So far the only one who asked for my hand is our widower neighbor and he must be like fifty at least." Wynne laughed mirthlessly. "Thankfully I was allowed to turn him down."
"Allowed to," repeated Sidra, her forehead creasing. "You mean you may not be able to pick a spouse for yourself?"
"Not likely, no. Unless I choose somebody my parents find suitable." She shifted uncomfortably on Vatna's back. This was getting too close to unsafe grounds. Mother's plan to marry her daughter to an elf must never be exposed; she didn't even want to think of Thranduil's reaction if he found out.
Hurriedly she changed topic and the rest of the morning Sidra and her discussed methods of horse- and oliphaunt training.
When they stopped for lunch Legolas sidled up to Wynne. "I strongly disagree with your mother," he whispered. "You are in no way plain."
A/N:
If you wonder about the Haradrim language I had to make it up because Tolkien never wrote it down, except for the word mûmak. Since he apparently based the Haradrim on people of southern origin, I decided to use Arabic names and words, such as kammun (cumin seeds).
Image Credits:
Public domain (Pxhere), source: https://pxhere.com/sv/photo/7286