~Lasriel wonders what she does wrong in bed and tries to make the house a bit nicer. Back in Greenwood, Thuriniel struggles not to become too friendly with the Elvenking.~

~♕~

In every job that must be done,
there is an element of fun.

– Mary Poppins

~♕~

14. Handyelf

Pulling the comforter up to her nose, Lasriel drew in the lingering scent of her husband. Not for the first time she wished he would have stayed the whole night.

She couldn't say she liked the act itself, but at least it was an opportunity to have him close and feel his arms around her, and she enjoyed being able to touch him.

Why had he seemed in such an unusual hurry to leave? He hadn't even looked at her after it was over. Was it something she did wrong?

If only he would tell her what he expected her to do. Be more active? More silent? Or less silent? Touch him more?

Sighing, she rolled over on her side and tried to sleep, but it took a long time until she did.

~♕~

Lasriel woke up before sunrise to the sound of dripping water. It had begun to rain during the night, heavier than before, and the roof was leaking. There was already a puddle in the corner of her room.

She put her chamber pot under the leakage, mentally adding "mending roof" on her long to-do list for the day. But first she thoroughly needed a bath, and since there was no tub in the cabin the river would have to suffice. She shuddered at the thought of bathing there in the winter, but maybe by then she would have had time to get a tub.

Her other planned chores that day involved restocking the pantry at Galion's storage, and while she was there she would ask if he had any rugs or similar. The straw on the dirt floor did nothing to protect against the cool draft. Perhaps she could put rugs on the walls too?

Thankfully nobody else was up that early so she could take her cold bath without anyone around. Despite that, she felt exposed and awkward to be naked in a public area. Another thing to add on a future to-do list would be to build some sort of screen, maybe? The reeds growing here would be good material to weave it with – but first she needed a book to teach herself how to do it.

Was there a library in Osgiliath? She must remember to ask Galion about that too.

The trench that was used as a privy could benefit from such protective screens as well; so far she had only ventured there in darkness.

That was another change she would like to do: to build some sort of lavatory. It was actually odd that there wasn't one already, but until now everybody in the colony was male so they had perhaps not felt the need.

When she returned, still shivering and with numb, red fingers, Legolas was up and evidently on his way to take a bath as well. He wore only his nightshirt, and carried a bar of soap and a towel over one arm. It pleased her to see it was the soap she had brought with her from home – one of her mother's herbal specialties – and subtly placed in his room the previous day.
His old tallow one had smelled like rancid fat.

Carefully avoiding eye-contact, Legolas greeted her with a quiet "good morning" before leaving the house. Almost as if he was fleeing.

With her stomach a little heavier than before, Lasriel got dressed, choosing simple, worn clothes good for working. Why was Legolas acting like she had the plague? It had started the first night in the colony when he suddenly seemed so reluctant to bed her. And the last time he had looked away the whole time like he couldn't stand seeing her.

Maybe he wasn't attracted to her? Could that be it? He was perhaps not enjoying the act very much either and only did it like any chore. The thought was disheartening.

She had imagined things to be so very different between Legolas and her once they moved in together. That they would talk like they did when they were young, enjoying each other's company. That their friendship would return and grow even stronger.

She had pictured herself cheering him up, easing his worries and giving him a reason to stay longer in Middle-earth. And then there was the family secret; Thranduil and her mother had promoted the match so that Lasriel could gently reveal it and comfort Legolas afterwards, but if she told him the truth now she was certain it would only make matters worse, adding new grief and troubles on his already burdened back.

Biting her lip to stop it from trembling she drew a calming breath. She must stay positive. It was still very early in their marriage. There were sure to be ways to grow closer, to create a stronger bond between them – such as an elfling. An elfling could make Legolas happier and since she would be its mother it might make him more fond of her too. Raising a child would tie them together.

And then she would tell him the secret. If he decided to hate his mother after learning the truth – which she was fairly certain he would – being a parent himself would ease his pain over losing her.

They really must hurry to beget a baby.

Feeling a bit better, she continued her morning chores. Making her bed, then proceeding to make Legolas' bed too while he was out. How did he manage to kick down his pillow and comforter both nights so far? He must be a restless sleeper.

And he clearly was not an orderly person. He had dropped his garments on the floor, making them dusty and full of straw. It seemed he changed clothes every day, probably a habit from being a prince with servants to wash for him and a huge supply of clothes.

She curiously checked his clothes chest. It was stacked to the brim with a disorganized heap of assorted garments. How could he find anything in that mess?

Sighing, she hauled out new underwear, the least wrinkled shirt and tunic she could find, and a pair of hose that almost matched. Trying to shake out the worst of the wrinkles she laid them out on his bed.

Sorting through Legolas' clothes and folding them properly would have to be another item on her to-do list, and at his rate of changing clothes she would have to do laundry every week or more.

When he returned, smelling lovely of the new soap and carrying two water buckets, Lasriel was busy cleaning the old ashes from the fireplace and making a new fire. He left the buckets on the table and disappeared into his room, and came out wearing the clothes she had selected. Donning his boots and work gloves he gave her a curt nod. "Suilad. I shall see you at dinner." Then he hurried out.

Biting down another pang of dismay, Lasriel continued with her chores. She swept the kitchen floor, spread new straw, emptied her chamber pot of rainwater, moved the water buckets into a cabinet, scoured the table to get rid of old, ingrown stains.

When she had done what she could to make the house a bit tidier, she took a basket and went to the storage. It was still pouring outside and she had to run not to get soaked through.

Galion opened on her third knock, looking even more tired today and radiating a familiar smell. He had been drinking.

"Maer aur," she greeted him, though it was neither morning anymore, nor a very good one.

He seemed to feel the same way and only nodded in reply. "What can I do for you?" He rubbed his eyes.

"Just need some groceries. And several rugs, if you have any, or pelts. Something for our cold floors."

"Sorry, no. But I can get some from the market next time I go to Osgiliath. Anything else you need from there?"

"There is, actually. Do you think you could find me a book about weaving grass?"

"Oh?" He looked interested. "What for?"

She described her plan to create a more private bath and privy. "There is no lack of reeds here so I figured that would be a good material to use."

"Sounds like a great idea. I don't think there is a library but I know of a Haradrim man who sells all sorts of strange things in his shop, and he has books there as well. I shall check it out."

Another thought struck her. "Do you have a ladder I can borrow, and something to seal a leak with? I need to fix my roof."

He had, and soon Lasriel hurried back, awkwardly dragging the ladder while trying to protect her basket from the torrents.

On the way, she nearly bumped into Nellas, the elleth from Lothlórien. She was carrying a basket too and hers was full of heather.

Nellas fell into step with Lasriel. "Hello, little one. Are you on your way home?"

"Aye." She gave her a wary glance. She mustn't act so familiar or Legolas might suspect something. "You can call me Lasriel."

"Or I can call you 'little one'."

They had arrived at the cabin and Nellas entered uninvited. "Nice books," she remarked. "Do you have a vase?"

"Uh, I don't think so." Lasriel set the basket down and checked a cupboard. "Will a mug do?"

"Aye." Nellas stuffed it full of heather and placed it on the table. "There, it will cheer you up. Don't forget to put water in." With that, she waved once and left.

Still a bit bewildered, Lasriel drew in the fragrance of the purple flowers. It reminded her of her mother and all the flowers in their home. She thought of how nice and quaint that home had been and how well organized, with the brick stove, the indoor water pump and the lavatory, and the warm and cozy library.

Eyes suddenly brimming with tears she resolutely unpacked the groceries and went back out into the rain to climb the roof and mend the leak. Best keep herself busy.

Soon this house would be nice like the one at home. Soon she would have a lavatory and warm, indoor baths. Soon she would become pregnant and Legolas grow fonder of her. Soon.

Minas Tirith was not built in one day, as the saying went. She just had to be patient. After all, what was a few miserable years in the long life of an elf?

~♕~

Thuriniel straightened her back, regarding the new flower bed with satisfaction. A thick layer of soil and compost now hid thousands of bulbs that would turn the park into a rainbow of yellow, blue and white come spring. Their bright colors would contrast nicely with the dark green of the cedars.

Thranduil came sauntering by, hands on his back. "What a fine day we have." He indicated the unusually warm afternoon sun.

"Aye, it has been a lovely autumn so far," she agreed, then added with mock disapproval: "You are early. I have not even started dinner and I must freshen up first."

Since their children moved out they had made a habit of regularly inviting each other to meals in their respective homes. Eating alone could be a bit depressing, at least for Thuriniel who had never been obliged to do so before.

"I figured I could help you. Much as I enjoy the lavish spread my staff provide, I have always liked cooking."

"Well, if you say so." She pulled her gloves off. "Let us go then. I have just finished for today."

When she entered the kitchen a while later, clean and in a new dress, Thranduil was busy chopping vegetables, whistling to himself. He had rolled up his sleeves and tied back his hair, but even in such a relaxed manner it was hard not to stop and admire the attractive sight.

Forcing her eyes away, she joined him. "You whistle beautifully." That was a safer thing to compliment on.

"Thank you." He switched to another tune, equally melodious.

Thuriniel began to prepare the venison she had intended for dinner. It was an excellent piece, the knife cut through as if it were butter, and had been costly – but these days she never lacked money.

At first she had worried a little over how she would manage the finances without Lasriel, who had always taken care of such things, but it had gone surprisingly well so far. It probably helped that Thranduil paid handsomely for her work as his gardener.

He reached for another carrot, accidentally brushing his fingers against her arm and giving her goosebumps.

It worried her that even such a slight, innocent touch would fill her with butterflies. She blamed the drunk kiss that time. Somehow it had changed her, making her see him in a new way. Thinking forbidden thoughts.

When they sat down to eat, they only had half a glass of wine each with the meal. Since the kiss they never drank more together, but even that precaution didn't quite help. Thuriniel felt her eyes linger too long at him both once and twice, and the third time their eyes met awkwardly before they both swiftly averted them.

"Hrm." Thranduil wiped his mouth. "This was truly delicious. I applaud your cooking skill."

"And I applaud yours. Those drops of wine in the gravy heightened the flavor a great deal."

"I learned that trick from my former butler. He would put wine in everything, the poor ellon. I wonder how he is doing in Ithilien."

"I wonder how all of them are doing. Do you think Lasriel and Legolas are there yet?"

"They should be, if my calculations are correct and everything went well." He made a wistful face. "I wish there was a way to communicate over long distances."

"So do I. I try not to worry about them but it is hard."

He put his hand on top of hers, gently squeezing it. "I know."

Again his touch made her flutter within. She must stop acting like this! They were just friends. He was only trying to comfort her.

She pulled back her hand first. "I will do the dishes."

"Then I can dry them for you." He sounded a little out of breath.

As they worked together, their fingers often met when she passed him a plate or pot, and in the confined space by the sink his height and masculine scent became more prominent. Soon her head spun with all the things she wanted to do but couldn't.

At least they were just thoughts, not actions. But weren't thoughts a sort of action, too? If she let herself think about kissing another elf's husband – wasn't that the same sort of sin their spouses had committed, albeit less grave?

Full of guilt, she wondered why it was so hard to control herself these days. She was acting like a pubescent elfling.

And why did she get a distinct feeling those "accidental" brushes of Thranduil's fingers against hers weren't so accidental after all?

A/N:

If anyone wonders how Thranduil and Thuriniel can spend so much time alone together without anyone becoming suspicious, it's because everybody "knows" elves never commit adultery hence nobody bats an eyelid at close friends of opposite genders.

Translation: Maer aur = good morning