Sitting on a low stone bench just beside the entry into the caves, Thranduil pointed to various objects in one of the picture books he was using to teach Avisiel to speak and read, and she very eagerly informed him of what each of them was. He found her memory to be exemplary, and only rarely did she need to be prompted.
“You are brilliant,” he praised when they finished the final book for the second time. Avisiel smiled and leaned forward to collect the customary kiss from him each time the day’s lesson came to an end. “Alright, you are better than brilliant,” he grinned, and had the urge to draw her onto his lap, were it not for the fact that Erestor and Finduilas were approaching.
“Is it noonday already?” questioned Thranduil rhetorically, glancing up at the sun. Odd thing, that. Something he’d yet to get used to – great glowing light moving across the sky. It seemed so much more impersonal than the two great trees he knew in his childhood.
Nodding, Erestor bowed politely and Finduilas curtseyed smartly; the gestures were returned by Thranduil and Avisiel as they stood. Lunch was a time for Avisiel to spend with other young ladies, and in the afternoons she was learning such feminine pastimes as needlepoint and gossiping, both of which she seemed to take delight in even if she was not very well versed yet in either. When the schedule was first set, it vexed Thranduil, but he was reminded by Erestor that it was not entirely proper for him to be the one to see to her morning instruction, and so he said little more on the matter.
Thranduil gathered the books as Finduilas led Avisiel back inside, and Erestor sat down on the bench. “Her conversation is getting better, I am told,” remarked Erestor.
“Yes,” agreed Thranduil, sitting down with the stack of books on his lap. “Much, much better. She has even begun one or two on her own. Is that not excellent?”
“Yes. Quite excellent.”
Thranduil frowned, picking up on the sadness from the other elf. “Is something the matter?”
Erestor took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “This morning I had a very interesting conversation with someone. A young friend of yours, in fact, regarding a mutual friend. Someone we both knew in Aman.”
Rubbing the spines of the books with his finger, Thranduil remained silent, shifting slightly on the bench.
“He was apparently interested in the reported character and morals of said friend. I was slightly shocked, to say the least, at what he had to say.”
“Well, she did a lot of questionable things,” interrupted Thranduil. “I did not want him to go around thinking she was a nice elleth or anything.”
“We all do questionable things,” spoke Erestor softly. “You may not think she was a nice elleth, but you do not know her like I do.”
“Perhaps not,” answered Thranduil. “But I did know her.”
“You knew of her, you ran around the gardens with her, tagged along when she and Ecthelion found themselves in trouble, yes, but did you really know her? What is her favorite color?”
“I do not know. Maybe, blue, I suppose. Does it matter?”
Erestor shook his head. “Maybe it does not. But something simple as that, you should know the answer to. Do you not think so?”
“Erestor, from the first time I met her, I knew she was trouble. Just the way she looked, the way she acted.”
“Why, what did she do?” asked Erestor.
Looking off in the distance, Thranduil smirked. “Told me the tree I was in was hers and she was queen of the forest. We ended up pushing each other out of the tree and I tore the knees of my leggings.”
“That does not sound so bad.”
“It is one of the worst meetings I ever had!” he argued.
“I have got a worse one. There was an elleth I met once in a forest, and she hissed and snarled at me and nearly went for my throat.”
“Oh. Right.” Thranduil glanced up and gave Erestor an apologetic look, but found the other elf to be staring off in the distance at a tree. “Well, I think we have all come around to her, and she to us. For the most part,” he added, remembering that Avisiel still would not speak a word to Erestor.
“Halmir and Gildor do not seem to have warmed up to her,” reminded Erestor. “They still think she is nothing more than a wild forest creature you are trying to tame.”
“Yes, well I have a word or two regarding them,” countered Thranduil. “And anyhow, they do not-“ He stopped, and now Erestor looked at him.
“Go on,” prompted the ancient elf.
Thranduil ground his back teeth and then said, “They do not know her like I do.”
“Judge not lest ye be judged.” Erestor’s soft voice was in contrast to the power of the words he spoke. “I know Artanis was not as well loved by everyone as she was by me, but there was good in her and still is.”
“I am sorry Erestor,” Thranduil said. “It is just... she did such horrible, terrible things...”
“Things that can be forgiven,” whispered Erestor. “Things I have forgiven her for. And you will be able to. In time.”
Placing a hand on his elder’s shoulder, Thranduil said, “If you can forgive her, then I can, too.”
“No.” Erestor shook his head. “No, you need to do that when you are ready. Not when I am ready, when you are. Forgiveness should be sincere, not forced upon the giver. Then it is meaningless and only breeds anger and suspicion.”
Thranduil nodded again and then said, “I wish we would have talked more like this in Valinor.”
“I think we may have had some very good conversations,” agreed Erestor.
