I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enlarged imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

1. New Beginnings

Realizing that he was fingering the rune of protection that hung from the thin chain around his neck, Legolas forced himself to stop.  The rune had a curious flat spot on its back that he found irresistible when he was tense.  Next to him, Annael let out a deep breath, and Legolas knew that his friend, too, was nervous.

He glanced toward the side of the training field, where friends and families of the novices watched and waited for the ceremony to begin.  His sister-in-law, Alfirin, stood in the shade, holding one of her small son’s hands, while Annael’s mother, Elowen, held the other.  Next to Elowen, stood a slim, dark-haired maiden, who had eyes only for Annael.  Legolas smiled a little wistfully to himself.  Annael and his mother had had more than their share of sorrow, for Annael’s father had been killed less than a month ago. But Beliniel’s love for Annael and his for her created an almost palpable warmth around them whenever they were together.

Legolas turned his attention forward again, looking between the two long lines of warriors that stretched ahead of him across the field.  At their end stood his father, with Ithilden, Legolas’s oldest brother, next to him.  Not his father and brother, Legolas corrected himself, his king and his troop commander, for today he would pledge his faith as a warrior of the Woodland Realm.  Silence settled on the crowd.  It was time.  He dropped his hands to his sides and stood respectfully still.

Lómilad, the novice master, stepped out of the line of warriors and turned to face Thranduil and Ithilden. "My lords," he said, "I bring these Elves before you, for they desire to serve the Woodland Realm with their weapons and their strength."  He speaks of Annael and me, Legolas reminded himself in wonder.  He had heard these words spoken about other novices each spring for nearly ten years and could scarcely believe that they were now being spoken about him.

"Let them each advance," said Thranduil, and Lómilad signaled first to Annael, who drew a deep breath and walked between the two lines of warriors to stop in front of Thranduil and lay his bow and his sword at the king's feet.  Legolas knew the words his father and Annael must be speaking, but he could not hear them over the pounding of his own heart.  Annael picked up his weapons and bowed to Thranduil.  Then he turned to clasp arms first with Ithilden and next with Anolith, who would be his captain in the Home Guard.  Then he turned and walked back down between the rows of warriors to take his place at the end nearest Legolas.  He looked far more relaxed now and grinned at Legolas.

“Your turn,” he murmured, under his breath.

Legolas gave him a shaky half smile and then, in response to a signal from Lómilad, he began his own walk between the two rows, first passing the youngest warriors and then those of gradually increasing age and experience.  His brother Eilian smiled at him from the row on his left, and Legolas’s heart lurched slightly at the sight.  Eilian was home only because the healers had ordered him there to allow time for his shadow sickness to heal.  His normally cheerful temper had been darkened lately, and he had smiled little.  Legolas thought it probably cost him an effort to do it now, and he was suddenly aware of how much he loved this brother, who had suffered greatly and suffered still from what his service as a warrior had cost him.

Legolas walked on between the experienced warriors.  The weapons masters were here, the archery master beaming at him and even the usually stern unarmed combat master looking satisfied.  And near the end of the line, stood Beliond, the warrior whom Thranduil had assigned to be his body guard.  Legolas knew him so slightly that he had no idea of what might lie behind his sober face, but he knew that it was unlikely to be wholehearted approval.  He and Beliond had not made good first impressions on one another.

At last, he halted before his father.  He pulled his sword from its sheath and laid it at his father’s feet and then took his bow from his shoulder and placed it too on the ground before Thranduil.  Then he looked up and met his father’s grey eyes.  Over the years, Legolas had learned to read his father’s face well, but he realized a little apprehensively that he could not read it now.  The impassive face of his king looked gravely back at him.

"What is it you ask of us?" Thranduil asked in a remote voice.

"My lord," Legolas responded as steadily as he could, "I ask to be allowed to join the ranks of your warriors that I might defend the realm and its people from whatever harm may threaten them."

"Do you pledge to use your strength to serve the cause of good and to give your obedience to the command of those set over you?" Thranduil asked.

"I do, my lord," Legolas answered, as certain of the rightness of this declaration as he had ever been of anything in his life.

Thranduil laid his hands on Legolas's shoulders, and suddenly, his impassivity gave way. He smiled at his son, and the pride in his eyes was unmistakable.  "Then we welcome you to our service and that of our people," he said.  "Take up your weapons and join the ranks of our warriors."  He squeezed Legolas’s shoulders gently and then dropped his hands and let him go, and as he did so, something bleaker mixed with the gratification in his face and then quickly faded.

Legolas blinked at him and then could not help smiling.  With exhilaration beginning to build, he picked up and sheathed his sword and shouldered his bow.  Grinning widely now, he turned to face Ithilden who grasped his forearm in a warrior's greeting.

“Congratulations, Legolas,” Ithilden told him and brought his free hand up to brush gently against the right side of his brother’s head.  Legolas scarcely felt the touch but was clearly aware of the rather rueful satisfaction in Ithilden’s face.  He would now be responsible for sending Legolas into dangerous situations, and Legolas knew that Ithilden did not like the idea, despite the pride he also took in Legolas’s skill with weapons.

Legolas turned and clasped arms with Todith, the captain of the eastern Border Patrol, for which Legolas would be leaving in the morning.  “Welcome, warrior,” Todith said, smiling at him and then releasing his arm.

And that was it.  He was now a warrior of the Woodland Realm.  Legolas drew a deep breath and turned to walk back between the rows and take his place at the end of the line across from Annael.  They grinned at one another. Legolas felt a sudden stab of dismay that he and this friend would now be taking different paths, but while Legolas was excited about leaving home, he knew that Annael needed to stay with his bereaved mother.  Moreover, being in the Home Guard was the only way he would be able to bond with Beliniel at any time soon.

Behind Annael, he could see their families, and Alfirin now had her arms wrapped about Elowen, whose face was buried in Alfirin’s shoulder.  It was a good thing that Annael had his back to them, Legolas thought.  Beliniel held Legolas’s nephew and was pointing to where Annael and Legolas stood. Legolas was willing to wager that she had not taken her eyes off Annael for the whole ceremony.

Then one of his father’s minstrels began to play, and the warriors all lifted their voices in a song of the realm that he had just pledged to defend.  I cannot believe that I am finally a warrior, Legolas thought, and sang along with the others.

***

Legolas made his way through the crowd on the field, looking for Eilian.  He had not seen his brother earlier that day because Eilian had had an appointment with the healers. The glimpse Legolas had had of him during the ceremony had reminded him of how much he would miss Eilian.  Someone touched him on the shoulder and he turned to find Beliond extending his arm to be clasped.  “Congratulations,” he said somewhat awkwardly, as Legolas took it.  “This is a day you will never forget, for on it, you have taken the first step toward becoming a warrior.”

Legolas could feel himself stiffening.  He knew that he lacked experience, but surely his years of training counted for more than Beliond implied.  Why did this Elf always seem to find a way to disparage what Legolas could do?  He deliberately made his tone as icy as he could.  “Thank you.  I look forward to serving the realm.”

Beliond’s mouth twisted slightly. “And I am sure the realm looks forward to having you at its service,” he said.  Legolas jerked back, stung by the unmistakable sarcasm in his tone, but before he could say anything, Beliond said, “I will see you in the morning, my lord.”  He turned and strode away, leaving Legolas staring after him, both angry and somehow in the wrong.

There was nothing wrong in what I said, he thought resentfully.

Someone clasped him from behind and tightened his grip enough to lift Legolas off his feet.  “Congratulations, brat,” said Eilian and released him.  Legolas turned with a grin to be warmed by the sight of his brother smiling at him.

“You have to stop calling me that,” he announced.  “I am a warrior now and might get insulted.”

Eilian laughed. “That is the idea,” he said.  “What would be the fun if you were not insulted?”  He embraced Legolas again.  “Congratulations, really. I am proud of you.”  Legolas let his joy at Eilian’s good mood and the warmth of his affection drive away the smart of Beliond’s disdain.

Another warrior approached from behind Eilian, and Legolas saw that it was Maltanaur, the older Elf who functioned as Eilian’s body guard, his ‘keeper’ as he and his brothers had always called him.  “Congratulations, Legolas,” said Maltanaur and clasped his arm.  Then he turned to Eilian.  “My grandchild awaits me, Eilian,” he said with a smile. “I will see you tomorrow morning.”  Eilian nodded and Maltanaur left, with another nod at Legolas.

“So the healer has decided to allow you to go to the northern Border Patrol?” Legolas asked, realizing suddenly the source of Eilian’s improved temper.

Eilian nodded.  He would undoubtedly have preferred to return to captaining the Southern Patrol, but the Border Patrol needed a captain and the healer was adamant that Eilian should not go closer to Dol Guldur for a time.  The shadow was deep there and had darkened the spirit of many warriors besides Eilian.  “I will see you off and then I will go.”

Legolas thought of the scene he had just witnessed between his brother and Maltanaur.  “Have you and Maltanaur always gotten along so well?” he asked.

“Always?” Eilian raised an eyebrow.  “I assume that you are concerned about getting along with Beliond?”  Legolas nodded reluctantly. He did not like to worry Eilian. And besides, he thought it was time that he began to solve his own problems rather than relying on his family.

Eilian considered.  “I seem to recall that we annoyed one another rather extensively at the beginning and, as a matter of fact, we still have our moments.” He smiled wryly and patted Legolas on the shoulder.  “I will give you advice that I probably could not have heeded myself: learn what you can from him and remember that he has what he believes are your best interests at heart.”

Legolas frowned resentfully.  “Surely I can decide where my own best interests lie now.  What do you know of Beliond any way?”

Eilian shrugged. “Not much.  I have never served in the same patrol with him, although I think Ithilden has.  He is a friend of Adar’s.  He was at Dagorlad.”

“I just want him to treat me with respect,” Legolas muttered.

Whatever Eilian might have said was lost as Thranduil and Ithilden approached, followed closely by Alfirin with a very wriggly Sinnarn in her arms.  Ithilden took their son from her.  “Did you see me, Ada?” Sinnarn asked. “I was very good.”

“Indeed you were,” Ithilden responded, kissing first his cheek and then Alfirin’s.

Whatever cloud had crossed Thranduil’s face during the ceremony was gone now. He smiled broadly and embraced Legolas.  “I could not be more proud of you, iôn-nín,” he declared.

“Come along home,” Alfirin invited. “The cooks have spent the last three days preparing a feast for us.”

“I am sorry, Alfirin, but I have other plans,” Eilian said.  He had been out of the palace most evenings of late and had frequently been the worse for wine in the mornings.

Thranduil frowned. “You are going north in the morning, are you not?” Eilian nodded. “Then I want you home this evening,” Thranduil went on, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Eilian looked as if he would protest but then pressed his lips together and was silent for a moment.  “I will send word to my friends that I will be late,” he finally said and looked defiantly at Thranduil, who hesitated and then grudgingly nodded.

***

Eilian walked along through the summer night, drawing what comfort he could from the stars and the night song of the trees.  His heart had lightened somewhat during the last several weeks during which the healers had forced him to take an extended leave, but he still found himself brooding on his problems in quiet moments, so he had simply taken care that such moments were scarce.  His father had forced him to stay for the family celebration tonight, and he was ashamed to admit that he had found it difficult to rejoice for Legolas, who was being allowed to do something he thought was exciting, or to take satisfaction in the cozy family togetherness that Ithilden had found.

It was not that he wished his brothers ill, he thought unhappily, but that his own life seemed so colorless compared to theirs.  Unlike Legolas, he doubted he would find much excitement in a border patrol, not after the constant tension of hunting Orcs and giant spiders in the southern part of his father’s woods.  And as for cozy families, the maiden he wanted to bond with had made it clear that she saw her duty lying elsewhere.

Celuwen could do what she liked, he thought savagely. Let her see if duty kept her warm in the night.

He came to his destination and knocked on the cottage door.  It was opened almost immediately by a maiden with curly brown hair tumbled appealingly around her face.  “You are late,” she declared, taking his hand and drawing him inside the cottage.  “And you look as if you need a glass of wine.”  She started down the hallway, but he stopped her, gathered her in his arms, and kissed her hungrily.  She struggled away from him with a laugh. “Behave yourself,” she admonished with a grin.

He grinned back. He doubted very much if he would have to behave himself for long.

***

Legolas tossed a set of packs across his horse’s back and hoped that he had remembered everything.  He supposed that he could send for anything he had forgotten.  Messengers rode between the palace and the eastern Border Patrol’s camp at frequent intervals, for the trip took less than a day.  But he did not want to look unprepared when he joined his new unit.

He heard someone walking between the rows of stalls and turned, expecting to see his father, who had heaped food on his plate at morning meal and had hovered over him ceaselessly in the moments since then.    But it was not his father who now stood next to him.

Annael smiled almost shyly.  “I did not want to let you go without saying goodbye,” he said, extending his arm.  With a cry of delight, Legolas grasped his arm and then embraced him.

“I am going to miss you,” he declared.  Indeed, he was having trouble imaging life without Annael to share his experiences and confidences.  Then he sobered. “Take care, Annael.  And remember that if you ever need anything, you have only to ask.”

His friend nodded.  “You take care too.  I do not want to hear about anything happening to you.”  His face clouded for a minute, and Legolas knew that Annael would indeed have trouble if he suffered another loss so soon after the death of his father.

“I will be fine. Beliond will not let me do anything foolish.  Or, at least, he will certainly tell me if I do.”

Annael grinned.  He was well aware of Legolas’s feelings about his keeper.  “Your adar and brothers are waiting outside,” he said. “For that matter, so are Beliond and Todith. I told them I would send you out right away.”

With a cry of dismay, Legolas immediately called to his horse and led him out of the stables, with Annael trailing after.  Thranduil turned to him and, without a word, caught him in an embrace.  “May the stars shine upon your path, iôn-nín,” he murmured, squeezed him once, and then released him.  Each of his brothers in turn clasped his arm and embraced him too.  And then, almost before he knew what had happened, he was on his horse and riding with Beliond and Todith away from his father’s stronghold.  He was on his way to his first posting as a warrior.

***

Eilian chirped softly to his horse and started to lead him out of the stables to go and say goodbye to his family and then meet Maltanaur.  He smiled to himself. Legolas had looked as excited as Eilian had ever seen him, and he had to admit that, contrary to his expectations, he too was excited to be off.

“A word with you, Eilian,” his father said, and he looked up to find Thranduil blocking his path.

“Yes, Adar?” he said, knowing that there was a note of impatience in his voice.  His father had been the one who had told the healers about his shadow sickness and gotten Eilian removed from his post in the south, and Eilian could not help but resent what he saw as interference in his affairs.

“Do not take that tone with me, Eilian,” said Thranduil sharply. “I have done a difficult thing this day, letting Legolas go without protest.  I want to assure myself that you are ready to be cautious so that I can let you go too.”

Eilian grimaced and stroked his horse’s neck, not looking at his father.  “What would you have me say, Adar?  The healers believe I am ready and so do I.”  He looked at Thranduil, who held him in his gaze for a long moment and then nodded.

“Very well.”  He smiled a little then.  “I have something for you.” Eilian suddenly realized that Thranduil was holding a silver chain.  He now reached forward and put it around Eilian’s neck.  Eilian brought his hand up to touch the rune hanging from it, and instantly, he knew what it was.  He felt an unexpected rush of gratitude.

“I know that you gave your rune of protection to Legolas,” Thranduil told him.  “I will not let you go without one.”

Eilian cleared his throat. “Thank you, Adar.”

Thranduil embraced him.  “May the stars shine upon your path, Eilian. Come home safely.”

“I will certainly try.” Eilian smiled at him, feeling better than he had in a while, and Thranduil stepped back to gesture that Eilian was free to go.  He mounted and rode toward the stableyard, where he knew that Maltanaur would be waiting.  He had a new patrol to see to, and he meant to find what satisfaction he could in that.

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they are not mine. I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life I assume he meant me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

2.  Arrivals

Todith lifted his hand in signal and slowed his horse at the edge of a small clearing with a stream running through it.  “We will rest here for a while and eat,” he called, dismounting.

Legolas slid to the ground, conscious of Beliond right behind him.  His keeper had consistently ridden at the rear of the little group so that he always had Legolas in his sight.  Legolas was already tired of what felt like constant surveillance.  This was worse than being at home with his father and both brothers, he thought dismally. 

They turned the horses loose, and he went to take a drink from the stream and refill his water skin.  A moment later, Beliond crouched next to him and held his own water skin in the stream.  Legolas glanced behind him to see Todith settling across the clearing from them, in the shade of an oak tree, apparently seeking some respite from the warm summer noontide.  He would try to be reasonable, he thought, and turned to Beliond.

“I realize that you are responsible for watching my back, Beliond,” he said in a low voice, “but do you have to do it now?”

Beliond turned his head and regarded him through narrowed gray eyes.  “If I am to fulfill my oath to my king, yes, I do.”

“But we are just riding through the forest,” Legolas said in exasperation.

“We are no longer within the boundaries of your adar’s stronghold, and a ride through this forest can be as dangerous a thing as you will ever do.”  His voice was as hard as his eyes.  “Or have the novice masters taught you so little that you would forget that?”

Legolas stiffened.  “Of course I know that,” he snapped, “but am I to have no privacy at all?”

Beliond shrugged.  “I will interfere in your life as little as I can, and I will hold my tongue about what I see if it has nothing to do with your safety, but I will be the judge of where your safety lies, young one, and you will have to learn to live with that.”  He rose, closed his water skin, and strode off to join Todith, leaving Legolas frustrated and fuming.

He stood and began wandering around the clearing, stretching muscles that had grown restless from a morning on horseback and walking off his annoyance.  He fervently hoped that matters would be different once they reached his patrol because thus far being a warrior felt a great deal like being an elfling.  Ah well, Eilian had come to terms with Maltanaur, so he supposed he could learn to do it with Beliond.  But Maltanaur was not Beliond, he thought unhappily.  He seemed to respect Eilian and treated him as friend, rather than as a useless fool.

He paused at the clearing’s edge, listening to the rustle of the trees in full summer leaf.  They were contented here, he thought, and felt another flare of resentment at Beliond.  Was he unable to tell that the trees sensed no danger?  If he could not hear the trees, he would be useless as a keeper, Legolas thought with scorn.

He glanced over to where Beliond and Todith were sitting together.  Having circled along the edge of the clearing, he was now behind them, causing both of them to throw occasional glances his way.  He supposed it would not do to worry them about his whereabouts, so he began to move back toward them.  They were evidently old acquaintances, and as Legolas approached, he could hear their easy conversation. Suddenly, he stopped for he realized that they were talking about him.

“I was surprised to hear that you had been assigned as the young one’s guard, Beliond,” Todith said. “I thought you were carrying out special missions for the king.”

“I was,” said Beliond, “until this assignment, although I suppose this one counts too.”

Legolas frowned to himself at the impatience in Beliond’s tone.  He apparently had not been happy about becoming Legolas’s keeper.  That made two of them.

Todith chuckled.  “I suspect the king would see your assignment as special.  I am told that he is protective of this last chick.”

Beliond snorted.  “The youngling is arrogant.  That can be dangerous both for him and for those around him.”

Legolas could feel heat rising into his face at Beliond’s assessment of him.

Todith shrugged. “A common enough failing among young Elves.  He will learn his limitations.  We all went through it.”  Then he seemed to change the subject.  “Do you still take your leaves in the forest?”

Beliond nodded. “I seek for peace during my leaves, not the constant chatter of other people.”

Todith glanced away then, and Legolas could see from his profile that he was smiling slightly.  Legolas guessed that Todith found Beliond’s words as rude as he did, although Todith seemed unoffended.

Not wanting to be caught eavesdropping, Legolas backed away and his movement evidently caught Todith’s eye.  “Come and eat, Legolas,” he called. “We will be under way again soon.”  He reached for the pack they had brought from home and began removing food from it.  Legolas silently cursed the fair coloring that he knew made his continued flush of anger all too visible, and then approached them and dropped to the grass beside them.

Todith handed him bread and cheese, and they all ate in silence for a time.  Then Todith asked him, “How much do you know about the eastern Border Patrol?”

Legolas tried to marshal all the information he had gathered about the patrol once he had learned he was to be assigned to it.  “It guards the eastern edge of the forest, from a point about thirty miles north of the Forest River to a point about thirty miles south of it,” he began.  “It checks on anyone entering the forest and also on any dangers that seem to be breeding in that area.  Ithilden says there are twenty-five warriors assigned to it, and I think that includes Beliond and me.”  He glanced at Todith, who nodded in confirmation.  “The patrol has a semi-permanent campsite, I believe.”

“More or less,” Todith confirmed approvingly.  “We move periodically, but we are usually headquartered in one place.”  He eyed Legolas appraisingly.  “You have been learning what you can, I see.  That is good.  You will need to continue doing so once we reach camp.” His tone was serious now.  “Ordinarily, the warriors who are sent to me have at least a year or two of experience, so you may have a bit of a struggle at first.  And usually, I assign a more experienced patrol member to guide a new one for a time, but you will have Beliond, so that is probably not necessary for you.”

Legolas could not help but feel that he had gotten the bad end of a trade.  He looked at Beliond to see that the Elf was watching him with an unreadable look.  Annoyed, he turned back to Todith.  “I know I have much to learn, but you will find that I am a willing pupil,” he said firmly. “And I can wield weapons with some skill.”

Todith nodded. “So the novice masters tell me,” he said, “but you may find that using them in real battle differs markedly from using them in training.”  Legolas shifted a little.  He already knew there would be a difference, of course.  Todith’s keen eyes met his.  “There is no disgrace in ignorance of what you have not experienced, so long as you are open to learning from experience when it occurs.”  Legolas nodded once.  In all truth, he was eager to gain the kind of experience Todith was speaking about, and he thought he was ready for it.

Todith looked up at the sun and then rose.  “We should be on our way.  I want to be in camp by evening.”  They called to their horses, mounted, and were soon under way again.

The sun was low in the sky by the time they rode out of the trees and into a large clearing with a campfire in the center around which were gathered a dozen or so Elven warriors.  Legolas had heard the sentries signaling their approach, but he had not been able to spot them through the trees.  The welcome smell of roasted venison drifted through the air.  “Welcome back, captain,” called one of warriors, rising to come and greet them.

“Mae govannen, Galorion,” Todith replied with a smile as he slid from his horse.  “Has anything disastrous happened in my absence?”

Galorion grinned.  “Fóril unexpectedly discovered a bees’ nest, which I suppose might count as a disaster for him, although it amused the rest of us.”

Todith laughed and then said, “These are Beliond and Legolas, our new warriors.”  He turned toward Beliond and Legolas. “This is Galorion, my lieutenant.  He will show you where to leave your horses and stow your gear.”

Galorion beckoned them after him with a friendly smile.  “Horses get tended to and left just beyond the eastern side of the clearing.” He called to one of the Elves beside the fire, and when he approached, Legolas could see faint red marks on his face and arms.  The luckless Fóril, he assumed.  Galorion introduced them.  “Fóril will see to your animals today,” Galorion told them and then went on toward the southern edge of the clearing.  “During the summer, we use flets,” he told them. “The one in this tree is empty.  You two can use it.”

Legolas looked up at the tall oak tree and felt a rush of pleasure at the idea of living on a flet.

“Evening meal will be ready soon,” Galorion told them and then departed.

He had hardly gone before Legolas was scrambling up the tree, with his packs and bedroll flung over his shoulders. Emerging onto the flet, he stood for a moment with leafy boughs all around him and the sky overhead.   A pallet lay on either side of the flet, with a small waterproof chest near each, and a tarp was neatly folded at one end, presumably to be raised in the event of rain.  When Beliond climbed onto the platform behind him, Legolas glanced back at him and then moved off toward the farther pallet, intending to drop his gear near it.  He paused, years of teaching about respecting his elders suddenly making themselves felt. “Is it acceptable if I take this pallet?” he asked stiffly. “Or do you want it?”

Beliond shrugged.  “It makes no difference to me.”  He dropped his packs on the other pallet and then climbed down and disappeared over the edge of the flet again.  Legolas stood for a moment, his pleasure in the flet dimmed a little by the realization of how awkward sharing it with Beliond was likely to be.  Then he too started the climb down.

“Legolas!” called someone as he reached the bottom of the tree, and he turned to find a young warrior approaching with his arm extended.

“Tynd!” he cried, surprised by the rush of gladness he felt on seeing a familiar face.  Tynd had been in his last year as a novice when Legolas had first begun his training, and Legolas had admired him greatly.

They clasped arms, and Tynd thumped him on the shoulder.  “It is good to see you,” he exclaimed.  “I had heard you would be joining us.”  He gestured toward the fire. “Come and eat,” he invited, and Legolas followed him toward where logs and sawed off tree trunks had been arranged, with Tynd introducing him to numerous warriors as they made their way along. They each got a plate of venison and sat down to eat.

“I saw you ride in,” Tynd told him. “I have been standing sentry duty here for the last two days, but tomorrow, I will be scouting along the forest edge with the small patrol to which I have been assigned. Perhaps you will come too.  Todith likes to send new arrivals out quickly, so they can get a sense of the territory.”

Legolas felt a thrill of anticipation at this piece of information.  Suddenly, his attention was caught by one of the other warriors around the fire.  “I do not see how that can be true,” he was saying. “I have seen the men of Esgaroth hunting, and the best of them is a worse archer than is the weakest Elf.”

“You need to look again, Tinár,” said Todith coolly from a seat nearby.  “You are underestimating them.”

Tinár opened his mouth as if to argue with his captain and then evidently thought better of it.

Seeing the direction of Legolas’s gaze, Tynd cautiously asked, “Do you know Tinár?” 

Legolas slowly nodded.  “His brother, Galelas, was two years ahead of me in the novice training. Do you remember him?”  Tynd nodded in his turn.  A small smile crept over Legolas’s face as he remembered Tinár fawning over a maiden at a winter festival.  Legolas had thought he might have to come to the maiden’s aid, but she had disposed of the boastful warrior on her own.  He wondered if Tinár remembered the incident. If he did, Legolas doubted that he ever spoke of it.

“He is in my patrol too,” said Tynd, his tone speaking volumes.

Legolas glanced at him and raised an eyebrow.  “My condolences,” he said dryly.  Tynd smiled wryly in response.

“Newcomers get assigned to cleanup,” announced Galorion from the middle of the clearing.  He pointed to two Elves sitting together. “You two are off the hook.”  The two of them cheered and grinned at Legolas, who glanced quickly over at Beliond.  The older Elf had been sitting by himself, quietly watching the group.  It somehow seemed wrong to Legolas that a warrior of Beliond’s age and experience should be washing dishes.  On the training missions he had been on, the novices always did all such chores while the masters gave orders.  Beliond took the situation in stride, however, and calmly rose to start collecting dishes.

“These three are on cleanup detail, too,” Galorion told Beliond, as three other Elves rose to help.  “They will show you where everything is.”  Legolas jumped to his feet and took Tynd’s dishes and those of the warrior next to him. Then he turned to follow the three Elves from the patrol toward what he assumed would be the stream he could hear to the west of the campsite.  As he started after them, he saw Beliond eyeing him with a look of mild surprise on his face.

It suddenly dawned on him that Beliond had thought he might be too arrogant to do routine chores with a willing hand.  He felt a flash of fury.  How many times could this Elf annoy him in one day? he wondered in exasperation and then set about his work, determined to prove himself a useful member of the eastern Border Patrol, even if his current use was washing dishes.

***

Eilian and Maltanaur rode out of the forest and into the clearing where the northern Border Patrol was currently headquartered.  Eilian had never served in a border patrol, but he had been in their camps on occasions when one or more of them had combined with the Southern Patrol to share missions.  So he had known what to expect and was not surprised by what he saw.

“Welcome, captain,” called a warrior whom Eilian recognized as Lómór, who served as this patrol’s lieutenant.  Eilian knew him, as indeed he knew many of the warriors in this patrol, for he was ordinarily gregarious and had friends scattered throughout the Woodland Realm’s forces.  He expected to see some new faces here, however, because this relatively safe border patrol was a common assignment for young warriors who had a year or two of experience under their belts with the Home Guard.

Eilian did not mind working with young warriors, but he did mind being assigned to a patrol that was considered safe enough to use them.  He needed to be busy, he thought, too busy to think.  And he needed the rush of battle to distract him from the unhappiness that he did not seem to be able to shake.

He and Maltanaur both dismounted and, at Lómór’s signal, a young warrior ran forward from the group around the fire to take their horses.  Eilian recognized his face and searched his memory for the name. “Thank you, Galelas,” he said and the serious-faced youngling led the horses away, looking gratified that Eilian remembered him.

“You are in just in time to eat,” Lómór told them.  They approached the group at the fire, and the warriors obligingly moved to give a bit of privacy to their lieutenant and new captain.  Maltanaur wandered to the other side of the fire and sat down next to an older Elf whom he apparently knew.

Eilian accepted a plate of food and spent a few minutes eating before he asked Lómór for the information he knew he needed to have in order to take command.  “I have seen the dispatches you have sent Ithilden,” he said. “What has been happening in the last few days?”

Lómór grinned at him.  “I have been hoping we would have something exciting for you, Eilian, but I am afraid we are still doing only routine patrols.” Eilian was not surprised. This patrol guarded the northwestern approach to Thranduil’s stronghold, moving along an imaginary line that began at the Forest River in the west and extended northeast all the way to the edge of the woods, where its territory met that of the eastern Border Patrol.

“We see an occasional dwarf or two,” Lómór went on, “traveling between the Gray Mountains and Erebor.  From time to time, we get Men from Dale or even Esgaroth hunting in the eastern part of our territory.  Once in a great while, a spider or an Orc wanders our way, and we sometimes get a few hungry wolves in the winter. But this will be nothing like what you are used to.”

Eilian grimaced.  The healers had declared that he needed time away from the Shadow, and he apparently was going to get it.  He sighed. “You had better explain the organization of the daily patrols,” he said, “so I look reasonably competent tomorrow.”  Lómór obliged, and as they talked, the warriors around them finished eating and the camp gradually settled for the night, with sounds of soft voices raised in song and gradually fading to silence.

Eilian stood and stretched.  “Thank you. That is very helpful.  If you would point out which flet is mine, that should probably be all I need.”  Lómór pointed toward a nearby oak and then said good night, leaving Eilian to scale the tree and emerge on the flet where his gear was already stowed.  Because he was the patrol’s captain, he had the flet to himself, and it contained not only the usual pallet and chest, but also a small table and two chairs.

He stood for a moment looking at the distant stars in the inky dark sky.  It was the first time he had been alone all day, and with appalling familiarity, he felt the blanket of sadness settle around him.  He groaned and sat down on the platform, leaning against the oak.  How could this be happening to him?  He had always prided himself on his ability to tolerate the Shadow and make fierce war on its servants no matter what forces it ranged against him.  He was not only pained by his collapse into shadow sickness; he was also humiliated.

This is Celuwen’s fault, he thought angrily.  If she had been willing to act on the love she said she felt, then he never would have lost his ability to function in the south.

“Eilian?” called a familiar voice from a few feet below the level of the flet, and without looking, he knew that Maltanaur had come searching for him.  He was probably worried I would fling myself off the flet, Eilian thought with some resentment.

“Come,” he called, and Maltanaur climbed into sight and dropped onto the platform.

“I do not want to bother you, Eilian, but there is something I want to give you before you start wandering the woods here, because I do not care what Lómór says, trouble follows you wherever you go.”

Eilian smiled at him faintly.  “Are you trying to cheer me up?”

Maltanaur snorted and then held something out to him.  Eilian looked at his hand and saw that he was holding a thin chain from which a rune of protection was suspended.  “I have no idea what you did with yours,” Maltanaur said, “but I noticed it was gone, and I did not want the job of preserving your skin made any harder than it already is.”

Touched beyond all expectation by the concern that was so obvious in Maltanaur’s action and in his voice, Eilian reached out and took the charm.  He looked up and met the older warrior’s anxious eyes and then laughed softly.  “You and Adar have always thought alike,” he said and tugged the neck of his tunic open so that Maltanaur could see the rune he wore.  “He gave it to me just before we left.”

“Ah,” Maltanaur relaxed and smiled back at him.  “I have always admired the king’s sense of timing.”  Eilian offered the necklace back to him, but he pushed Eilian’s hand away again.  “Keep it,” he said. “You need all the protection you can get.” He nodded once and then disappeared over the edge of the flet.  Eilian clutched the chain and rune in his hand, and if only for the moment, his heart lightened.

***

Legolas lay on his back and gazed up at the night sky, awe stricken by the thickly spread stars.  He had always loved being out at night, but his father had seldom indulged him in his desire to sleep under the stars.  One summer when they were small, he and Annael and another friend had built a flet in a tree in the woods behind Annael’s cottage. After much pleading, he had finally managed to convince Thranduil to allow him to spend an occasional night there with his friends.  He wondered now if his father might have made some sort of secret arrangement for them to be guarded.  That would be only too like him, Legolas thought, with a mixture of affection and exasperation.

From the other side of the flet, he could hear Beliond’s even breathing and felt himself relaxing with the knowledge that his keeper was finally asleep.  This was the first time he had been more or less alone all day.  Even as an elfling, he had had more privacy.  He had somehow not realized that the constant company of others could be so wearing. It had not bothered him during novice exercises, even when they lasted for a week or more. But then, he had always been with Annael, and he had known he would go home to his own room when the mission was over.

He wondered what Annael had done today.  Annael was supposed to start his service in the Home Guard and had probably been sent on some sort of patrol already.  Legolas wished he could hear Annael tell him about it.  And how was Eilian faring in his new posting? He was worried about his brother and hoped that captaining the new patrol would lift him out of his obvious misery. He fingered the rune on the chain around his neck, feeling again for the flat spot at the back, and suddenly he was stabbed by a deep pang of loneliness.

This is silly, he thought in dismay. I was just fretting because I have been in the company of others all day.  I cannot be annoyed by that and be lonely too!  He looked at the stars again, searching for the comfort that came from their beauty, but it was long before he managed to slip away to walk the paths of Elven dreams.

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he meant me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

3.  A First Patrol

Legolas slipped swiftly along between the trees, scanning the ground and the underbrush for signs of intruders.  At a distance to his right, he could hear faint sounds of Tynd doing the same thing, and at a somewhat shorter distance to his left, he knew that Beliond was also creeping along, although he could not hear the older warrior. As Tynd had predicted, Todith had sent Legolas out on patrol on the first morning after his arrival.  The small group had left camp at dawn to spend three days sweeping the borders of the forest in the northern part of their territory, and one of the first things Legolas had learned was that Beliond was even quieter in the woods than Annael, a fact that Legolas found astonishing.

At last, in the late morning, he began to hear the rush of the Forest River and then, between the trees, he saw the river bank.  He checked the ground all the way to the river, and then turned to his left and started toward where he knew Galorion must be.  He was not surprised and felt only a momentary flicker of annoyance when Beliond came to meet him and then fell in next to him. Beliond had let Legolas out of his sight this morning only when he knew that Legolas was carrying out his search with warriors on both sides of him. At least the older warrior was taciturn and did not seem to expect conversation, so they made their way together in silence to where Galorion was waiting near the rope bridge, with Fóril and Tinár already by his side.

“Anything?” asked Galorion, and both Legolas and Beliond shook their heads.  A moment later, Tynd arrived.

“Nothing,” he reported, and the lieutenant nodded in response.

“We will rest here for a few moments before we cross,” Galorion announced, and Legolas moved gratefully into a shady spot and took a cool drink from his water skin.  He was not particularly in need of rest, but the day had grown warm and a break was welcome.  Tynd came to sit on one side of him and, to Legolas’s silent dismay, Tinár came to sit on the other.  Beliond sat a short distance away, alone as usual.

“I know that patrolling this area so carefully seems ridiculous,” Tinár said, “given how safe it is compared to other areas in which I have served, but you have to pay attention anyway, Legolas.”

Legolas glanced at him in surprise. Tinár had been nowhere near him this morning and thus could not have seen him making any mistakes he had been unaware of, so presumably he was simply handing out general advice.  “I am paying attention,” he said stiffly.  He might have said more, but he did not want to quarrel with one of his fellow warriors.

“Are you speaking from experience, Tinár?” Tynd asked mildly.

“Of course not,” Tinár huffed.  “You know as well as I do that I am the most reliable scout in the patrol.”

“Tinár!” called Galorion.  “Go and check the bridge.”

With a long suffering sigh, Tinár got to his feet and went off to check the security of the knot tying the rope to the sturdy beech tree.  Then he ran across it to check the knot on the other side.

Tynd watched him.  “I know Tinár can be a trial,” he said, “but he is quick with a bow, so his usefulness usually makes up for the annoyance of his presence.”  He turned and grinned at Legolas. “On the other hand, it is probably no accident that Galorion chose him to check the bridge. I rather suspect that our lieutenant would not mind seeing Tinár take an unexpected swim.”

Legolas laughed and then shrugged. As a very green novice, he had once been punished for damaging the morale of his group by quarreling with Tinár’s younger brother, Galelas. He had taken the lesson to heart and had no intention of letting Tinár get under his skin if he could help it.

From across the river, Tinár signaled that the bridge was sound, and Galorion motioned them all to their feet.  “Time to move on,” he said. “I want to cover ten to fifteen more miles north of the river by the time we camp tonight.”  They all rose and, one by one, ran lightly across the rope and then spread out to resume their search.

Remembering Tinár’s unwelcome but sound advice, Legolas grimaced and brought all his alertness to bear on the ground and underbrush around him, looking for any sign of disturbance, no matter how small, that could not readily be identified as caused by one of the forest animals.  Suddenly, he froze, for there on the ground in front of him were clear footprints.  With every nerve singing, he bent to examine the prints and saw that a line of them ran across his own northward course, and ran from east to west. A Man had walked into the forest here.

He straightened up to give the bird signal that would announce what he had found, only to hear the same signal coming from his right and then, a second later, from his left. Beliond appeared at his side, his bow in his hand.  Seeing him, Legolas flinched and then hastily pulled his own bow off his shoulder.  He waited for Beliond to comment on his slowness in reacting, but the older warrior was too busy scanning the woods around them for any sign of danger.

At that moment, they heard Galorion signaling that all was well and then calling them all together.  Legolas and Beliond exchanged swift glances.  Beliond shrugged and then they both shouldered their bows and moved rapidly in the direction from which the signal had come.  As they came in sight of their lieutenant, Legolas suddenly halted, and felt Beliond next to him doing the same thing, for to Legolas’s astonishment and delight, Galorion was in conversation with a group of four Men. Tinár stood next to the lieutenant looking disdainful, and Legolas remembered that in the past he had heard him say some scornful things about Men.  He hoped the Men talking to Galorion were less able to read an Elf’s face than he was, because he doubted if Tinár’s attitude would help this encounter to go smoothly.

To Legolas’s surprise, the Man who seemed to be in charge of the group looked familiar and it took him only a moment to place him as Beam, the son of the Master of Esgaroth.  Legolas had seen Beam two or three times when he had come to Thranduil’s stronghold to confer on matters of trade or security, but he had not seen the Man for a number of years.  The rest of the Elven patrol had now gathered around their lieutenant and the Men.  Beliond stood at Legolas’s left shoulder with his hand on the hilt of his sword, and Legolas guessed he was uneasy.

“What brings you so far inside the borders of the forest, Beam?” Galorion asked a friendly enough tone, but Legolas could hear the steel underneath it.  Relations between the Men of Esgaroth and the Elves of the Woodland Realm were cordial enough, but Legolas knew that Thranduil expected the Men to stay in their own territory unless they had business with him.

Beam smiled placatingly.  “Timber of very fine quality has recently been showing up in Esgaroth.  It had occurred to us that the merchant selling it might have been misguided enough to cut trees in the forest without Thranduil’s permission.  We were searching for evidence that the trees had been cut here.”

Legolas blinked.  If a Man had indeed been cutting trees without his father’s permission, there was likely to be trouble.  Thranduil would wreak retribution on the Man, but he would also not be pleased with the border patrol that had allowed the Man to slip by them either.

Galorion raised an eyebrow.  “And why did you not inform Todith so that we might have carried out this search ourselves and saved you the trouble?”  His words were polite but he was clearly warning the Men that they were in a place where they did not belong.

“We were not sure that the logging had occurred,” Beam shrugged, “and did not want to bother you with the matter until we were more certain.”

Legolas was willing to wager that Beam would have been happy not to “bother” the Elves with the matter at all.

Galorion considered.  “Perhaps it would be useful if we combined forces and searched this part of the woods together?” he finally offered.  From the corner of his eye, Legolas could see Beliond frown at that suggestion. He was plainly unhappy at the idea of trusting the Men.  Legolas experienced a moment of impatience at his prejudice.  While he believed that his father would probably share Beliond’s wariness, he knew from conversations at home that Ithilden and Eilian both trusted Beam.  And a chance to see more of these Men was exactly the kind of thing that Legolas had been hoping would happen as he ventured out from under his father’s guard.

Beam apparently knew a generous offer when he heard one.  “An excellent idea,” he responded.

“Do you have any idea of where the logging might have happened?”  Galorion asked.

Beam pointed northwest.  “More wood showed up in our marketplace this morning, so we began looking for a trail immediately.  We have been following tracks going in that direction.”

Galorion nodded and began arranging his forces and Beam’s to search in the direction Beam had indicated.  He hesitated when he came to Beliond.  “I will stay with my companion,” Beliond said firmly, and Galorion nodded and went on giving instructions to his other warriors.

Beam’s attention had been drawn to Legolas by the incident.  The Man looked puzzled for a moment and then, suddenly, his face broke into a smile.  “It is Legolas, is it not?” he asked, coming toward him with his arm extended.  “You have grown up since the last time I saw you!”

Legolas caught a glimpse of Tinár scowling slightly as Beam singled out Legolas.  Apparently Tinár did not approve of Legolas having what looked like a friendly relationship with the Man. Indeed, Beliond looked disapproving too.  Legolas clasped arms with Beam, taking perverse delight in Beliond’s dismay, for he had noticed that his keeper had been careful not even to mention his name.

There was no time for further conversation, for Galorion signaled for the group to take up their search, and Legolas began working his way through the forest, with Beliond close at hand.  Within a matter of minutes, the two of them stepped from a thick stand of evergreen to find a small glade in which a dozen trees had been recently cut.  The tops of their stumps showed like white scars against the lush growth around them. The undergrowth was trampled and the ground torn in deep ruts where the downed trees had been dragged. “Men,” said Beliond in disgust and then sounded the signal that called the other Elves and Men to them.

As each Elf arrived, he stopped at the edge of the glade, gazing in dismay at the devastation before him.  The Men were plainly unhappy at what they saw, but to Legolas, it was obvious that their pain was of a different kind than that of the Elves. They did not hear the mournfulness of the trees that still stood.  Beam stood in silence for a moment and then drew a deep breath.

“Do not worry,” he said grimly.  “The Master of Esgaroth will take up this matter with the Man we suspect.”

“I am not ‘worried,’” Galorion said coldly, “but I think Todith would be happier if you were to inform him immediately of what retribution the Master exacts.”

Beam hesitated and then turned to eye Galorion.  “I wonder if this incident needs to be conveyed to your king,” he ventured.

For a second, both his eyes and Galorion’s flicked to Legolas before they looked at one another again.  “Todith would include it in his regular dispatch to the troop commander,” Galorion said, “and the commander would decide what information the king needed to hear.”

Legolas listened in fascination.  He had always thought of his oldest brother as rather conventional, but if Ithilden was keeping news like this from their father, he was bolder than Legolas had realized.

“I will see to it that Todith hears without delay of whatever action the Master takes,” Beam finally said.

Galorion nodded and the Men bowed their heads respectfully and began to move away.  Beam paused in front of Legolas, and Legolas was aware of Beliond putting his hand to his sword again.  “Come and visit us, Legolas,” Beam invited, and then smiled.  “I know that Nitha would be more than happy to see you.”  Then he and his men withdrew.  Galorion glanced at Fóril, who nodded and leapt into a nearby tree and began moving eastward after the Men.  Legolas guessed that he would see to it that Beam and his men really did leave the forest.

Beliond watched the departing men grimly and then glanced at Legolas, disapproval written large on his face.  Impatient with his dislike of people whom Legolas fully intended to visit, Legolas gave him a deliberately provocative smile and then turned away.  He was willing to let Beliond guard him when he was acting as a warrior, but he would be hanged if he let his keeper interfere with his personal life.

Galorion turned to the rest of them. “We will resume our patrol,” he said and sent them once again to sweep through the forest, searching for signs of trouble. Legolas was glad to be scouting on his own again, or at least as much on his own as he was likely to be. They hunted all day without further incident and then camped at a point about ten miles north of the river.  The incident with the Men had slowed them down, and they had covered less distance than Galorion had hoped they would. They would have to make it up the next day.

“We will draw for the watches,” Galorion announced. He plucked blades of grass, shortened some of them, and then clenched them in his fist, which he held out to the rest of them.  Legolas drew one of the blades and could see immediately that he had gotten a short one. He would stand watch tonight.

“You get first watch, Legolas,” Galorion told him.  “Wake Beliond in two hours to take his turn.”   Then he and the rest of the patrol rolled up in their blankets and settled to sleep.  Although Legolas knew that the first watch was an easy one because one did not have to wake and go to sleep again, he was still gratified that Galorion apparently trusted him with the safety of the group.  Of course, he had stood many watches while on novice missions, and if he had not been able to do so basic a warrior’s task, the novice masters would have sent him on his way long ago.

He made a circuit of the campsite and then perched in a tree to listen and watch for a while before it was time to make another one.  He glanced over at where Beliond lay. The Elf was turned on his side to face Legolas.  Legolas could not be certain, but he thought that there was enough tension in Beliond’s body to suggest that he was still awake.  Evidently Beliond did not trust him as much as Galorion did, he thought irritably.

He found himself thinking back over the day, his first real day a warrior, with some satisfaction.  He supposed it had not been the stuff that novices’ dreams were made of, given the routine nature of the patrol, but he had found it exciting to meet the Men and he thought that he had done well.  Except for not seizing his bow as soon as he had seen the Men’s footprints, he reminded himself.  He would be more alert the next time.

Suddenly, he heard a noise off to the north of their campsite. He turned his head toward it, wondering if he had imagined it, but beneath him, he could see Beliond leaping to his feet and looking in the same direction.  Evidently Legolas had been correct in thinking that his keeper was not asleep, he thought, but had time for only a fleeting second of exasperation.  The sound was unmistakable now, and his breath quickened and his heart began to pound.  He took his bow in hand, intending to travel toward the noise and see what was causing it.  And he hated to admit it, but he found that he was glad when Beliond leapt into the trees too and moved along next to him toward the source of the sound. 

They had traveled only a brief distance when Legolas halted and Beliond came to stand next to him on the branch with his face impassive and all of his attention on whatever was approaching.  They waited. To Legolas’s ears, the sound had resolved itself into two sets of heavy footsteps, and suddenly, two Dwarves appeared beneath them, traveling east.  Legolas stared; he had never seen a Dwarf before. These two had heavy packs on their backs and did not have their weapons in hand, so they did not look immediately dangerous, but still, they were Dwarves and they were within the boundaries of Thranduil’s realm without the knowledge of his warriors.

For a second, Legolas hesitated, wondering if he should try to find out more about the intruders, but Beliond caught his arm, frowned, and jerked his head back toward the camp.  Legolas knew at once that he was right and turned to follow Beliond as they  made their way as swiftly as they could back to the camp. They dropped to the ground there and hastily awoke their companions, who were on their feet, instantly alert. Legolas knew he had betrayed his excitement in his voice as he shook the others awake, but he could not help it.

“Into the trees,” Galorion ordered, strapping on his quiver. “We will surround them and then Tinár and I will drop to the ground and confront them. The rest of you have your bows ready but do not shoot unless I give a signal or things get very ugly.  Legolas and Beliond, show us where they are.”

Legolas leapt back into the trees and he and Beliond led the rest of the patrol toward where the Dwarves had gone, moving as soundlessly as they could.  The Dwarves had not gotten very far and the patrol was soon upon them.  Galorion moved into the lead while the rest of them flowed into the trees about the travelers.  And then, with what must have been a frightening lack of warning, Galorion and Tinár dropped to the ground in front of the Dwarves with their bows drawn.

“Do not move, Master Dwarves,” said Galorion, his face stony. “I would not want to have to shoot you.  Your bodies would be very heavy to haul away.”  The Dwarves froze with their hands just reaching toward their axes. There was a moment’s silence and Legolas could feel his own tension rising, so he assumed that the Dwarves were certainly feeling the strain. Slowly, both dwarves moved their hands away from their weapons.  “What are you doing in these woods at this time of night?” Galorion demanded.

The Dwarves hesitated.  They evidently did not like being questioned by an Elf any more than the Elves liked having them in the woods.  “We are on our way from the Grey Mountains to see our kin in Erebor,” one of them finally said in a gruff voice.  “Is that such a frightening prospect to you that you have to waylay us?” Legolas had to admire his guts.  If he were faced with Galorion and Tinár looking as they did now, Legolas thought he might have spoken with more care.

“If you are on a simple visit to your kin, then why are you traveling after dark?” Galorion asked.

Again the Dwarves hestitated. They looked at one another.  At length, the second Dwarf spoke with obvious reluctance.  “We are unfamiliar with these woods.  We misjudged our way and went too far west. We were trying to make up for lost time.”

Tinár, who was looking down his nose at the creatures, let out a sudden snort of scornful laughter, and Galorion shot him a warning glance.  He turned back to the Dwarves. “Are you telling me you got lost in the woods?” he asked, as incredulous as only a Wood-elf could be at that claim.

“That is exactly what I am telling you,” the Dwarf snapped.  “All of these trees look alike, you must admit.”

Suddenly Legolas had to suppress laughter too, and when he glanced at Beliond, he found that he was smiling broadly, although he made no sound.  Legolas was rather ashamed to react in the same way Tinár had, but really, the Dwarves were ridiculous.

Galorion raised an eyebrow.  “If you cannot tell one tree from another, then you would do well not to travel in these woods,” he said, sounding exasperated.  He paused, considering. “If you continue another three miles in the direction you are going, you will reach the edge of the woods,” he said.  “Two of my warriors will see to it that you do not get lost again.”  And to Legolas’s delight, he glanced up into the trees and signaled for him and Beliond to descend.  He jumped to the ground with a flourish, and Beliond landed by his side a second later.

The Dwarves started at their sudden appearance.  One of them scanned the trees looking for more elves, while the eyes of the other narrowed.  “We do not need an escort,” he protested.

“I fear that you do,” Galorion insisted and stepped back out of their path.

“You lead,” Beliond told Legolas briefly. “I will be rear guard.”  For a moment, Legolas was too surprised to react to the invitation to lead, but then, pleased, he started east, gesturing for the Dwarves to follow him.  He did not like having his back to them, but after a moment’s consideration, he realized that, with Beliond at the rear, the Dwarves would be dead if one of them so much as checked the position of his axe on his back.

They walked in silence for a while. At least, he and Beliond walked in silence, although the Dwarves tramped as noisily Orcs.  “We do not need you to guide us,” one of the Dwarves finally growled at Legolas’s back.  “We know where east is.”

“But you do not seem to know how to find your way among the trees to get there,” Legolas responded cheekily.  He found, to his surprise, that he was enjoying himself.

The Dwarf snorted.  “You think you know everything about these woods, but I warrant that you would be surprised what we have found here and dealt with needing no help from Elves.”  He positively spat the last word.

Startled, Legolas glanced back at him.  “What do you mean?”

“Surely you do not need a Dwarf to tell you about what is happening in your own woods?” the Dwarf taunted him.

“If you have something to say, say it,” Beliond snapped. “Otherwise, be quiet and keep moving.”

Both Dwarves looked back at him, and Legolas eyed him too and was sobered by what he saw.  He turned back quickly to his task as guide, and the Dwarves, who were apparently equally impressed, spoke no more.  In a short time, they reached the end of the trees.

“I would advise you to go home some other way,” Beliond told the Dwarves, and he and Legolas stepped aside to watch them walk away into the dark.

They stood for a few minutes, making sure that the Dwarves were not doubling back.  Beliond glanced at Legolas.  “It is well to remember that Men and Dwarves are not as trustworthy as Elves,” he said quietly.

Legolas frowned.  “The Men are our allies,” he said. “And I know we buy weaponry from the Dwarves.”  He knew he was being difficult. He had not liked the Dwarves any more than Beliond had, but he had liked meeting the Men, and he bristled at the mild reprimand implied in his keeper’s remark.

Beliond shrugged.  “Nonetheless, I do not trust them, and it would make my job easier if you also were not so foolish as to do so.” Legolas struggled for a moment with what he knew was an intemperate response, but before he could speak, Beliond went on.  “You did well tonight,” he said abruptly.

Legolas looked at him in surprise.  He hesitated, for there was something he wanted to say. “I do know how to stand a watch, you know,” he finally said.  “You do not have to stay awake while I am doing it.”

To his surprise, Beliond simply nodded.  “Apparently you do know how, and now that I know that, I will more than happy to sleep while you are doing it.”  He turned and started back toward the campsite, leaving Legolas staring after him and then having to hurry to catch up.

They found Galorion standing watch.  “They are gone,” Beliond told him.  “They were hinting that they had found some sort of trouble in the forest, though.”  Legolas glanced at him in surprise, for he had not thought that Beliond had taken the Dwarves’ claims seriously.

Galorion frowned. “Do you know what or where?”

Beliond shook his head.  “I am not even sure they were telling the truth. They may have been simply trying to make trouble.”

Galorion nodded and then seemed to dismiss the matter.  He turned to Legolas and grinned.  “What an exciting first patrol you are having, Legolas.”  Legolas suspected that none of the patrol members had missed how thrilled he had been by both of the day’s encounters.  He blushed, but could not help but grin back at his lieutenant.  In all truth, he had found the day exciting.

“Go on to sleep, both of you,” Galorion ordered.  “Your watches are over anyway.”

Legolas made his way to his blanket and rolled up in it.  He was tired, he suddenly realized.  And tonight, he had no time to be lonely, for he was away in dreams before he could roll over on his side.

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine.  I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life I assume he meant for me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

4. News from Home

“Take care, Legolas.  You are dear to me and, indeed, to all of us.  I would have you come home again having done your duty, but free from harm.  Believe me when I sign myself, Your Most Loving Adar.”

Legolas looked up from the letter and gazed off into the distance, seeing not the woods around the Border Patrol camp but the familiar trees that edged the green in front of his father’s palace.  When the messenger had brought dispatches this morning, he had also brought letters from home, including this one from Thranduil.  Legolas had been thrilled when the letters were put in his hands, but now, suddenly, he found that he was actually blinking back tears.

This is stupid, he thought fiercely.  I wanted to be away from home, and I got what I wanted.  I am glad to be here, glad!

Determined to shake his loneliness, he got to his feet, scaled the tree to his flet, and gathered his dirty clothes together.  His patrol group was scheduled to start a round of sentry duty tonight, so he had time to wash his clothes today, and he might as well take advantage of it.  He seized a bar of soap, scrambled down the tree again, and went off toward the area of the stream that was set aside for doing laundry.  He found Tinár, Fóril, and Beliond already there, like him making use of this break in their group’s routine to catch up on necessary chores.

He hesitated a little when he saw them, though, for he had hoped to attempt this particular task in private.  The truth was that while he had occasionally rinsed out some item of clothing while on a novice mission, he had never actually been responsible for washing his own clothes.  Indeed, he had never even seen the palace laundresses washing them.  So far as he knew, he dropped his dirty clothes in a basket, and within a few days clean ones reappeared in his cupboard.

Fóril glanced up at him and grinned. “Join the party, Legolas.  There are plenty of rocks left.”  He slapped an unidentifiable wet garment against the rock near which he was crouched, sending a spray of water toward Tinár, who glared at him but said nothing.

Legolas smiled back at Fóril, whose bee stings had long since faded, although the company’s jokes about them had not.  He dumped his clothes near a flat rock at the water’s edge, squatted down, and began vigorously sloshing them around in the water.  He looked surreptitiously to his right, where Beliond had leggings spread out on a rock and was rubbing soap into the muddy knees.  Spreading one of his tunics out carefully on the rock, he began imitating Beliond’s actions.

From across the stream, Tinár took up a conversation that Legolas’s arrival had evidently interrupted.  “Gewiel is concerned that if she makes all the decisions about the wedding feast by herself, some parts of it may not be satisfactory, so in her letter, she told me that she is waiting until I come home on leave to finish the arrangements.”

Legolas looked up at him.  “Gewiel?” he asked.

“His betrothed,” said Beliond dryly.  Legolas glanced at him, startled.  Was that a gleam of humor he saw in his keeper’s eyes?

“Yes,” said Tinár complacently.  “We will be wed in the fall.”

Legolas tried to picture a maiden who would willingly choose to bond with the boastful Tinár and found that he could not.  Beliond was now beating his leggings against the rock, so Legolas picked up his soapy tunic and did the same thing.

“Do you intend to be in charge of your household then?” Fóril asked Tinár, and Legolas was absolutely certain that Fóril was teasing him. Tinár, however, did not seem to notice.

“Certainly,” he answered.  “Gewiel is timid and needs guidance.”  From Legolas’s right came a small, snorting sound, and he turned quickly toward Beliond but could see no change in his stoic countenance.  He himself could not help smiling, but he also felt a little sorry for the oblivious Tinár, who clearly did not know he was being baited.  He deliberately changed the subject.

“I had a letter from my brother Eilian today, Tinár,” he offered.  “He says that Galelas is in his patrol and is doing well.”  Beliond looked sideways at Legolas but said nothing.

“Is he?” said Tinár sounding bored.  He wrung out his last tunic and spread it carefully over a bush to dry in the sunshine.  “I will see you all back in camp,” he announced and strode away with his self-love completely intact.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Fóril spoke. “If ever you are seeking advice about romance, young one, you would do well to avoid asking Tinár.”  Legolas grinned at him.  Tinár simply made it too hard to feel sorry for him for very long.

“Like many an Elf before him, he may find that marriage is not quite what he expects,” Beliond said, surprising them both.  Legolas turned to him wonderingly, but Beliond was looking at the tunic in Legolas’s hand. “You need to rinse that tunic again, Legolas.  You did not get all the soap out of it.”

Fóril and Legolas both looked at him.  “Will you help me with my laundry too, Nana Beliond?” Fóril asked happily.

Beliond glared at them, but Legolas could have sworn there was humor hidden in his eyes.  “I will help you both to baths in the stream if you do not show more respect,” he huffed.

Fóril laughed, and Legolas found himself smiling too.  A jest.  Beliond had made a jest.  Who would ever have guessed that he could?  He rinsed his tunic, careful to get all the soap out this time.

***

“My lord,” said the leader of the Elven settlement, “our desire is to make our people as safe as possible while still keeping the woods in the possession of Elves.  To withdraw to your stronghold would be to cede the forest to the enemy, and we do not want to do that.”

Thranduil gave him a long, level look.  He sympathized completely with the Elf’s goals.  If Thranduil could have his way, the Shadow would be gone and Elves would live in every corner of the Woodland Realm.  But the Shadow was not gone, and to the king, pretending that it was represented foolishness of the highest order.

“What is you are proposing?” he asked.

The settlement leader shifted a little and then glanced at the Elf who accompanied him.  Thranduil recognized this second Elf as Sólith, who had always been adamant about living in one of the increasingly unsafe settlements scattered about the woods and who was also the father of the maiden Celuwen, whom Eilian had courted off and on since they were children. Thranduil liked Celuwen and thought she would be good for his sometimes impetuous second son, but he did not think that Eilian and Celuwen would be in a position to bond at any time soon, not if Eilian continued to live up to his duty to the realm by serving as a warrior far from home.

Sólith cleared his throat.  “My lord, you know that Lord Eilian was in the settlement in the spring.”  He paused to make sure that this was so, and Thranduil nodded rather apprehensively.  The settlement had been attacked by Orcs while fighting a forest fire, and Eilian had been captaining the Southern Patrol which had gone to fight them.  Thranduil could not imagine what Eilian’s presence in the settlement might have to do with any plans its leaders might make, but with Eilian, one never knew.

“He suggested that we move the settlement to another part of the woods,” Sólith said and then waited for the king’s reaction.  He evidently thought of Eilian as being as unreliable as Thranduil sometimes did.

Thranduil kept his face carefully impassive, although he could feel his anger rising.  If Eilian had been making unauthorized promises on his father’s behalf, Thranduil would have his hide.  “Did Eilian propose a new location?” he asked coolly.

Sólith looked encouraged by the king’s neutral tone.  “He suggested that we move east of your stronghold or perhaps north of the Forest River, but those are not the areas that need defense from the Shadow.”  Sólith’s tone was urgent.  “We wish to move to a spot west of here but well north of where we are now, and we would like to know what kind of support you would be able to give us if we did so.”

Thranduil relaxed somewhat. Eilian had apparently made no commitments, and the advice he had offered was sound, although he had still been interfering in matters that were not his concern.  “How far west of here?” he asked.

“We have found a spot we like about twenty leagues due west,” Sólith said, beginning to sound excited. “We would still be south of the Forest River, but we would be farther from Dol Guldur than we are now.”

Thranduil frowned. “Twenty leagues would place you beyond the area made more or less safe by the border patrols.”

“But we are not needed within those boundaries, my lord,” Sólith argued.  “Our presence matters most when we are outside them.”

Thranduil shook his head firmly.  “I could not promise to guard you or help you in other ways if you are that far distant.”

Sólith’s mouth set in a stubborn line, and the settlement leader stepped in before he could speak again.  “We ask only that you consider our request, my lord,” he said.  “Surely you would be willing to make some effort to help us move away from danger.”

Thranduil eyed him impatiently.  He had no intention of giving in to the request these Elves were making, but he did not want to send them away just yet either.  He hoped to take advantage of this occasion to get them to behave more sensibly and move inside the area protected by the border patrols.  “We will talk of this matter again,” he declared.  “And we urge you to take a week or so to look at the lands that lie closer to our stronghold.  Those are the areas in which you should be seeking a new home.”

Sólith opened his mouth as if to speak, but Thranduil waved the two settlement Elves away and one of the guards moved to escort them from the Great Hall.  Thranduil leaned back in his chair.  These settlement dwellers were as stubborn as Dwarves!  How had the sensible Celuwen ever been produced by the thick-headed Sólith?  He amused himself for a moment by picturing Eilian with Sólith as his father-in-law but sobered quickly at the thought of his son.

Eilian’s shadow sickness both grieved and worried him. He fervently hoped that his son’s new posting in the north was giving him the time he needed to heal.  He found the thought of his normally cheerful second son being bent by shadow almost too much to bear.

He sighed and allowed his thoughts to drift briefly to Legolas.  The youngling had been so excited about his first posting as a warrior.  Thranduil could only trust that his training and courage would see him through the dangers toward which had he so enthusiastically rushed and bring him safely home again.

“My lord,” said the advisor at his elbow, “the chief forester begs an audience with you.”

Thranduil brought himself back to the present.  “Show him in,” he said.

***

Ithilden entered the quarters he shared with his wife and son.  “Ada!” cried a childish voice, and Sinnarn jumped up from the floor where he had been crouched stacking blocks.  Ithilden recognized the game.  Sinnarn could stack the blocks for only so long before he had to knock them down again.  “Can we swim now, Ada?” Sinnarn asked excitedly, running toward him.

Ithilden caught him up and tossed him squealing into the air.  “We can swim,” he agreed happily.  He had worked through the time he would normally take for mid-day meal so that he could leave the warrior fields early and spend an hour or so teaching his son to swim.  He set Sinnarn on his feet again.  “Go and get towels from the linen cupboard,” he instructed, and the child ran off down the hall.

Alfirin had stood smiling at the two of them. Now she came forward and kissed his cheek.  He caught her around the waist and buried his face in her hair, inhaling the scent of her.  Even now, after ten years of marriage, he could not believe how fortunate he was.  He had not known he was lonely until Alfirin entered his life.  He had not known he was missing joy until they had had Sinnarn.

Alfirin pulled away and looked up at him.  “It is so hot that I think I will swim too while you have Sinnarn.”  By custom, males and females swam in pools off the side of different parts of the river.

Ithilden smiled hesitantly.  “Are you sure you would not prefer simply to bathe?” he asked tentatively. “You would have more privacy.”

She pursed her lips slightly and regarded him.  Apprehension gripped him.  He might not have been married long enough to lose his wonder at his good fortune, but he had certainly been married long enough to recognize the suspicious look on his wife’s face.  “I like visiting with the other wives and maidens. Why is it that you never want me to swim, Ithilden?”

To his astonishment, Ithilden could feel himself blushing, an event so rare that he could not remember the last time it had happened.  “I am ashamed to tell you,” he finally confessed.

She cocked her head.  “Surely it cannot be that bad.”

He opened his mouth to speak but no sound came out, so he was forced to try again.  “When I was a youngling,” he began bravely, “it was considered great fun for the young males to spy on the maidens while they were swimming.  I strongly suspect that the practice continues.”

A slow smile grew on her face. “Do you mean that you were among the young males who peeked at the maidens?” she inquired sweetly.  Miserably, he nodded, and to his astonishment, she laughed out loud.  “Did you think only males engaged in that sport, my love?” she asked, amusement suffusing her voice.

He stared at her.  “Yes,” he said weakly.  His notion of the world took a sudden lurch.  “Are you telling me that the maidens spy on the males?” he asked incredulously.

She broke into gales of laughter and flung her arms around him.  “My poor, respectable love,” she managed to gasp out.

Reflexively, Ithilden put his arms around her, but his mind was busy.  He was centuries older than Alfirin and had given up spying on swimming maidens along about the time he became a novice, so he had never watched Alfirin at play in the pools, although the thought of doing so sent a sudden thrill through him.  But she could have watched him. And she and Eilian were the same age.

A question formed in his mind and trembled on lips to which he finally decided it was better not to know the answer. Comparisons were always insidious. His wife was watching him with sparkling eyes, and suddenly she laughed and patted his cheek reassuringly.  “Have I told you today how much I love you?” she asked.

At that moment, Sinnarn came back into the room, towels overflowing from his arms and trailing down the hall.  Alfirin caught them up, folded them, and handed them to Ithilden, keeping one for herself.  “Have a nice swim,” she said, opening the door for them.  “And do not worry. I will keep the maidens away.”  She grinned at Ithilden as he led his son out into the hall, leaving him to wonder if he would ever completely know this Elf he had taken as his wife.

As they reached the door leading out the royal family’s quarters, they met Thranduil coming in.  Sinnarn’s face glowed with delight when he saw him.  “Grandfather,” he cried, “we are going swimming.  And Nana is going to keep the maidens away because,” he paused and groped for a reason. “Because we do not like them,” he finished triumphantly.

Ithilden choked on a spurt of laughter, and Thranduil raised an inquiring eyebrow.  “Your nana is a sensible wife,” he said and smiled blandly at Ithilden.  “Have a nice time.”  He went on down the hall toward his office, and a bemused Ithilden led Sinnarn toward the pool used by the male Elves.

The pool lay on the wide side of a sweeping bend in the river and was sheltered by rocks from which, on this hot day, older children were jumping into deeper water and creating huge splashes.  Several adult males were also relaxing in the cool water,  all of whom called greetings to Ithilden as he led Sinnarn to the far end where the water was shallow and the bottom smooth.  He pulled off his son’s shoes, tunic and leggings and then, with only a quick glance for watchers at the top of the rocks, he stripped off his own clothes and waded in to where Sinnarn was already stamping happily in the shallow water.

He spent the better part of an hour, playing with his son, holding him lightly as he floated and kicked and ducked under the water.  The task was an easy one. Sinnarn was a bold, merry child, who was going to be swimming like am otter by the time the summer was over. Ithilden watched as his son’s dark head emerged from the water and was struck, as he was so often, by his son’s resemblance to Eilian.  And Eilian too had been cheerful and daring.  For that matter, Legolas had been a happy child, at least until their mother died.  He had become more solemn after that.  For a moment, he worried about the two brothers he had so recently sent to stand guard so that there would be a safe place for such things as elfling swimming lessons. Then he pushed that thought from his mind.  His worry would do no good, and he had to send warriors on patrol even if they were his brothers.

At last, the sun told him that the afternoon was drawing to a close.  “Come, Sinnarn,” he called. “Your evening meal will be waiting.”

The child looked as if he would protest, but Ithilden continued to regard him steadily and he thought better of it.  He waded out of the pool, while Ithilden dried himself and reached for his clothes in what he assured himself was no more haste than usual.  Then he dried and dressed Sinnarn too and, hand in hand, they walked home.

They entered the antechamber before Thranduil’s Great Hall to find Annael waiting on a bench there.  He jumped to his feet and saluted at Ithilden’s entrance.  “Hello, Annael,” Sinnarn chirped happily.  “I went swimming.”

Annael smiled at him, but his eyes were serious.  “I have message from my captain for you, my lord,” he told Ithilden.  “Your aide said I should bring it here.”

“Is the Lady Alfirin within?” Ithilden asked the guard at the door to the family quarters, and on being told that she was, he handed Sinnarn over to the guard to be escorted to his mother. Then he took the folded parchment that Annael handed him.  What he read made him, too, serious.  The Home Guard had found two small spider colonies in the southeast part of their territory.  They had killed those they found, but their captain was sure that the creatures were infesting the territory of the eastern Border Patrol too.

Ithilden looked up at Annael.  “Have you been fighting spiders, Annael?” he asked.  The youngling nodded soberly.  Ithilden resisted the urge to pat his shoulder.  Annael was not here as Legolas’s friend, whom Ithilden had seen grow up, but as one of the realm’s warriors.  Ithilden did not want to act as if he did not recognize what Annael now was.

“Tell your captain I will send word to the Border Patrol,” he sighed, and Annael nodded and left.  Ithilden started toward his chambers, where he would find pen and parchment to write the dispatch to Todith.  It looked as if Legolas, too, might be fighting spiders soon.  Ithilden thought he would need to tell Thranduil what was happening.  His father would never forgive him if he sent Legolas into danger without telling him.  But then, he might find forgiveness difficult in any case.  Would he be able to forgive someone who sent Sinnarn?  He turned away from that thought and went to do what his duty called for him to do.

***

“Come in,” called Thranduil in response to the knock at his office door, and Ithilden entered.  His hair was neatly braided, but it was wet.  “How was the swimming lesson?” Thranduil asked, waving him into the chair in front of the desk.   Thranduil had heard Sinnarn chattering in the hallway a little earlier and had smiled to himself, although he had continued writing his letter to Eilian rather than going to join his grandson as he really wished to do.

Ithilden smiled.  “I am sure that Sinnarn will be happy to tell you all about it, so I will not spoil his account by telling you now.”

Thranduil laughed.  If given half a chance, Sinnarn would undoubtedly tell him every detail of his afternoon.  As Ithilden’s face grew serious, however, Thranduil grew sober too. Evidently his son was here on business.

“I need to tell you about a message I am about to send to Todith,” Ithilden said, and Thranduil could feel himself stiffening in apprehension.  “The Home Guard has found two spider colonies within their territory to the southeast. I have asked Todith to see if the source of the colonies is in the Border Patrol’s area.”

Thranduil froze for a moment and then let out a breath he had not known he was holding. For a second, he trembled on the edge of telling Ithilden not to send the message, but he knew immediately that he would not act on the impulse.  Of course Ithilden would ask the Border Patrol to hunt for the source of the spiders. The patrol was needed and Thranduil’s wishes could not alter that fact. To think otherwise was foolish. He had let Legolas go to the Border Patrol and now he had to let his son act as the warrior he was trained to be.

Ithilden was watching his face.  “He will be fine, Adar,” he said gently.

Thranduil grimaced. “Of course he will. Thank you for telling me.”  He looked down at his letter.  “Is there anything you need to tell Eilian?  I will be sending a messenger tonight.”

Ithilden looked relieved by the change of subject. “I do have something to send.  I will have it ready.” Thranduil nodded, and Ithilden stood and left the room.

Thranduil sat immobile for a moment after Ithilden had gone.  Knowing that he needed to respect Legolas’s move toward independence, he had not asked Beliond to send him reports, but he wished now that he had.  He wanted to be reassured that his son was doing well and was ready to face battle with the enemy.  He smiled wryly as he recalled his meeting with Beliond. The Elf had not been pleased with the task Thranduil had given him.  “Surely you can find someone who is better at tending the young, my lord,” Beliond had asserted, bitterness edging his voice.

“I do not think so,” Thranduil had responded thoughtfully, and the assignment had been made.

Thranduil sighed, pushed his worries for Legolas aside, and turned again to his letter to Eilian.

***

Eilian walked silently along between the trees, looking for signs of intruders into his father’s realm.  He had spent the two weeks getting to know his patrol’s duties, its territory, and the strengths and weaknesses of its warriors.   Happily enough, he had been able to interpret this to mean that he needed to accompany one of the small groups that were constantly scouting their territory. If he were honest with himself, he had to admit that searching the woods struck him as a far more desirable task than sitting in camp and establishing duty rosters.  He would have to do the routine tasks when they reached the campsite this evening anyway, but in the meantime he was soothed by his passage through the forest.

The trees were beautiful here, he noted wistfully.  In contrast to those in the south of the forest, they were healthy and straight, and their leaves rustled overhead in multiple shades of green.  Their song was contented too.  He reached out and touched a beech tree as he passed, aware of the strong life flowing through it and its concerned attention to his presence.  I will be fine, he silently assured it and, in this sylvan setting, he could almost believe he would be.

He came upon a stream, glanced up to check the position of the sun and then sounded the signal that would draw the rest of the group to him.  One by one, they emerged from the trees and reported that they had seen no sign of trouble.

“We will rest and eat our mid-day meal here,” he announced, and they moved toward the stream or into the shade to sit, take off their packs, and draw out the dried meat and fruit they had brought with them from their camp.  Eilian settled beneath another beech tree, leaning back against it and allowing it to sooth him. 

“Captain!” called a sudden urgent voice and he was on his feet again immediately, moving toward Galelas from whom the shout had come.  The young warrior was standing near the edge of the stream, looking intently at the ground, and had now been joined by several other patrol members, including Maltanaur.  “Look,” Galelas urged, as Eilian approached.  He looked down at the ground to see tracks that looked like those of a wolf but were far too large to be those of an ordinary one.

“Wargs,” breathed one of the other warriors.

Maltanaur crouched to examine the tracks.  “Only one, though,” he said and then squinted up at Eilian.  “One animal drank here and then went back in the direction from which it came.”  He pointed north.  Eilian could feel his breath quickening, but he glanced at the young faces around him and deliberately slowed it down.

“Look around and make sure there was only one,” he ordered. They scattered to obey, but found no other tracks.  “Follow it,” he instructed, and they began stalking the Warg, still scanning to make sure it had been alone.  They had been near the northern edge of their territory when they found the tracks, and they soon determined that the tracks went straight north, beyond their area.  They followed them for another mile or so, but then Eilian stopped them. They should go back to camp and send word to Ithilden, he knew.

With Maltanaur beside him, Eilian stood for a moment staring north, every nerve in his body longing to follow the Warg.  “There was only the one,” Maltanaur ventured.

“Where the Warg howls, there also the Orc prowls,” responded Eilian, quoting an old saying.  He sighed and then reluctantly turned to face the rest of the patrol. “We will go back to camp,” he said.

They arrived in camp just as dusk was falling.  “I was beginning to worry,” Lómór told Eilian.  “I expected you back earlier.”   Eilian told his lieutenant what they had found.

“I will need to write to Ithilden tonight,” he added. “We can send the message in the morning.”

“A messenger came from the king today,” Lómór told him, indicating an Elf who was resting near the fire.  “We can send it back with him.”

Eilian nodded. “Good.  Are there dispatches for me then?”  Lómór fetched a letter and a small package from the flat rock on which they had been stowed. Recognizing his father’s handwriting, Eilian sat down near the fire to read the letter in case it contained anything he should respond to when he wrote.

“My dear Eilian,” it began, “I hope that this letter finds you well and happy.  Know that I think about you many times each day, always with the wish that your heart has eased and your own glad spirit has been returned to you.”

Eilian found that he was moved by the loving tone of this opening, but he was less pleased when his father changed to telling him of events that had happened in his absence and took up the tale of the demands of the settlement Elves.

“I regret to say that you appear to have overstepped your authority as a captain and given what amounts to political advice to these people.  You should know better by now, Eilian.”

He groaned, closed the letter, and rubbed his temples.  Fortunately it was Ithilden to whom he had to write tonight. He would send appropriately penitent remarks to his father at another time, when he might, perhaps, actually be feeling repentant.

Someone stirred next to him, and he realized that Galelas was there, dividing his attention between a plate of food and a letter of his own. Eilian had yet to have gained a very clear sense of Galelas as a warrior, although he knew that Galelas was not much older than his little brother Legolas and, like Legolas, was away from home for the first time. According to his lieutenant, Galelas had come to the Border Patrol from the Home Guard only three months earlier.

“Are you well, captain?” Galelas asked tentatively.

With an effort, Eilian smiled at him. “Yes.  It has simply been a long day.  You did well spotting those tracks.”

Galelas brightened perceptibly, started to say something, and then stopped himself. “Thank you,” he finally said, and Eilian smiled to himself. He was willing to wager that Galelas was enough like his brother, Tinár, to have been tempted to brag a bit about his woodcraft, but, much to Eilian’s relief, he had stopped himself.  Eilian did not need to have to cope with a younger version of Tinár.

“You have a letter too, I see,” Eilian said, changing the subject.

Galelas grimaced slightly. “Yes.  My adar tells me that my brother is doing well.”

Eilian blinked at him and then smiled slightly.  “Letters from home are not always all they are reputed to be,” he observed dryly, and, in response, Galelas gave a twisted smile. Eilian turned his attention to the little package that was still in his lap.  It was addressed to him in Ithilden’s small, neat script.  He unfastened the wrapping and sat for a second staring at what lay within.  Suddenly, he began to laugh, and Galelas turned a puzzled face toward him as he held up the rune of protection that Ithilden had sent him.

“On the other hand,” he crowed, “sometimes one’s family can actually be quite endearing.”  Galelas looked skeptical, but Eilian tossed the necklace in the air, caught it again, and then rose to go whistling off to his flet to write a letter telling Ithilden about the Warg.

***

AN:  The saying about Wargs and Orcs that Eilian quotes is taken directly from Book II, Chapter 4, of The Fellowship of the Ring.

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine.  I gain nothing other than the enriched imaginative life I assume he meant for me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

5.  First Battles

The scouts dropped from the trees and ran to where Todith had risen to his feet when he saw them.  They must have found spiders, Legolas thought excitedly, seeing the scouts’ manner.  A short while ago, they had arrived at this temporary camp in the southwestern part of their territory, and Todith had immediately sent out the scouts.  Legolas knew from his training that they would be looking for spiders or any signs of them, such as webs or abandoned nests, that the patrol could follow back to the parent colony where they were breeding.  He moved closer to Todith so he could hear the scouts’ report.

“We have found a large colony, captain,” reported a breathless scout, “and there are egg cocoons.”  Legolas’s stomach tightened. With exceptionally good fortune, the scouts had found the breeding colony on their first excursion. There would be no skirmishes with small groups of spiders leading up to an attack on the main group.  They would be engaging in battle almost immediately.  He drew a long breath.

“How many spiders?” Todith demanded.

The scouts glanced at one another.  “Perhaps seventy-five?” one of them ventured and the other nodded in confirmation.  Legolas licked his lips.  In a youthful excursion into the woods, he had once seen giant spiders and had even killed several of them, but he had never seen more than half a dozen in one place.

“Does everyone understand what we are doing?” Todith asked, scanning the group and letting his eyes rest for just a split second longer on Legolas than on anyone else.  The captain’s usual relaxed manner had disappeared, and he was now a firm commander, who wanted reassurance that his orders would be followed.

Legolas nodded in response.  Todith had reviewed spider hunting tactics after they had arrived here, and they were nothing that Legolas did not already know from his training.  He shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.  Surely it was time to be underway.

“Good,” said Todith.  “Let us go then.”  And the Border Patrol warriors began moving into the trees.  Legolas was eagerly turning to follow, when Todith put out a hand to stop him.  “No rushing ahead, Legolas,” he warned.  “Stay with the others.”

Legolas blinked at him in surprise. Surely he had given his captain no reason to think he would be so rash as to strike out on his own in a battle.  “Of course not,” he said, frowning a little.

Todith gazed into his eyes and then smiled slightly.  “No, of course not.”  He released Legolas and gestured for him to be on his way.

Legolas leapt from one branch to another, moving through the trees with his fellow warriors.  He could see Tynd a short distance in front of him, and he knew that Beliond was just to his right, but almost the entire patrol was here.  They had left only two warriors to guard the camp and relay messages.  Everyone else had come on the hunt.  Every nerve in Legolas body thrummed with excitement at the idea that he was finally going to see battle.  He knew that Annael had already fought with spiders nearer home, and while Annael’s letter had not given many details, he had apparently done well enough in the fight.  I am ready for this, Legolas reassured himself with determination.  They are only spiders, after all.

From ahead came the sound of birdsong, and his heart took a sudden leap into his throat.   They had reached their destination.  He grabbed his bow from his shoulder, changed his course and moved quickly toward the source of the signal, aware that Beliond had moved up to be just behind him. The two of them slowed, for he could see Todith standing high in an oak tree with his back to them.  The captain was pointing silently to his right, and Tynd, who had arrived just ahead of them, nodded and slipped off through the trees. Legolas and Beliond landed softly on the branch next to Todith.

Legolas looked in the direction in which Todith faced.  The space between the trees was dusky despite the high summer sun, and it took him only an instant to realize that the light was dimmed by thick gray ropes of webbing that trailed from high overhead all the way to the ground.  He scanned the trees, looking for the nests that he knew had to be there. With quickening breath, he first spotted four piles of old leaves in one tree, and then as he looked from tree to tree, he saw dozens more hidden in the branches.  In each of them, he could see the black shape of a spider, sleeping but undoubtedly ready to move should any of the Elves brush against the webs. In at least half a dozen places, long cocoons bulging with eggs hung from beneath the nests.

A mixture of revulsion and fury swept through him, and his hand tightened on his bow.  He had lived his whole life in the shelter of his father’s stronghold, and while he had heard about the corruption spreading through the trees in the southern part of Thranduil’s realm, he had never actually seen it for himself.  In this spider infested glade, he suddenly saw the shadow made real in the gloom cast by the webs and the foul black creatures crouching in the nests.

As if sensing Legolas’s emotions, Todith touched his arm and murmured, “Hold your position.  No heroics.”  Legolas nodded, startled once again by Todith’s worry that he would act on his own. Todith held him in a severe gaze for a moment and then seemed to relax slightly. He pointed around them, making sure that Legolas had seen all of the nests and then raised an eyebrow at Legolas, who nodded to show that he understood.  At last, Todith gestured off to his left and Legolas moved carefully in that direction to stand a short distance from Tinár, while Beliond took up a post on a nearby branch, his bow at the ready.

Like Tinár and Beliond, Legolas stood immobile with an arrow nocked in his bow string, waiting for Todith to signal that everyone was in position and that the spider colony was surrounded.  As he glanced to either side, he could not help but be grateful that he was flanked by these two experienced warriors.  He knew what he was supposed to do in fighting spiders:  kill as many of them as possible as quickly as possible so that they did not have time to spread out and come at him and his companions.  But, in truth, the size of the colony in front of him was unnerving.  Spiders were not a particularly difficult foe, he knew, but he found that they were a repulsive one.  He realized that he was breathing in short pants and deliberately drew a deeper breath to steady himself.

From his right came a clear note of bird song, and with a steadiness born of long years of training, he drew and released, sending an arrow into the huge black body of the spider who was nearest him.  The thing let out a shriek, convulsed, and then lay sprawled half over the edge of its nest.  Legolas stared at it for second, fascinated by the way his arrow quivered in the spider’s body.  “Legolas,” called Beliond sharply, and he snapped back to attention and began to fit arrow after arrow to his bowstring and launch them into the spiders, who were now coming awake and trying to scramble out of their nests.  He saw one of his arrows hit home and pin a spider to the branch on which it nested and another send a spider plummeting to the ground.

With the element of surprise on their side, he and his fellow warriors had slaughtered at least half the spiders before they realized they were under attack, but now the beasts were aroused and had started to swarm out along the strands of webbing to launch an assault of their own.  Making horrible clicking noises, they spread in all directions, so that it was only too easy to lose track of where they all were.  Across the glade, Legolas suddenly saw one of the creatures scuttling onto the branch where Tynd stood, wielding a bow that was useless as a weapon at such a short distance.  Tynd grabbed for his sword, but Legolas was quicker and sent an arrow speeding across the glade to impale the spider, which stopped abruptly and then toppled out of the trees.

He nocked yet another arrow and swiveled quickly, looking for a target.  Unable to spot one, he scanned the trees frantically, but could see only limp, black bodies. Could the battle be over already?  He could not believe it!

Suddenly, from his right, he heard the twang of a bowstring and the whistle of an arrow flying past him and into the tree overhead.  Something landed on his left arm and then a spider cartwheeled gracefully past him and down to the earth below with an arrow sticking out of its eye.  Legolas jerked back and looked to where Beliond stood with his bow arm still extended. Then he glanced at his own left arm and saw a great glob of black blood spreading glutinously down toward his elbow. He flinched and reached out to swipe at the glob, but then drew his hand back, trembling slightly.  It was better not to touch the repulsive stuff, he thought.

He heard Todith call “Hold!” and knew that the battle was over, although it could not have lasted more than ten minutes.  These experienced Wood-elf warriors had simply overwhelmed the spiders.

Beliond landed on the branch beside him. “Are you hurt?” he demanded urgently, clutching Legolas’s arm.  Legolas shook his head, and his keeper let out a long breath and then actually shook him.  “You have to watch overhead,” he said harshly.  “Spiders can come at you from all directions.”

“I know that,” said Legolas defensively.

“Then why did you not do it?” Beliond queried angrily.

“I made a mistake,” Legolas snapped. “Have you never made a mistake?”

“Young warriors can pay with their lives for mistakes like that one,” Beliond hissed.

Legolas glared and was about to say something that would have earned him a week of night duty from the novice masters, when Todith called to them. “Get the webs down,” he ordered.

Legolas jerked his arm free from Beliond’s grasp and, with one last venomous look, turned to scale further into the tree to where the tops of the strands of webbing were attached.  He edged his way out on a branch, pulled his knife from his belt, and lying flat on his stomach, began to hack the thick, sticky rope free from the tree limb.  He crept forward and cut the second rope that was attached to this branch.

Then, for a moment, he lay staring down at the Elves beneath him who were clearing an area for a fire and dragging spider bodies, cocoons, and webbing toward it.  He realized that his hand, which had been so steady during the battle, was still shaking slightly.  Where had that last spider come from?  It had been directly over him, and if Beliond had not shot it, it almost certainly would have been down upon him. Its bite probably would not have killed him, but it would certainly have made him sick and he found that the thought of having the thing on top of him was repellent beyond belief.  He turned his head to see his keeper cutting webbing from a branch some distance away.  Even from where Legolas lay, he could see that Beliond’s face was grim.  Legolas smiled thinly.  Beliond had been as shaken by the encounter as he had been.

He drew a deep breath and began moving back off the branch so that he could descend to the ground and help with the clean up.  He could not worry about what was past.  He would be more alert next time. He had to be.  Suddenly he felt a slight tug and realized that his rune of protection, which had been dangling from his neck, was caught on a twig.  He reached to free it, but as he pulled on it, the chain broke and the necklace came loose in his hand.  Grimacing in annoyance, he tucked the rune and chain in his belt, slid back off the branch, and climbed to the ground.

For the next half hour, he tipped spider bodies out of nests, knocked the nests and cocoons to the ground, and dragged down bits of webbing.  The webbing left a sticky mess on his hands, but handling the spider bodies was worse, for they had bled from the arrow wounds and viscous dark blood was smeared over their leathery backs and even on the coarse hair on their legs.  He ignored his disgust and resolutely stuck to his task.

Finally, they had finished flinging the debris onto the fire.  Now they would have to wait for the fire to consume it all and burn low enough to pose no danger to the forest.  His companions sat leaning against trees, drinking from their water skins and taking the opportunity to eat a bit of the fruit and bread they had brought with them.  Legolas found he was not hungry, and indeed, after handling the spiders, he doubted that his stomach would welcome food.  He had been retrieving his arrows as he found them, identifying them by the style of his fletching.  Now he took them all and went to sit near a patch of long grass and begin cleaning the gooey black blood off of them.  He rubbed them through the grass repeatedly, vexed that evidence of the loathsome spiders still marked them.

Someone stopped near him and he looked up to see Tinár scowling down at him.  What had he done to provoke Tinár? he wondered in surprise.

“You should put more effort into staying aware of what is going on around you and less effort into trying to outshoot me, Legolas,” Tinár said through tight lips.  Legolas was utterly astonished.  He had been unaware of Tinár while he had been shooting, except as the rapid source of arrows to his left.

“He outshoots you without trying,” said Beliond, and Legolas turned, startled.  He had not heard his keeper approach and, judging by the look on his face, neither had Tinár.  “He could not do otherwise even if he wanted to, so you had better learn to accept it.”  For a moment, Tinár looked as if he would protest, but Beliond regarded him with narrowed eyes, and he evidently thought better of it and strode angrily away.  Legolas sat stock still, trying to absorb the praise that his keeper had just given him.   Where had that come from?

He stared at Beliond, who stood looking down at him, and then at the arrow still clutched in his hand. Beliond sighed and then, to Legolas’s surprise and not entirely to his delight, he sat down next to him, took the arrow from him and laid it aside with the others.  “The arrow is clean enough,” he said, sounding almost gentle.  “I am afraid that you will never be able to wipe signs of any battle away entirely.”  Legolas looked down at the pile of arrows and frowned.  Beliond sounded as if he were talking about more than just the traces of black stuff that still fouled them.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Beliond surprised him by saying, “You did well, Legolas.  You are an exceptionally good archer, and you fought with discipline and courage.”  He paused and plucked at the grass between his feet.  “I did not mean to disparage you when I said that mistakes sometimes kill young warriors.”  His eyes were still on the ground, but his hand had stopped moving. “Skill and courage are not always enough,” he said, almost as if to himself.

Legolas hesitated, not quite knowing what to say.  “I know I will make mistakes,” he finally said diffidently, “but I will try to learn from them.”

Beliond looked up at him and smiled slightly. Then he looked down at Legolas’s hands, and Legolas realized that he had pulled his broken rune necklace from his belt and was fidgeting with it.

“What is that?” Beliond asked.

“The chain broke,” Legolas said.

 “Let me see,” said Beliond.  Legolas handed him the necklace, and he examined it carefully, removed the broken link, and then took out his knife and began to pry the next link apart.  “To whom did the rune belong before you?” Beliond asked conversationally.

“No one,” Legolas answered.  “My brother gave it to me at my coming-of-age.”

“It belonged to someone,” Beliond said with a shrug.  He hooked the link he had just opened into an unbroken one and pinched the open ends together.  Then he pointed to the flat spot on the rune’s back. “That is a wear spot.”  He extended the repaired necklace to Legolas, who sat staring at it in dismay.

He had known that the rune looked like Eilian’s, of course, but he had assumed that his brother had simply given him one that matched his own.  It had never occurred to him that Eilian had given him the rune that had always hung around his neck.  He thought suddenly of Eilian’s shadow sickness and fear stabbed him.  Beliond was looking at him curiously, so he took the rune and put it back around his neck.  “Thank you.”  

Beliond looked around. “Come,” he said. “Todith is getting ready to move us out to hunt for any spiders that have spread from this colony.”  He rose and walked off without another word. Legolas began to gather his arrows.  They were not clean enough to suit him, but they would have to do for now, because Todith was indeed ordering them to their feet to start another search.  He slid the arrows into his quiver, jumped to his feet, and went to where Todith was assembling them so that he could issue more orders.

Todith smiled broadly at Legolas.  “You did well, Legolas. The next time you see Eilian, you may tell him that I was relieved to see that you do not take after him.”  Legolas smiled back at him, suddenly realizing why Todith had been worried that he would be impulsive.  From what Legolas had gathered from overheard conversations at home, Eilian had settled down considerably over the years but had been notoriously adventuresome as a young warrior.

He fingered the rune around his neck, touching the flat spot on the back.  Be safe, Eilian, he thought urgently.  And then Todith was ordering them away, and he had no time to think of anything but what he was doing.

***

Eilian fingered the rune hanging around his neck. He was still wearing the one his father had given him just before he left home.  He did not always get along with his father, but he had never doubted that Thranduil’s magic was strong.  And, he smiled wryly to himself, touching the rune again, he had also never doubted that his father loved him, despite the fact that they occasionally had difficulty being in the same room together.

He shifted, easing his long legs out from under him and leaning back against the trunk of the tree in which he was perched.  Through the tree’s thick leaves, he could see moonlight glittering on the stream where they had found the Warg tracks on two separate occasions now.  This was the third night his little group had lain in wait, hoping to find the animal.  If it did not show up tonight, he would probably have to send them back to their regular patrols and come here to watch again only if they found more tracks.

He wished they could trail the animal after it left their territory, but Ithilden had made it clear that they were to continue their patrols rather than go chasing after what might be just a lone Warg.  Ithilden could be tiresomely rule bound sometimes.  One of the advantages of captaining the Southern Patrol had been that it was far enough away from home that he had been able to make his own decisions about what actions his patrol should take.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a slight movement and stiffened, but he quickly realized that Galelas was simply moving to a tree that was a little closer to the stream. His view must have been impeded in the tree he had first chosen, Eilian thought.  And trust Galelas to want to be closest to their prey if it turned up.  The young warrior was always the first one to volunteer for any action, the last one to admit he was tired, the most eager to do anything that might bring him to Eilian’s attention.  Eilian had not been surprised when Galelas had asked to be part of the Warg hunt.

Suddenly, he could see Galelas freezing into stonelike immobility and at the same moment, with the scout’s instinct that had always served him well, the hair on the back on his neck stood up.  A split second later, he saw the Warg, padding silently toward the stream, its huge head turning alertly from side to side and its nostrils quivering.

I wonder if it smells us, Eilian thought, holding his breath.  They were down wind from the stream, but Wargs had an extremely acute sense of smell, a fact that made them very difficult to hunt.  Eilian stayed immobile, not wanting to take a chance on the Warg noticing him move.  Galelas too was still, and Eilian assumed that Maltanaur and Calorfil were as well because the Warg did not seem to spot them.  They all waited while the glittering eyes of the Warg passed over them as it scanned the area and sampled the air.  Then the Warg lowered its head, turned toward the stream, and advanced toward it, with its tongue already lolling out.

As it began to lap at the water, Eilian rose to his feet, with an arrow nocked in his bow.  He could see Galelas rising too, with his bow already drawn.  Because he had been unable to predict who would have the best shot at the Warg, Eilian had given his warriors permission to shoot when ready, and Galelas loosed his arrow a second before Eilian released his.  Arrows flew from two other trees too, and the Warg jerked and sprang to the left as all four arrows struck him all along his right side.  It staggered and fell, twitched once, and lay still.  Galelas jumped from the tree and sprinted toward it.  “No!” Eilian shouted. “Wait!”

Puzzled, Galelas hesitated and turned toward him, and as he did, the Warg struggled to its feet, gathered all its ebbing strength, and leapt at the young warrior.  In an action too fast to see, three arrows whistled through the air to land in the center of the animal’s chest.  The Warg’s momentum carried it forward, however, and it struck Galelas in the side, knocking him down, but it was dead before it landed on the ground.

Eilian was out of the tree and running toward Galelas before he and the Warg had stopped moving.  “What did you think you were doing?” he cried, shoving the Warg aside and dropping to his knees next to Galelas.  “Are you injured?”

Galelas looked stunned but he shook his head.  Maltanaur and Calorfil had now run up to them too, and Galelas suddenly looked dismayed, awareness of his mistake obviously beginning to dawn on him.  Eilian sat back on his heels, trying to control his rising fury.  In his eagerness to be first, this young fool had nearly gotten himself hurt.  He turned to Calorfil. “Make sure the Warg is dead,” he ordered, and Calorfil moved off at once, with Maltanaur at his side.

Eilian turned back to Galelas and could not keep himself from speaking sharply.  “Do you not even know enough to be certain an enemy is dead before you approach it?”

“I am sorry,” Galelas muttered.  “I saw it fall and thought it was dead.”

“The next time, wait to be certain,” Eilian continued his reprimand.  “And if possible, approach only with at least one of your fellow warriors.  There is no point to taking needless risks.”  Suddenly, he was aware of the irony that lay in this situation, for he heard Todith’s voice in his head, saying more or less the same thing to him when he had been Galelas’s age.  He thought his motives for rushing into danger had been different than Galelas’s, but he had certainly given his captain some heart stopping moments.

“Yes, captain.” Galelas looked shamefaced, and abruptly, Eilian felt sorry for him.

Eilian stood up and turned to look at the body of the Warg.  “We have found what we were hunting, at any rate.  So that I suppose we should call this night a success.” Galelas was on his feet now too, and they both walked toward the dead Warg.  “I wonder what he was doing here,” Eilian mused.  Then he shrugged.  “He does appear to have been alone. I suppose he was just a stray.”  He grinned at his small patrol, and even Galelas looked reasonably pleased, although he still did not meet Eilian’s eyes.  “A good night’s work,” Eilian proclaimed. “I think we have earned some rest.” And the four of them started back toward their camp.

As Eilian walked, he found that his eyes were repeatedly drawn to Galelas, who was just ahead of him.  Young warriors were frightening creatures, he decided and, as had happened so frequently in the last few weeks, he wondered what Legolas was doing.  Be safe, brat, he thought fervently.  Do not be like me.  Do what Todith tells you and come home to let me tease you without mercy. I cannot imagine what I would do if anything happened to you.

And his mood, which had lightened during the days and nights of the Warg hunt, suddenly darkened again.  His little brother was now hostage to the fight against Shadow, just as were so many others for whom he cared.  You too are under the sway of the Shadow when you let yourself feel this way, he thought, and looked up at the sky, drawing comfort from the starry night.

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they are his, not mine.  I gain only the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this for me.

*******

6.  A Visit to Esgaroth

“Legolas!”

From his place sitting next to Tynd, Legolas looked up at the sound of Todith calling his name.  The captain beckoned to him from across the campsite, and Legolas hastily downed the last spoonful of his morning porridge, put the bowl down, and then leapt to his feet and trotted over to where Todith was using a large rock as a desk.

“I want you to ride to Esgaroth today and carry a message to the town master,” Todith told him, folding the parchment upon which he had been writing.  “He still has not sent us word about the fate of the Men who cut the timber in the king’s forest.”

Legolas’s eyes widened at the news of this assignment. As a matter of fact, the younger warriors were usually the ones sent as messengers.  Legolas had seen Tynd sent to carry messages several times, but this was the first time Todith had chosen him to do it. That his assigned task involved a trip to Esgaroth was a circumstance almost too fortunate for him to believe.  Thranduil had allowed him to visit Esgaroth only once, several years earlier, and he had found the place to be fascinating.

“Do you know your way around the town?” Todith asked.

“Not really,” Legolas admitted. “I have been there just once.” For a second, he feared that Todith would change his mind about sending him, but the captain seemed undisturbed.

“Ask directions to the Town Hall when you get there,” he instructed.  “Anyone will be able to tell you where it is. Give the master my message and tell him that you must have an answer today.”  He glanced to one side and Legolas realized that Beliond had approached and was listening quietly.  “Beliond will go with you, of course,” Todith added.  Legolas felt a stab of disappointment.  He remembered Beliond’s reaction to Beam and his companions in the forest and feared that he was unlikely to be an entertaining companion on a visit to a town of Men.

As if reading his mind, Todith smiled at him slightly.  “I will expect you back before nightfall.  Behave yourself.”

Legolas returned his smile. “I will do my best, captain.”  Todith laughed and waved a hand in dismissal.

“I will get our horses,” Beliond told him.  “You get any gear you think you need.”  They normally kept their weapons close to hand even when in camp, and Beliond had already picked up his bow and quiver.  So far as Legolas could tell, he seemed to wear his sword even at night on the flet they shared.

Legolas caught at his sleeve as he started off.  “Can I get you anything?” he asked politely, but Beliond shook his head.  His face was as impassive as it usually was, but Legolas strongly suspected that he did not like his charge being sent on this particular assignment. Too bad, Legolas thought defiantly.  I like it!

He hurried back toward where he had been eating to fetch his own weapons.  “Todith is sending me to Esgaroth with a message,” he told Tynd happily as he strapped on his quiver.

“Lucky you,” Tynd responded.  “I guess that means you get out of cleanup duty today.”

Legolas grinned.  “I am afraid it does,” he said with mock regret.

From behind him came the sound of someone snorting in disgust, and he knew whom he would see even before he reluctantly turned to face Tinár.  “I see you think you have been given a plum task,” Tinár said, making it sound like an accusation.

With difficulty, Legolas curbed his tongue.  Tinár had been nearly unbearably provocative since the spider battle, but Legolas was determined not to be drawn into a quarrel.  “I own I am happy to be the one carrying Todith’s message today,” he said pleasantly, feeling a twinge of satisfaction that his placid tone would probably annoy the other Elf.

“You must never have been in a town of Men or you would not be so pleased,” Tinár sniffed. “The place reeks, and the inhabitants are rude.”

Legolas shrugged and smiled blandly. “Then it is fortunate that Todith chose me rather than you.”

“Todith knows better than to waste his experienced warriors on messenger duty,” Tinár answered, a flash of satisfaction showing in his face before he turned and strolled away.

Tynd waited for him to get a distance away before murmuring, “That Elf has an ego big enough to trip a Mûmakil.”

Legolas laughed and picked up his bow.  “I will think of you washing dishes when I am in Esgaroth,” he said blithely and then trotted off toward where Beliond waited with their horses.  Legolas’s stallion, Pilin, was prancing nervously, evidently unhappy about being handled by Beliond.

“Has it occurred to you that this horse needs training?” Beliond asked irritably.

“He is fine with me,” Legolas answered cheerily and leapt onto Pilin’s back.  With a sour look, Beliond mounted his own horse and the two of them set off northeast toward Esgaroth. They rode in silence, which was fine with Legolas, and their course quickly took them out of the woods and into the grasslands that lay between them and Long Lake. At first, their ride was pleasant, for dew still sparkled like diamonds in the long grass that parted before them and made whispery sounds all around. The day soon grew warm, however, for the grass offered little protection from the sun as it began to climb higher into the summer sky.

Eventually, they saw a line of trees in the distance that signaled the presence of the Forest River, and in unspoken agreement, they rode toward it, intending to travel in its shelter along the southern edge of the river marshes that stretched eastward almost to the lake.  When they reached the trees, Beliond, who was in the lead, signaled a halt and they dismounted to let the horses rest.  Legolas patted Pilin affectionately on the neck and then went to sit next to Beliond in the shade.  He took a drink from his water skin.

“Tell me about Esgaroth,” Beliond said.

Legolas blinked.  “Have you never been there?” he asked cautiously. Eilian had told him that Beliond had been at Dagorlad. That meant he was at least as old as Thranduil.  Legolas found it almost unbelievable that someone could have lived near Esgaroth for so long and never visited. But then, to Legolas’s knowledge, his father had never been there either.

Beliond shook his head. “My duty has never taken me there, and I have had no wish to leave the forest when there was no pressing need.”

Legolas set about trying to describe the town he had seen seven years earlier.  “It is built on pylons in the lake,” he began.  “There is a bridge leading out to it with a guard station at this end. We will have to get permission to enter there.”

“Let me speak to the guards,” Beliond said firmly.  Legolas hesitated only a second before nodding.  He intended to carry out the task that Todith had given him on his own, but he did not see that it mattered who dealt with the guards.  “Will you be recognized in town?” Beliond asked.

Legolas frowned. He was beginning to worry that Beliond might try to keep him from delivering the message himself. “Calem, the town master might remember me,” he answered slowly, “although he also might not.  He and Beam both came to meet with my adar seven or eight years ago, and I was present for the reception.  And then I have a friend who would know me, and the friend’s family too, of course, but probably no one else.  The only other time I came to Esgaroth, I was with my adar’s steward, and the merchants thought I was one of his assistants.”

“That is good,” Beliond said and eyed him sternly.  “It would be unwise to reveal who you are needlessly.”  Legolas felt an immediate urge to announce himself at the guards’ station, but he repressed it as childish, and anyway, it sounded as if Beliond had accepted his need to see the town master, even if Calem did recognize him.

Beliond glanced at the sun. “We should be moving along if we are to deliver Todith’s message and return tonight.”  He climbed to his feet, with Legolas following. They called to the horses and were soon underway again.

By late morning, they had reached the point where the Forest River emptied into Long Lake and ridden across the narrow bridge to the north shore.   They dismounted at the guards’ hut at the western end of the wooden walkway that led out onto the lake and into the gates of the town.  Beliond approached, while Legolas lingered near the horses. “We have a message for the town master,” Beliond announced, and the guard seemed to accept this news calmly enough.

“You will have to leave your horses here,” he told them.  “Do not worry. I will look after them.”

Beliond shrugged. “They can look after themselves if you can keep the curious away.” The guard raised an eyebrow but Beliond did not see it, for he had already started across the walkway.  Legolas threw an apologetic glance at the guard and followed his keeper into Esgaroth.

The town gates decanted them onto a narrow wooden walkway, along which hurried several men and women whose booted footsteps echoed off the tall buildings on either side of them.  Beliond wasted no time in stopping a Man who was trying to skirt around them, obviously made nervous by the presence of Elves.

“Can you direct us to the Town Hall, good sir?” he asked, courteously enough.

The Man slid another step away from them and then pointed down the walkway.  “Go to the marketplace and turn right.  It’s the big building on the southwest corner of the square.”  Legolas could not repress a smile at the offended look on Beliond’s face as the Man hurried away from him and ducked around the corner of a building.

“Come,” Legolas said and steered Beliond toward the marketplace, which consisted of dozens of small boats moored at small docks in a central pond.  He was immediately slapped in the face by a wall of noise and the smell of inadequately washed Men. Beliond paused, seemed to brace himself, and then walked forward somewhat more slowly.  It was evidently a market day, for the place was thronged with people buying everything from vegetables to farm equipment.  Legolas let his eyes wander over the confusing scene before him, even as he kept his feet going in the direction the Man had indicated.  Beliond’s face was now impassive, and he ignored the curious stares that many of the townspeople were directing toward them.

When they came to a building that was obviously the Town Hall, they were stopped by a guard at the door. To Legolas’s relief, Beliond stepped back and let him speak. “I bring a message for the town’s master,” he told the guard, who was evidently more at ease with Elves than many of his fellow citizens and showed them into the large room. Two Men sat at a table at the far end, and Legolas recognized one of them as Calem, Beam’s father and master of the town of Esgaroth. The Men looked up as Legolas approached, and it was obvious to him immediately that Calem did not remember him.  That should make Beliond happy, he thought.

“Master,” he said, “I bring a message from Todith, captain of the warriors of the Woodland Realm.”  He pulled the folded parchment out of his belt and handed it to Calem, who had grimaced at the mention of Todith.  Calem unfolded the message, read it, and passed it to his companion. The two of them exchanged a look, and then Calem looked up at him and smiled blandly.

“Tell Todith that we will send him word within a few days,” he said.

Legolas eyed him carefully.  Years at his father’s court had taught him how to recognize when a petitioner was being fobbed off.  “My captain says he must have an answer today,” he told Calem and watched a slight tic jump just below the Man’s right eye.

“A few days will make no difference,” Calem argued.

“My captain said today,” Legolas repeated, trying to give the impression that he was not going to budge from the Hall until he had a satisfactory response.

Calem rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.  “Very well. Come back in two hours and we will have an answer for you.”  Legolas bowed, turned, and left the room, with Beliond on his heels.  The two of them walked a short distance toward the marketplace before Beliond spoke.

“He is putting us off,” he said in disgust.

“Yes,” Legolas agreed. “We will have to see what he has for us in two hours.”

“If he lets us into the Hall again,” Beliond grunted.

Legolas’s eyes slid over the busy marketplace in front of him and settled on a boat whose wares were glittering in the sunshine.  “In the meantime, I have some shopping to do,” he declared with satisfaction and plunged into the crowd.

Beliond hurried and caught up with him. “I am not sure this is wise,” he warned, looking around at the crowd that gave them plenty of room but nonetheless watched them with interest.

“You worry too much, Nana,” he said, and watched happily as Beliond flinched a little at the nickname with which Fóril had saddled him.

“Watch your mouth, youngling,” Beliond snarled, but he made no more protest.

With Beliond standing next to him constantly scanning the crowd, Legolas picked through the items on display. He paused to do a quick calculation.  How old would Nitha be now?  To his surprise, he realized that she would be about seventeen, an age that would make her a young lady among Men. The thought gave him pause, but he recovered and exchanged the enameled hair clasp shaped like a chattering squirrel for a pair of lady’s combs.

“What are you doing?” Beliond asked suddenly.

“Buying a gift for my friend Nitha.”  Legolas beckoned to the merchant who was hovering nearby.  “I will take these,” he said, holding up the combs, “and also this.” He picked up another item from the jeweler’s display.  The pleased looking merchant took the coins he offered and hastened to fetch change.  “I am going to visit her now,” Legolas told Beliond. “You do not have to come.”

“I do have to come,” Beliond shot back.

Legolas groaned inwardly.  Surely Beliond did not have to accompany him on a simple visit to an old friend.  In exasperation, he turned to face his keeper.  “Beliond, we are in Esgaroth, not the southern reaches of the realm.  I am carrying a bow, a sword, a knife, and a dagger, and I am going to visit a friend, not engage in battle. Just what is it you think will happen to me?  Surely, you are not responsible for watching me every minute of my life!”

Beliond smiled at him grimly.  “You may believe me when I tell you that the king made my responsibilities abundantly clear to me. I am charged with watching your back whenever you are on active duty which, at the moment, you are.”

Legolas made a frustrated gesture. “I trust you will not be offended if I do not invite you to accompany me into the house,” he said stiffly.

Beliond nodded.  “I can wait outside,” he said. “If we are to return to the Town Hall on time, you will not have time for a long visit at any rate.”

The merchant returned with Legolas’s change and two carefully wrapped packages. His transaction completed, Legolas looked around.  He was reasonably sure he remembered where Nitha lived and started in that direction.  With Beliond trailing behind him, he threaded his way through the crowd and then down a street and around a corner to stop in front of a large house.  He turned to Beliond. “This is where I am going.”  Beliond nodded and took up a post leaning against a wall across the street, from which vantage point he could see the door.  Legolas looked at him in exasperation and then turned to knock on the door.

After a moment, the door opened, and a tall, slim, exceptionally pretty blond maiden stood before him.  He hesitated uncertainly, for even though he had known she was now grown up, he still had not anticipated this shapely maid with her hair piled on top of her head.  He had evidently not changed much, however, for Nitha took one look at him and then gave a cry of delight.  “Legolas!” she exclaimed and hurled her arms around his neck.

“Hello, Nitha,” he said, suddenly shy.  He was pleased by her enthusiastic greeting, but did not quite know how to react to having her pressed even briefly against him.

“Come in!” she cried and drew him into the house, shutting the door behind him.

***

When Legolas emerged from the house half an hour later, Beliond quickly pushed himself away from the wall against which he was leaning.  “Did you have a good time waiting?” Legolas asked sweetly. He still had not forgiven his keeper for behaving as if he needed his hand held while on a simple visit to town that Thranduil’s steward made regularly.

Beliond glared at him. “What do you think you are doing?” he hissed.

Legolas stared at him.  Was Beliond unable to withstand a little well-deserved teasing?  “I am sorry if the wait seemed long, but I told you that you did not have to come.”

“I am not talking about my wait,” Beliond responded sharply. “I am talking about whatever it is you are doing with that woman!”

Legolas’s mouth dropped open as he processed the implications of what Beliond was saying.   The Elf thought he was courting Nitha.  “You are being ridiculous,” he exclaimed, suppressing all thoughts of his momentary reaction as the girl had hugged him.  “Nitha is my friend, nothing more.”

“She looked very friendly indeed. Does the king know you are seeing her?”

Legolas was suddenly speechless with anger at what sounded like an implied threat to report his actions to his father.  Unable to respond, he turned and started to stride in the direction of the Town Hall, but Beliond caught his arm.  They both waited as a woman walked past eyeing them curiously.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” Beliond asked in a low voice.  “If you are only flirting, you could cause serious trouble between these Men and Thranduil. If you are more than flirting, then the consequences are unthinkable.”

Legolas jerked his arm free. “I am not going to explain my personal life to you,” he responded, his voice shaking with rage.  “Governing it is not part of your charge.”  He started toward the Town Hall again, and this time Beliond simply followed with his face grim.

When they reached the Town Hall, the guard showed them in immediately, and Calem and the second man were waiting for them.  Calem handed a sealed message to Legolas.  “Tell Todith that I regret the delay,” he said, and then sent them on their way.  Legolas was unable to tell whether the Men had given him the information that Todith wanted, but he could not very well ask and he decided that Todith would deal with the matter in his own time anyway.

He made his way back to the town gates and stalked across the bridge to where they had left their horses, refusing even to look at Beliond, much less speak to him.  As they reached the horses, however, Beliond again caught at his arm. “I have no intention of interfering in this matter, Legolas, and the king gave me instructions to ignore matters that did not relate to your safety, but I urge you again to think seriously about what you are doing.”  He looked earnestly into Legolas’s face.  “It is true that you are an adult now, but you are also away from home with no one to advise you.  I am trying to help you, young one.”  For a second more, he held Legolas’s arm and then he released it and mounted.  “We need to make speed if we are to be back before nightfall,” he said and urged his horse into a trot.

Legolas stared after him, suddenly doubtful of his right to be resentful.  With an annoyed sigh, he leapt onto Pilin’s back and followed Beliond.

They reached their campsite, just as the evening meal was being served.  Legolas handed over the message and waited to see if Todith had any questions for him. Looking up from the parchment, Todith made a disgusted face. “It seems our friends in Esgaroth have not yet been able to lay their hands on the two Men who cut the timber.”  He grimaced and then sighed. “Ithilden will have to be told.  He can decide what to do then.” He smiled at Legolas.  “I would not have your brother’s job for a sackful of Dwarven gold,” he said cheerfully, and sent Legolas off to eat.

From a pot over the fire, Legolas ladled stew into a bowl.  Then he hesitated for only a moment before going to sit next to Beliond who was by himself, eating.  The two of them ate in silence for a while.  Then Legolas drew a deep breath.

“Beliond, Nitha is not my sweetheart.  I called her my friend because that is what she is.  And perhaps it will please you to know that her mother was present during our entire visit today,” he added with a small smile. He glanced at Beliond who was watching him, his face unreadable.  “Nitha was a child the last time I saw her, but we have written to one another every few months over the years.  She is the daughter of the trade council president, and she and I . . .,” he paused, struggling to find the words to talk about an incident to which he seldom alluded.  “A number of years ago, a group of Easterlings took both Nitha and me as hostages.”

Beliond stirred. “I may have heard about that,” he said slowly.  “I had not realized that was you.”  He glanced at Legolas, who tried to make his face impassive but knew he probably was not succeeding.  “You escaped, did you not?”  Legolas nodded. “And what of the girl?” Beliond asked.

“I took her with me,” Legolas answered as briefly as he could.

Beliond looked thoughtfully at the fire.  “You could not have been much more than a child yourself.”

Legolas stiffened slightly. “It was at the end of my first year as a novice.”

Beliond smiled slightly, evidently amused by his defensive tone.  “You must have surprised the Easterlings, though, escaping from them and taking the girl with you.”  Legolas nodded, mollified by Beliond’s apparent approval.  His keeper turned to him. “I apologize for not believing you when you said the maiden was only a friend. I had no reason to doubt your word.”

Legolas blinked and then nodded in acceptance.  They ate the rest of their meal in silence.  As they were finishing, Galorion approached.  “You two can do cleanup tonight,” he said.  “You missed your turn this morning.”

Legolas opened his mouth to protest that Todith had sent them on an errand, but the lieutenant was gone and was unlikely to be sympathetic in any case.  He grimaced and then rose to begin gathering dirty dishes.  He glanced at Beliond when he, too, stood to begin cleanup work.  As he had on his first night in camp, he felt disturbed by the sight of the veteran warrior doing this menial task.

“I will wash up,” he said impulsively.

Beliond looked at him in surprise.  “Everyone shares in this sort of work, Legolas. I do not mind.”

“I do,” Legolas said briefly. “I will do it.”  He took the dishes that Beliond had been holding.  The older warrior looked at him for a moment and then smiled.

“Now who is Nana?” he asked and then winked and started toward their flet.

*******

AN:  The bridge at the mouth of the Forest River is my own creation.  We don’t really know much about what the river was like in the era in which my story is set.  In “The Hobbit,” Tolkien tells us that the marshes and river used to be narrower and easier to cross.

I borrow characters and setting from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life I assume he wanted me to gain.

Thank you, Nilmandra, for beta reading this for me.

*******

7.  More News

 “I have considered my advice to the settlement Elves, Adar, and I cannot understand why you are so angry.  I made no promises on your behalf, but only told them what any sensible person would have:  They endanger their families by staying where they are and therefore should move somewhere safer.  I am sorry that you disapprove of my words, but I am not sorry for the words themselves.”

With an exclamation of disgust, Thranduil flung the letter from Eilian onto his desk.  Apparently Eilian thought of himself as a “sensible person,” but sometimes he had no more sense than Sinnarn.  Thranduil had been negotiating with the settlement Elves for nearly a month now, carefully coaxing them into seeing the impossibility of the location to which they were proposing to move. During the course of these negotiations, it had become clear that they had been insulted by Eilian’s manner toward them and that their pique over his behavior was one of the things keeping them from accepting Thranduil’s advice. Yet Eilian believed or claimed to believe that the settlement Elves had seen him as simply a private individual with an opinion on where they should live.

Thranduil had no patience with such obtuseness.  If an apology from Eilian would encourage them to move someplace closer to Thranduil’s stronghold, then Thranduil was willing to force Eilian into making it.  Moreover, he intended to extract a promise from Eilian that he would stay out of such matters in the future.  Grimly, he reached for the letter again, intending to read it through before he wrote to his defiant son.

A knock sounded on the door, and Ithilden entered and then hesitated when he saw the look on Thranduil’s face. “Is something the matter?” he asked tentatively.

“Yes, something is the matter,” Thranduil exclaimed.  “Your brother claims to believe that he was within his rights to advise Sólith and his fellow settlers.”

Ithilden approached the desk.  “Eilian’s advice was not bad, so far as it went,” he observed mildly.

“He had no right to be giving advice at all!  Moreover, he was apparently rude.” Thranduil waved Ithilden into a chair and then sat for a moment rubbing his temples.  Realizing that Ithilden was holding some sort of dispatch, he sighed and set his anger at Eilian aside for a moment.  “Have you something to discuss with me?”

Ithilden grimaced.  “Yes, and you are not going to like it much either.  I have received a message from the captain of the guard at Dale.”

“What is it?”  While Thrandiul’s people traded with some frequency with the Men of Esgaroth, they had far fewer dealings with the Men of Dale, who dealt primarily with the Dwarves who had remained in Erebor when Thorin led most of his people to the Grey Mountains.  A score or so years ago, Thranduil had bought weaponry from them, but his own smiths had now trained enough apprentices that he no longer had need to deal with the Dwarves, whom he had never completely trusted.

“You will remember that one of Todith’s patrols found some dwarves in the forest a few weeks back,” said Ithilden. Thranduil nodded. He did, indeed, remember.  In addition to Todith’s report on the meeting, Thranduil had had a letter from Legolas describing it.  He smiled slightly to himself at the memory of his youngest son’s excitement over his first patrol and the encounter with the Dwarves.

“You will also remember that the Dwarves hinted they had seen something threatening in the wood but could not be persuaded to tell what it was,” Ithilden went on.  “They apparently did tell their kin in Erebor what they had seen, and the Dwarves eventually told the Men of Dale, who have passed the information along to me.”  Thranduil’s complete attention was now on Ithilden, for his tone was serious.  “The Dwarves from the Grey Mountains had run into a small party of Orcs,” Ithilden told him, his face grim. “And they apparently saw signs of more.  They thought that the Orcs might be from Mount Gundabad and that they were scouting along our borders and those of the Dwarves and Men.”

Thranduil sat immobile for a moment, scarcely able to believe what his son was telling him.  “Do you mean to say that the Dwarves have known for weeks that there are Orcs in the woods north of us, and they have not troubled to tell us?” he finally hissed.  Ithilden nodded unhappily.  Thranduil sat back in his chair, his hands gripping its arms.  “I presume you mean to have Eilian hunt for them?”

“Yes,” Ithilden answered.  “He has been uneasy all along about the Warg his patrol found.  I probably should have let him try to find where it came from, but I did not want to leave the northern border without its regular patrols.”  He looked unhappy about what had probably seemed a sensible decision at the time.

Thranduil grimaced. An immediate hunt for the Orcs would probably have had more chance of success, but nothing could be done about that now.  He reflected for a moment, and then decided that he needed to have Eilian’s apology to the settlers even if he was hunting Orcs. The letter of apology would not take more than a few moments to write, he thought irritably.  Indeed, it should have been written already.  He would do as he usually did and let Ithilden deal with the military side of things while he managed those connected to governing his people.

“Go and write the dispatch,” he directed.  “I will also have a letter to go to Eilian.  I will send it to you as soon as I have finished it.” 

Ithilden nodded and rose.  “By your leave,” he said and then withdrew, as Thranduil reached for parchment and pen.

***

“I expect you to send an apology to the settlers when Ithilden’s messenger returns.  Moreover, I charge you not to repeat this offense, Eilian.  I will not have you interfering in matters that you do not understand and whose satisfactory completion you can only hinder.  It pains me to be wroth with you, my son, and I ask you to mend this matter and sign myself, as always, your loving Adar.”

Eilian’s eyes narrowed as he read his father’s letter.  I will be hanged if I will apologize, he thought angrily. I have nothing to apologize for.  He tossed the letter onto the table and reached for Ithilden’s dispatch instead.  Still fuming, he tore the dispatch open.  Because Ithilden expected him to carry out the routine business of the northern Border Patrol without guidance, this was the first dispatch he had received from his brother since his patrol had killed the Warg.  Distracted by his anger, he started to skim it and then suddenly came to attention.

Orcs had been spotted in the woods north of here, and Ithilden was sending his patrol to hunt for them.

For a moment, he sat still with his heart pounding. Then he jumped to his feet and climbed rapidly down from his flet.  “Lómór!” he summoned his lieutenant, who was coming from the area in which they kept their horses.

“Yes, Captain?” Lómór trotted up to him.

As quickly as he could, Eilian explained the situation to him. “We need to keep two small patrols doing routine guard duty east and west from here,” Eilian finished, “and get the rest of us ready to start searching immediately for signs of Orcs.  I want us ready to move within an hour.”

Lómór blinked. “The afternoon is half gone,” he said. “Would it not be better to wait until morning?”

“No, it would not,” Eilian said firmly. “This search has been delayed enough as it is.  The groups that are out on patrol duty right now will continue the routine work. Choose two people to stay here and guard the camp and tell them what has happened. Tell them to package the dried food for those of us going on the hunt, and tell everyone else to pack their gear. We will start our search at the stream where we killed the Warg.”

Lómór nodded and started moving briskly through the camp, issuing orders.  Warriors scattered to gather belongings and prepare for departure. When Eilian turned to go back to his flet for his own pack, however, he found his Ithilden’s messenger waiting for him.  “The patrol is leaving, my lord?” he asked.

Eilian nodded and kept walking.  “You may go,” he said. “I have nothing to send with you.”

“My lord,” the messenger hurried along beside him, “the king directed me to bring a message from you when I returned.”

Eilian turned to look at him with a frown.  The messenger looked apologetic but showed no sign of giving way.  “I have nothing to send,” Eilian repeated in exasperation. He had neither the time nor the energy to deal with an irate Thranduil just now. “You may tell the king that, at the moment, all of my attention is given to tracking Orcs and eliminating them from the northern part of his woods.”  The messenger hesitated for a moment and then, reluctantly, bowed and turned to start toward his horse. Eilian briefly watched him go and then climbed to his flet and began stuffing clothes into his pack.   

***

Annael shifted his weight slightly.  He had been guarding the Great Doors of the king’s stronghold all day, and he was looking forward to going home to eat his mother’s cooking before going to visit Beliniel.  He smiled slightly to himself as he thought of Beliniel, who would be full of comic tales about the elflings she taught.  On a warm summer night such as this one promised to be, they would sit on the bench outside her family’s cottage with his arm around her and her head nestled in the hollow space of his shoulder.

His heart lifted at the thought of what the evening held.  Palace guard duty was not difficult, but it was tedious, and to Annael, who had grown up running in and out of these doors with Legolas, guarding them still felt strange.  He remembered the time that he and Legolas and another elfling had filled pigs’ bladders with water and thrown them at the guards standing where he now stood.  Thranduil had been livid with Legolas, and even his own usually understanding father had been ready to skin him alive.  Siondel had been a lieutenant in the Home Guard then and thus one of the officers in command of the soaked warriors.

At the thought of his dead father, he paused for a moment, probing gently at the sorrow that always lay just under the surface of his mind.  His grief was easing, he knew, and occasionally he thought he could reach through it and again feel his father’s presence in the tie that bound all Elven parents and children, but usually his sense of loss was too strong.

And he knew that his mother’s sorrow still left her helpless at times.  He had heard her crying in the night, and he worried about her.  Although he was deeply grateful for the friends and neighbors who visited her daily, he was beginning to think that, rather than postponing their betrothal, he and Beliniel should go ahead and announce it soon.  His mother would like having Beliniel living in the cottage once they wed, and then, perhaps, there would be elflings for her to love and by whom she would be loved in return.  A little self-consciously, he smiled to himself at the daydream he was spinning.

Suddenly, he shoved daydreams aside and came to attention, for the king had just emerged from the path that led to the stables and was striding up the steps, having obviously just returned from riding, an exercise he took in the late afternoon of most days.  Today his clothes looked wet from the waist down, Annael noted in surprise, and wondered what could have befallen him.

Over the years, Annael had spent enough time with Legolas to have seen Thranduil acting as a father, and not just as a king.  Given the erratic habits of youth, that meant that he had seen Thranduil angry as well as affectionate, but he knew that he was far less in awe of the king than most of his fellow warriors were.  And yet, there was something about Thranduil that never let one forget entirely that he was king of the Woodland Realm and sometimes seemed to keep it safe by the sheer power of his forceful personality.  Annael had always been shocked when he heard Legolas speak impudently to the king, and he had never relaxed entirely in his liege’s presence.

Thranduil almost always spoke to Annael when he saw him on duty, and today was no exception.  When he caught sight of Annael, he paused before going into the palace. “I had a letter from Legolas today, Annael,” he said. “Did he write to you too?”

“Yes, my lord,” Annael smiled. His letter had come this morning, probably with the same batch of dispatches that had carried the king’s.  “He seems to have done well against the spiders, although it sounds as if he gave Beliond quite a scare.”

The king’s eyes narrowed abruptly, and after a moment, he cautiously asked, “You think he did well then?”

Annael was suddenly uncertain.  It occurred to him that Beliond might have said something that worried the king, and Annael hastened to reassure him. “Of course, Beliond does not know yet how willing Legolas is to learn from his mistakes, especially those that affect his performance in battle.  Legolas will never again lose track of an enemy’s location. Beliond will realize that the next time they engage the enemy.”

For a moment, Thranduil stood silent and rigid.  “Lose track of an enemy’s location,” he repeated woodenly.  Annael was briefly puzzled and then, in a blinding and exceedingly unwelcome realization, he was struck by the horrible certainty that Legolas had not told his father about what had happened in the spider battle.

I should have guessed, he thought in dismay.  Annael knew that he was as close to Legolas as was anyone outside Legolas’s family, but he also knew that he would never really understand what it was like to be the son of the king.  Annael’s parents had always told him that they would be happy if he did his best, but Thranduil had necessarily demanded success from all three of his sons.  To some degree, the well being of the Realm depended on their competence.

And Legolas’s performance had always been scrutinized not only by his father, but also by everyone else around him.  Moreover, in Thranduil, the concerns of a parent and the power of a ruler were combined for Legolas.  His father had absolute control over his life in a way that Annael could not even imagine.  So Legolas had often tried to protect himself from pressure that sometimes felt overwhelming by keeping news from Thranduil that Annael would have told his own parents quite openly.  His performance in his first battle was apparently one of those things that Legolas had decided it was better that his father not know.

Now Thranduil seemed to pull himself together.  “Give your naneth my best wishes, Annael,” he said and turned to start through the doors.  Then he paused and signaled to an attendant.  “Send for Lord Ithilden,” Annael heard him snap. “Tell him that I wish to see him in my office immediately.” The attendant bowed and hurried down the steps and off toward the training fields, and Thranduil swept into the palace and disappeared in the direction of the royal family’s private quarters.

Annael stood scanning the area in front of him as he was supposed to do when on guard duty.  He would write to Legolas and tell him what had happened and apologize, he thought unhappily.  He felt a moment’s deep gratitude that he was just a warrior standing tedious guard duty and not the youngest son of the king.  And then Ithilden came hurrying up the steps and disappeared into the palace, and Annael amended his gratitude to include the fact that he was not any of the king’s sons.

***

Ithilden entered Thranduil’s office to find his father seated behind his desk, apparently doing nothing.  The sight was so unusual that he paused just inside the doorway. Then his father’s gaze came to bear on him, and he flinched slightly. Thranduil was in a fury and apparently this time he was the target.  “Did you want to see me, Adar?” he asked cautiously.

For a moment more, Thranduil sat regarding Ithilden, standing in front of his desk.  “Tell me about Legolas’s performance in fighting spiders,” he finally commanded.

So that is it, Ithilden thought resignedly.  I should have known that he would hear eventually.  I suppose Beliond told him.  He took a step toward the desk. “I told you that Todith’s patrol went after the spiders in the area and that Todith is satisfied they have gotten rid of them.  And you know that Legolas is unharmed. I would have told you otherwise.”

“That is not what I mean and you know it,” Thranduil said sharply.  “I want to know if Legolas lost track of where a spider was, and I also want to know if his doing so is a sign he should be in the Home Guard and not in the Border Patrol.”   Thranduil had never liked the idea of Legolas being assigned to Todith’s patrol rather than to the Home Guard where new warriors usually spent time gaining experience.  But the novice masters had recommended the more dangerous Border Patrol precisely because they thought Legolas might develop better as a warrior away from the all seeing eyes of his family.

“Captains do not usually send me descriptions of the performance of individual warriors,” Ithilden said carefully.

Thranduil scanned Ithilden’s face, and his eyes narrowed.  “But he did send you a description of how Legolas had done,” he declared.

Ithilden sighed. “Yes, he did,” he admitted.  “I suppose he thought I would want to know because it was Legolas.  I have told him not to do so again.”

“I do want to know,” Thranduil declared, “and I am wroth with you for not telling me.”

“I do not ordinarily report on the actions of new warriors to their families,” Ithilden said, his own irritation beginning to grow.  “And the whole reason for sending Legolas to the Border Patrol was to let him be on his own without our constant interference.”

Thranduil slammed his hand down on the desk.  “It is not interference to be concerned for my son’s safety, especially when he has been given an assignment more dangerous than that given to other new warriors. Now tell me what Todith told you.”

Ithilden drew a deep, calming breath and reined in his own temper.  Quarreling with his father was a losing proposition.  He began to give Thranduil the details for which he was pressing.

***

Tired beyond what he should have been, Ithilden approached his chambers.  He had managed to convince his father to leave Legolas where he was, but it had been a near thing, and Thranduil was still angry with him for having withheld the information about Legolas and the spider.  Experience told him that his father would recover his temper eventually, but in the meantime, their encounters would probably be tense.

With a feeling of relief, he entered his chambers, happy to be with his own small family.  Alfirin rose from her seat at her loom and came to kiss him.  “You are wearing yourself out again,” she scolded gently.  “Go and bathe and then come back to have some wine with me before evening meal.”

Ithilden smiled at her and kissed her again.  His evening looked as if it would be considerably better than his day had been. He turned to follow his wife’s instructions and saw an uncharacteristically subdued Sinnarn, sitting on the floor, playing with the set of carved animals that Alfirin’s father had made for him.  “What is the matter, little one?” he asked, scooping the child into his arms and kissing him too. “You look as if you have had a worse day than I did.”  Sinnarn peeked over Ithilden’s shoulder to look at his mother.

“Nothing has happened that you need to worry about,” Alfirin said firmly. “Go and bathe.”  She took Sinnarn from his arms, and the child stuck his lower lip out in a pout.  Ithilden raised an eyebrow, for Sinnarn seldom sulked, but he decided to let Alfirin manage their son while he soaked in a tub and let the day’s cares drain away in the hot water.

Half an hour later, he was bathed, dressed in clean clothes, and feeling much better.  He was on his way to the sitting room and passing the door to Sinnarn’s chamber when he recalled his son’s unhappy mood.   During the last week, he had been reading a book of tales to Sinnarn, and he thought that his son might brighten at the idea of being held on his lap and read to.  He entered Sinnarn’s room, picked up the book from the table near the bed, and was turning to leave when he caught sight of clothes spread on a drying rack in one corner of the room.  One of Sinnarn’s tunics and a pair of his leggings were draped over the rack, and more surprisingly, one of Alfirin’s gowns and a pair of her stockings were there as well.  Ithilden approached curiously, to find that his wife’s skirt was wet halfway up its length.  Puzzled, he turned to go to the sitting room.

Alfirin was waiting for him with a glass of wine in hand.  “How did your dress and Sinnarn’s clothes get so wet?” he asked, taking the wine and settling gratefully into one of the comfortable chairs in front of the fireplace.  She hesitated, and suddenly he noticed the tension in her face.  “What is it?” he asked sharply.  “What happened?”

Alfirin made a face.  “You will only get upset if I tell you.”

“Tell me anyway,” he demanded, increasingly annoyed at having information withheld.

“I went swimming,” Sinnarn suddenly put in from his place on the floor among his animals.  “I like to swim.”  His tone was defiant, and his mother frowned reprovingly at him.

“You will not go swimming alone again,” she declared. “If you do, you will not be allowed to swim at all.”

“He went swimming alone?” Ithilden asked in alarm. “What do you mean?”

Alfirin sighed and came to sit in the chair across from him.  “Sinnarn and I were out picking flowers this afternoon.  We were not far from the pool where the males swim. We could hear younglings laughing and splashing about.  Sinnarn asked to swim, but I told him not today.  Then when I had my back turned, he went off to the pool by himself.”

Ithilden’s heart stopped, and he turned a fierce gaze on his small son.  “I never want to hear that you have disobeyed Nana like that again, Sinnarn.  Do you understand me?”

“Yes,” muttered Sinnarn, scowling and looking so much like Eilian that Ithilden groaned aloud.

“Fortunately, your adar was riding by just as Sinnarn jumped from the rocks into the pool,” Alfirin went on, increasing Ithilden’s dismay.  “He waded in and was pulling him out when I arrived.  I did not really need to go into the pool too, I suppose, but I could not stop myself.”

“You mean to say that Adar knew about this when I talked to him a little while ago?” Ithilden asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Alfirin said.

Ithilden frowned at her. “And neither one of you was going to tell me.”

“You have enough to worry about,” Alfirin said defensively, “and no harm had been done after all.”

Ithilden felt his anger rising again.  “I will not be deceived like this, Alfirin,” he declared heatedly.  “If something happens to our son, I want to know about it.”

She bit her lip.  “There is no need to be angry,” she said with dignity. “Your adar and I were trying to make things easier for you, not to deceive you.”

Abruptly, his anger ebbed.  “I know you meant well,” he conceded, “but I do not like the idea of someone else deciding what I should or should not know about my son.”  And suddenly, he felt the irony of his position.  He had just spent half an hour telling his father that he was better off not knowing everything that was happening to Legolas.  But Legolas is not an elfling, he reminded himself.  And Thranduil might profit from having the irony of his own position pointed out to him:  He wanted to know all about Legolas but was willing to shelter Ithilden from news about Sinnarn.  He smiled to himself with some satisfaction.  He might enjoy pointing that out to Thranduil, he thought.

A small hand tugged on his sleeve.  “Will you read to me, Ada?” Sinnarn asked.

Ithilden gathered the child in his lap. “I will,” he said, “but first you must promise me that you will not swim by yourself again.”

Sinnarn wiggled impatiently. “I already promised Nana,” he declared.  “Read!”

“Swimming by yourself is dangerous,” Ithilden said firmly.  “I love you far too much to let you put yourself in danger again, so you must promise me as well as Nana.”

“I promise,” Sinnarn said, looking somewhat sobered by his father’s seriousness.  Ithilden took up the book and began searching for the place where they had left off the evening before.  Alfirin smiled at him, apparently happy that his temper seemed to have eased.  Then she walked off down the hallway, presumably to dress for evening meal.

As he settled back in the chair with Sinnarn in his arms, it suddenly occurred to Ithilden that Alfirin had waded into the males’ pool to get Sinnarn.  He paused, considered, and suddenly smiled. He would ask her for a full report later, he thought, after they were in the privacy of their own bedchamber.  He was reasonably sure he could make her blush, although she might be more brazen than he thought. In either case, the discussion might lead to more pleasant diversions.  He found his place in the book and began to read to his son.

***

I borrow characters and setting from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life I assume he wanted me to gain.

Thank you, Nilmandra, for beta reading this for me.

*******

8. Looking for the Enemy

“My lord,” said the leader of the settlement, “we have considered the site to which you wish us to relocate, but we are still not convinced that living there will enable us to help keep the forest from the hands of the enemy.  The area is already more or less held by your warriors.”

Thranduil frowned slightly at the “more or less” but knew it was only too true that his warriors had not been able to keep spiders and even occasionally Orcs from venturing into the area where he wanted the settlement elves to go.  Seizing this small opening, he tried to use it to his advantage. “Surely your usefulness is shown by the fact that the enemy does venture into that area.  Your presence there would help keep that part of the woods free from corruption but would place you so that our warriors could protect you should you need them.”

Thranduil watched alertly as the leader and Sólith looked at one another. Ah, he thought with satisfaction, we are making progress.  After a long moment of silence, the leader turned back to Thranduil, who had kept his face impassive. “I cannot speak for everyone in the settlement, my lord. And all would have to agree to the move if we are to make it.”

Thranduil considered this fact.  “Surely your people will listen to what the two of you recommend,” he said smoothly, smiling at them.

“I believe they will,” Celuwen’s father put in, equally smoothly, “but I, for one, do not feel ready yet to recommend any course of action.  A decision like this can be made only after much consideration. And as I tried to make clear to Eilian, it is important to me, at any rate, that the decisions we make are respected. We are not fools; we are Wood-elves who know and love the forest. We would need to know that our king valued our presence before we moved closer to his stronghold.”

He met Thranduil’s eyes with a hard look while the leader, sitting next to him, looked resigned.  Thranduil studied Sólith and read what he was being asked. 

“The choice is yours, of course,” Thranduil responded, “but know that your presence would comfort us, as would knowing that you and your families were safer.  I am sure that Lord Eilian, too, respects the service that you render us.”

“It would be good to know that, my lord,” Sólith said.

Once again, Thranduil felt a flare of anger at Eilian for not sending a message he could show to this stubborn Elf.  If Eilian refuses to do this in a message, he thought resolutely, then he will have to do it in person.  “Lord Eilian is on a mission for us at the moment and thus cannot be here to assure you of the extent to which he values your service.  But we believe that he will wish to do so as soon as he is able.”

Sólith smiled a little grimly.  “I look forward to that, my lord.”

Thranduil waved toward an attendant, who came forward to show the two Elves out of the Great Hall.  For a moment, Thranduil sat thinking about the meeting he had just had.  What had Eilian said that had upset Sólith so much? he wondered, for Celuwen’s father was clearly the stumbling block now preventing the completion of Thranduil’s plans for the relocation of the settlement.  Whatever he had said, he would now apologize for it, Thranduil thought determinedly.  He would not allow his son’s pride to stand in the way of greater safety for these Elves.  Despite their independent streak, they were his people whom he was obligated to protect.

***

Eilian slid from one low branch to another, watching beneath him for any sign of the passage of Orcs.  The creatures were large and clumsy, so if they had been this way, he was bound to see broken bushes or other disturbances in the forest.  But the traces of their passing would be faint by now because the search for them had been so delayed. He hummed faintly as he went, responding to the summer song of the trees.  A jay flew out of the branches in front of him and scolded him energetically as he passed.  He smiled to himself at its fury and then turned his attention back to his task.

This hunt should have been carried out immediately after we saw the Warg, he thought. Ithilden has been taking the safety of this area too much for granted.  Eilian supposed he could not really blame his brother. Ithilden had enough to worry about in the areas where the enemy was already known to prowl.  He paused for a moment to eye broken twigs on the underbrush beneath him but decided that a deer had probably brushed against them. In contrast to the southern part of the forest, deer and other game were plentiful here.  Too bad we have no time to hunt, he thought.

He came to a clearing with a stream running through it and glanced up at the westering sun.  It was probably time to cease scouting for the day.  Orcs on the prowl were easy to spot at night, and Eilian himself was exceptionally good at doing so.  But his warriors were only too likely to overlook old tracks in the dark.  He sounded the call that would summon the patrol to him to make camp for the night.  Maltanaur arrived first, for he had been only a score of yards away, and then the rest of the patrol emerged in pairs from the trees and reported on their search.  Last to arrive were Lómór and Galelas, who had been farthest north.  As soon as Eilian saw the looks on their faces, he knew they had found something.

“We found tracks just as we heard your signal, Captain,” Galelas blurted.  “There are signs of perhaps fifty Orcs.  And there were half a dozen Wargs with them too.”

Eilian’s breath immediately quickened.  “Show me,” he demanded.  Galelas and the lieutenant leapt back into the trees, and Eilian and Maltanaur followed.  About a mile north of the campsite, they all dropped to the ground, and, in the fading light, Galelas excitedly pointed out the traces of tracks and broken brush, whose meaning all four of them could read.   They led eastward, paralleling the border of Thranduil’s realm.

Eilian straightened up and looked in the direction the tracks led, sorely tempted to follow them immediately.  Reluctantly, he reminded himself that the patrol would be far less likely to lose the trail in daylight and that they could make rapid progress the next day, now that they had tracks to follow.  “We will go after them at dawn,” he said and then led the small party back to camp where the rest of the patrol was waiting to hear what they had seen.

Eilian smiled at their eager looks.   Many of the warriors in the northern Border Patrol were young, and he would need to remind them of the best tactics for fighting Orcs and Wargs, but they were spoiling for this fight.  “There are signs of fifty or so of Orcs and five or six Wargs,” Eilian told them, watching them finger their weapons.  “Sleep well tonight, for we will be underway at daybreak.”  He turned to Galelas.  “Good find,” he praised.

Galelas straightened, obviously pleased, but then hesitated, seeming to struggle with himself.  “Lómór actually saw the tracks first,” he admitted.  From behind him, Lómór smiled slightly at Eilian.

Eilian blinked. He would have judged Galelas to be too eager for praise to make such an admission.  He smiled at the young warrior.  “Then good for both of you,” he said lightly and went off to set out his blankets and get some of the patrol’s dried food for his evening meal.

He was not surprised when Galelas brought his own meal over and sat down next to him and Maltanaur.  The youngling often sought Eilian’s company when they were on patrol, and Eilian was interested in him, partly because he was roughly the same age as Legolas, about whom Eilian worried, but also partly because Galelas was an interesting puzzle in himself.  He was skilled but seemed to lack confidence, and he sometimes had trouble recognizing the strengths of his fellow warriors.  Eilian had once had Galelas’s brother, Tinár, under his command, and Tinár had had the same problem but been far less aware of it than Galelas seemed to be.

“If we go far enough east,” Eilian observed to Galelas, “we may run into Legolas and Tinár.  I would like to see how Legolas is doing in his first posting.”

Galelas frowned.  “Legolas was sent to a border patrol for his first posting?  I thought all new warriors had to spend time in the Home Guard first. I certainly did.”  His tone was aggrieved, Eilian noted.  Galelas tended to watch closely for anyone getting what he thought was favored treatment and to resent it when he found it.

“I would have been much happier to see Legolas in the Home Guard,” Eilian said, “and I know the king was reluctant to allow the posting, but the novice masters recommended it.”

“Why?” Galelas demanded, still sounding offended.

Eilian shrugged. “I do not know.  I worry about him, though, and I would like to see him just to assure myself that he is all right.”

Galelas frowned down at the bit of waybread still in his hand.  “Legolas is very good with weapons,” he finally said grudgingly. He glanced at Eilian. “You should not worry.”

Eilian smiled at him, touched by the youngling’s reassurance.  “Thank you.”

Galelas’s mouth twisted in a small smile.  Then he stuffed the last of the waybread in his mouth and got to his feet.  “I am on first watch,” he said and went off to find the warrior with whom he would share guard duty, for with Orcs in the area, Eilian had been posting a double watch.

Eilian glanced at Maltanaur and laughed softly.  “Young warriors are very amusing. Have you noticed that?”

Maltanaur snorted.  “I do not recall you being particularly amusing when you were his age.  I am astounded that you and I are both still here, actually.”  He grinned at Eilian. “But then, I have beaten some sense into you over the years, and perhaps you can beat some into Galelas too.”

Eilian laughed again and then defended his warrior.  “Galelas is shaping up nicely.”

“Yes,” Maltanaur agreed.  “You are good for him.  He likes you, and you praise him when he does well and that makes him more generous.” He looked at Eilian thoughtfully. “Have I ever told you that you are a very good captain?”

Eilian flushed with pleasure, for there were few opinions he valued more than Maltanaur’s.  “Occasionally,” he said.

Maltanaur smiled.  “I would not want you to get a swelled head, so I will not tell you that now.”  He reached for his blanket and rolled up in it.  “Go to sleep before I have to beat you in front of your warriors.”

Eilian laughed and rolled up in his own blanket.  But rather than seeking sleep, he lay for a while watching the stars and listening to the murmur of the stream and the rustle of small animals in the underbrush.  Tomorrow, they would set out on the trail of their enemies, and he was as certain as he could be that they would find them.  In all modesty, Eilian knew he was a superb scout and that few creatures could move through the forest without leaving marks for him to follow.  His blood was already singing with the excitement of the hunt.

It came to him suddenly that he was happy.

***

Legolas moved through the woods, scanning the ground for signs of intruders.  His small patrol had been on its scouting sweep for two days now and was nearing the northern end of its territory.  They had taken longer than they should have to get here because, in addition to their usual responsibilities, Todith had instructed them to check for illicit logging. They had found nothing, and the patrol had been without incident.  A little boring actually, Legolas thought, but he had already learned that not all patrols were as eventful as his first one had been.  Soon they would make camp for the night, and then in the morning, they would turn around and start back toward the Border Patrol’s main campsite.

Legolas was beginning to feel like an experienced warrior, one who could complain about tedium and wish for action, as he had heard some of the older warriors in the patrol do.  Not that he would do so in the hearing of Galorion or Beliond, of course. Just the previous night, the lieutenant had told Tinár to stop looking for trouble, and after the fight with the spiders, Legolas thought that Beliond would be happy if Legolas never saw battle again.

Every time they had been on patrol since, Beliond had been by Legolas’s side at all opportunities, pointing out terrain that could harbor an ambush, or lecturing about the need not to be lured from the trees prematurely during a battle, or explaining yet again how to watch from the corner of his eye so that an enemy could not slip behind him or above him while he was shooting in another direction. “The novice masters do teach us these things,” Legolas had finally cried in exasperation.

“Do not be arrogant,” Beliond had snapped.  “Arrogance can get young warriors killed.”  And then he had gone on talking about where the best place was to sink an arrow in a Warg’s body.  Legolas was sick of it and had begun avoiding Beliond in camp.

Suddenly, from a distance to his right, someone whistled a signal.  Legolas froze, scarcely able to believe what he heard, for the signal was the one that meant someone had found signs of an enemy.  He grabbed his bow off his shoulder, and, his heart racing, he leapt into the trees, and began moving swiftly in the direction from which the signal had come.  He had not gone a hundred feet before Beliond was beside him, his own bow in hand too.

Another bird signal drifted toward them, and they veered slightly from their original course, at last finding Galorion, Tynd, and Fóril gathered in a small clearing. They dropped to the ground, and Tinár joined them a moment later.

Galorion pointed silently to the ground, and Legolas lowered his eyes to look at the tracks he was indicating.  His breath caught, for there, unmistakably, were the tracks of Orcs.  He dropped to one knee and scanned them closely, picking out five separate sets of prints.  Straightening up, he drew a long breath, deliberately relaxing his diaphragm.  It looked as if his wish for action was about to be granted.

“We will follow them,” Galorion murmured, so low that he was scarcely audible even to the Elves.  “They are unlikely to be active at this time of day, but stay alert anyway.”   They nodded, and the group followed him, sliding like shadows through the forest, looking for where the Orcs had gone to ground.  They had not gone half a mile before Galorion halted and pointed down the small rise on which they stood.  A dark spot was visible directly across from them where the ground rose again.  A cave, Legolas realized, and then backed away as Galorion motioned for them to retreat the way they had come.

They stopped a hundred yards away to confer.  “Shall we flush them out?” Tinár asked.

Beliond grimaced.  “That might not be wise unless we know how many we are likely to flush.  And going in after them would be dangerous.”  He was standing next to Legolas, and Legolas was sure that Beliond was unlikely to allow him to be the one to go into the cave to drive the Orcs out.  Even through his excitement over the coming of battle, he felt a momentary flash of relief and then was ashamed of himself.

“Surely the tracks tell us there five,” Fóril put in, confirming Legolas’s estimate. “And we cannot just walk away and leave them in there.”

“They could have joined others already in the cave,” Beliond pointed out.

Galorion’s eyes drifted to Legolas for a moment, and then he sighed. “The tracks do say there are only five.  We will lie in wait in the trees around the cave mouth,” he declared.  “When they have all emerged for the night, we will engage them, assuming that their numbers are not far more than we now believe.”  Legolas nodded, determined to show his lieutenant that he was ready for whatever came.

They swung easily into the trees and moved back toward the cave to spread out in a half circle around its mouth and wait for their prey.  Beliond landed on the branch next to Legolas.  “Pay close attention to what you are doing,” he murmured.

“I have fought Orcs before,” Legolas whispered fiercely back. Beliond frowned but said no more. Legolas fingered the rune hanging around his neck.  It was true that he had twice fought with Orcs when he and the friends he was with had stumbled on them in the woods, but for the most part, he had been able to stay in the trees during those battles and had not had to use his sword.  He was confident in his ability with his bow, but the thought of hand to hand combat with the Orcs drove his heart into his mouth.  It probably will not come to that, he assured himself. We outnumber them, after all.

Along with his fellow warriors, he waited tensely as the long summer day gradually faded.  And then, just when he thought he could bear the waiting no more, something dark emerged from the mouth of the cave and took shape as an Orc.  Legolas’s finger twitched slightly on his bowstring, but he held his fire, knowing that all five Orcs should be in the open before the Elves shot at them if they did not want to have to pry any of them out of the cave.  His mouth was dry as he counted the Orcs who were now emerging.

Galorion waited until the fifth Orc had emerged and moved a short distance away from the entrance, and then waited a moment more to make sure that this Orc was indeed the last before he gave the signal to attack.  With a steadiness that satisfied him deeply, Legolas drew his bow and released an arrow that drove deeply into the side of the neck of the last Orc to come out of the cave.  From the trees all around the cave entrance, arrows flew, taking the Orcs completely by surprise.  So far as Legolas could see, they all had arrows lodged in their bodies before they fully realized they were under attack, but three of them were still on their feet and scrambling to take cover and get their own bows into their hand.  He aimed carefully and put an arrow in the eye of another Orc, who clutched at his face and then staggered and fell.

The two remaining Orcs had reached the shelter of a cluster of large rocks, however, and were now shooting back at the Elves.  Legolas automatically dodged an arrow, scarcely noticing it as he fitted another of his own arrows to his bowstring.

Suddenly, the sound of a horn rang out as someone blew it again and again.  Startled, Legolas realized that one of the Orcs was blowing it.  Next to him, Beliond spat a single, very crude word in Dwarvish, making Legolas blink, and then sent an arrow into the chest of the Orc with the horn.

“What was that?” Legolas asked, his heart sinking, for he thought he knew the answer only too well.

“It was a signal,” Beliond answered. “There are more of them in the area, and we have no idea how many or where they are, but if they can be summoned by that horn, they are not far away.”  He swore again, this time with a long, heartfelt string of Khuzdul.  Legolas wondered irrelevantly if his father knew that Beliond had such a rich vocabulary and if it was part of what he was intended to learn from his keeper.  Somehow, he thought not.

“Finish the one in the rocks,” Galorion shouted.  “We do not want him at our backs when his friends arrive.”  Before Legolas could even move, he caught a glimpse of Tinár flying gracefully through the trees to get a better angle on the remaining Orc.  The creature was dead before it had time to turn around.

But the damage had been done.  Beliond had been only too right and the Orcs to whom the horn was calling could not have been far away, for Legolas could now hear the sound of their approach from north of the clearing.  “Move,” Galorion was shouting as he ranged his troops to face the newcomers.  Legolas scrambled to obey, and again found himself waiting with Beliond by his side.  His heart began to pound, for the amount of noise he heard suggested that the approaching group was large, and mixed with the sound of heavy Orc feet was a growling sound that Legolas had never heard before.

“Wargs,” Beliond breathed beside him.  Legolas had time only to shoot him a quick, dismayed glance before one Warg, then another, and then four more came into sight.  Legolas froze for a moment staring at them.  He had been told about Wargs, of course, but he had never seen one.  They were bigger than he could have imagined, some of them as tall at the shoulder as he was and as much as fifteen feet long.  Even from a distance, he could see their fangs, glistening in the darkness.  With unbelievable swiftness, the Wargs rushed into the clearing with a large troop of Orcs swarming after them.

Without thought, he drew and shot and drew again, aiming first for the Orc archers, as he had been taught to do.  The Wargs prowled beneath the trees, occasionally rearing to claw at the trunks of the trees holding Elves, but Legolas forced himself to ignore them and concentrate, for now, on the enemies who could actually shoot him.  The Wargs would be a problem only if the Elves had to take to the ground.

The Orcs had now sought shelter behind the rocks scattered around the area.  Frustrated by his inability to get a clear shot at any of them, Legolas jumped from the tree he was in to the one next to him, took rapid aim, and put an arrow into an Orc’s neck.  An answering arrow whistled past his ear, and he dodged, although he realized immediately he would have been too late if the arrow had been better aimed.  His breath caught.  Keep moving, he reminded himself and again jumped to another branch.

He reached for an arrow and was dismayed to realize he had just two left.  I must make them count, he thought grimly and shot another Orc who had just risen with his own bow drawn.  At that moment, Legolas saw Tinár leap to the ground, drawing his sword as he went.  He must be out of arrows, Legolas realized, and saw Fóril jump down to cover his fellow warrior’s back.

It took only an instant for the Wargs to notice that two of the Elves were on the ground.  Legolas saw one turn toward them almost lazily, and then, with terrifying strength, it crouched, sprang, and sailed toward them, claws extended and mouth agape.  He had time to glimpse the fear on Fóril’s face as he extended his sword toward the Warg, but even as Legolas saw this unexpected emotion, he seized his last arrow and sent it straight into the spot on the Warg that Beliond had recently been lecturing him about.  The force of the arrow drove the Warg slightly off course and sent it to the ground where it thrashed once and then lay still.

There were still far more Orcs on the ground than there were Elves in the trees, but Legolas knew he had no choice.  Now, he thought.  Now is the time.  He glanced around for Beliond, who he could see was also out of arrows.  Their eyes met and Beliond nodded. Legolas drew a deep breath, and with his sword in his hand, he leapt to the ground just as Beliond did.  Immediately, three Orcs converged on him, scimitars raised.  He raised his sword overhead and brought it down, swinging it from side to side to parry their blows. Then he stepped in and slashed horizontally at the midriff of the Orc closest to him, cutting deeply into his belly and dragging blood and bowels out again on the point of his sword.  For a second, Legolas stared in fascination as the Orc clutched at his belly and then sank to the ground.  A wave of nausea swept over him, but he gritted his teeth and whirled toward Beliond, who was now beside him, fending off the other two Orcs.

One of the Orcs charged Beliond with his head lowered, and Legolas brought his sword down on the Orc with a powerful, overhead swing, splitting his head.  Then, suddenly energized, he whirled away and danced into the fray, trying to cover Beliond’s back as his keeper covered his.  He slashed and stabbed and parried, and was exultant when he saw that the Orcs were as cautious in approaching him as they were with any of his experienced fellow warriors.

He had just stabbed an Orc and had to brace his foot against the body to free his weapon again, when he realized that the Orcs were backing off to make room for the Wargs. He could see Beliond off to one side, separated from him now and jumping away from a Warg, while swinging his sword at the animal’s neck.  Alarmed, Legolas started toward him, but a low growl came from his right and he swung to find himself face to face with another Warg gathering itself to attack.   Terror sudden roiled in his bowels, and for a second he could not move. Then he dropped to one knee, braced his sword, and waited.

***

I borrow characters and setting from Tolkien, but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life I assume he wanted me to gain.

Thank you, Nilmandra, for beta reading this for me.

AN:  My beta, Nilmandra, has also written two short stories about Thranduil and Lorellin, the queen I gave him.  I gave her the name, but Nilmandra has really given her a personality.  They’re at www.storiesofarda.com  and are called “Eilian’s Begetting Day” and “First Celebrations.”

*******

9.  The Aftermath of Battle

Eilian crouched to examine the tracks and felt his heart quicken.  They cannot be more than twelve hours old, he thought triumphantly, and the Orcs would have sought shelter during the day today.  He looked up into the faces of Lómór, Galelas, and Maltanaur, who were crowded around him.  “They are close,” he said, noting their reactions: Lómór grim, Galelas a little apprehensive, and Maltanaur, as always, eying him calculatedly, trying to read his mood.  He smiled slightly to himself.  Maltanaur would never relax and trust him completely. Eilian had frightened him too many times.

He rose and considered the fading daylight.  On each of the last two days, he had stopped their hunt when darkness fell, fearing they would lose the trail at night, but they were now so close to their quarry that he thought it was time for a change of tactics.  He grinned at them and gave Galelas a comradely slap on the back.  “Tonight we hunt,” he declared with satisfaction.

Turning to the rest of the patrol, he began giving orders.  “We will follow their tracks as long as we can and hope we discover their den before night falls and they are on the move again. But if we have to, we will chase them down in the dark. We can probably find them by smell alone,” he added grimly and then waved them into the trees around him while he and Maltanaur moved into the branches directly over the Orc tracks.  He was trusting none of the other patrol members to track tonight.  He had faith in their abilities but he knew that scouting was one of his own particular strengths.  He led his patrol along the trail much more quickly than they had been doing, for at least to Eilian, the marks of the enemy’s passing were now very clear.

As twilight faded into night, he had to descend to the ground more often to make sure of the story that the tracks had to tell him.  At length, he paused, studying the ground and then turned to wave Maltanaur down beside him. “What do you see?” he asked.

Maltanaur looked at the ground and then walked off some distance and came back again.  “They split up,” he said unhappily, and Eilian nodded.  That had been his conclusion too.

“They were getting ready for the day,” Eilian mused and then turned to his keeper. “Do you know this part of the forest?”  Eilian had never been posted to this area and was unsure of what it might offer in the way of sheltered places. “Where would they be likely to go?”

Maltanaur thought for a moment.  “There are several small caves a mile or so east of here. None of them is big enough to hold the whole troop. Perhaps their scouts found the caves and that is why they broke into smaller groups here.”

Eilian grimaced.  “It will be hard to surprise them if we have to take on one small group at a time.”  Maltanaur nodded, looking no more pleased than Eilian felt.

Suddenly Eilian’s head snapped up.  “Did you hear that?” he asked sharply, although in truth he already knew from his keeper’s tense face that he had heard the same thing Eilian had.

“An Orc battle horn,” Maltanaur answered.

The two stood looking at one another for a split second. “Go!” Eilian cried, and they both were into the trees and moving with their bows in hand and the rest of the northern Border Patrol right behind them.

Almost immediately, other unwelcome sounds reached them, growing in volume as they approached.  The grunts of Orcs mingled with the clang of weapons and the chilling growls of Wargs.  Eilian had occasionally encountered Wargs and Orcs together in the south and knew how terrifying the beasts were.  He hoped fervently that whomever the Orcs and Wargs had encountered was well armed. He thought fleetingly of Legolas. He had speculated to Galelas that they might meet some of the eastern Border Patrol warriors on this mission, but he had not really expected to, and his heart pounded at the very thought that Legolas could be one of those now in the battle that raged ahead of him.

And then suddenly, they burst from cover, and the battle was spread before them.  Eilian oriented himself quickly, loosing arrows as he did.  A handful of Elven warriors were on the ground with Orcs cautiously hanging back while Wargs moved in for the kill. Eilian drew and put an arrow into a Warg just as it leapt at a warrior who crouched with his sword extended.  The warrior froze for a moment, seemingly unable to believe that the animal was not upon him, and then he whirled, and as he did so, Eilian saw the flare of blond hair and knew that his fears had materialized in front of him.

He stifled a cry as his own warriors flowed into the trees around the embattled Elves and began sending arrows into Wargs and Orcs alike.  Shooting arrow after arrow as he went, Eilian moved through the trees toward where Legolas was now crossing swords with an Orc who had been trying to flee.  The Orc brought his scimitar around Legolas’s guard and then jumped back as Legolas stabbed at him.  His heart in his throat, Eilian nocked his last arrow, took swift aim, and shot the Orc in the ear.  Then he leapt to the ground with his sword drawn, ready to protect his little brother if he had to.

Legolas stood panting over the Orc, with his own sword raised.  He looked up at Eilian and for a second their eyes locked and Legolas blinked in surprise. Then his gaze seemed to travel beyond Eilian’s shoulder, and he jumped forward, yanked Eilian’s arrow out of the Orc’s head, and nocked it in the bow that had suddenly appeared in his hand. Eilian spun to see Legolas’s shot land in the neck of a Warg that had evidently crept up behind Beliond, for the older warrior was only now turning to face it.  Beliond lunged forward, slit the throat of the still struggling Warg, and then glanced over at Legolas and lifted his dripping sword in a small salute.

Legolas shot a grin at Eilian and then raced toward Beliond, for whose back he was probably responsible.  It was all Eilian could do not to grab his arm and keep him near but he managed it.  Then, his captain’s instinct coming to the fore again, he looked swiftly around, assessing the course of the battle.  To his great relief, the Wargs all seemed to be dead or dying, and Elves were converging on the few remaining Orcs.

Off to his right, he saw Tinár stab an Orc and then turn disdainfully away to seek another foe.  Eilian was moving to join the fight himself when a sudden motion caught his eyes, and to his horror, he realized that the Orc behind Tinár was struggling to his feet again and raising his sword.  He shouted a warning and lunged toward them, but before he could act, Galelas had appeared out of nowhere and driven his sword deep into the Orc’s back.  Alarmed by the shouts, Tinár spun in time to see Galelas jerk his sword free and then move quickly off to aid Lómór in digging a stubborn Orc out from behind some rocks.  The look on Tinár’s face was one Eilian would have paid good money to see.

Then Eilian too jumped into the fray again, working with Maltanaur to corner an Orc who appeared to be some sort of captain, but he could not help being gleeful at the little scene he had just witnessed and at the steadiness Galelas was showing in what Eilian thought was his first real battle.

Maltanaur finally sent the Orc captain to wherever it was dead Orcs went, and Eilian whirled with his sword raised but found no one left to fight.  Cautiously, he lowered his weapon as his keeper came up beside him.  “Check for wounded,” Eilian ordered, wiping the sweat from his forehead and then grimacing as he realized he had probably left a smear of black blood there.  “Lómór,” he called, seeing his lieutenant a short distance away, “help Maltanaur check for wounded and get everyone else to make sure the Orcs are dead. The Wargs too for that matter.” Lómór nodded and hurried away to do as he was bid while Eilian drew a deep breath and scanned the clearing for Legolas.

Suddenly, he saw Beliond bending over a slender figure seated on the ground.  With a shock of fear, he realized it was Legolas.

***

As Legolas shoved his own sword hard, parrying the blow from the Orc, he could see Beliond coming up behind the Orc with his own weapon in hand.  Grimly, he closed with the Orc and drove his blade between the beast’s ribs.  The pressure on Legolas’s sword lessened, and then the Orc slumped to the ground.  Gasping for breath, Legolas turned to get ready for the next foe.  “Take it easy, youngling,” Beliond said, catching at his right arm. “The battle is over. Sit down.”

Confused by the order, Legolas frowned at him.  “Sit down?”

Beliond nodded. “Sit. You are wounded, and I want to see to your arm.”

Legolas blinked at him and then looked down at his own left arm.  Black blood was smeared up his sleeve all the way to the elbow, but near the shoulder, the sleeve was cut, and something red was running down from the opening and streaking into the black.  With a start, he realized it was blood, his blood, and as he recognized this, his arm abruptly began to throb with pain and his knees seemed to crumple out from under him.  He sat down, saved from falling by Beliond’s hand under his other arm.  Beliond crouched next to him and began cutting the sleeve away with his knife.

Suddenly Eilian was dropping to his knees beside them.  “Where is he hurt?” he asked, sounding frantic.  Maltanaur came up behind him and put a steadying hand on his shoulder.

“What are you doing here, Eilian?” Legolas asked, voicing the confusion he had felt since he first caught sight on his brother on the battle field.

“Looking after you, of course,” Eilian answered lightly, his anxious eyes still on Beliond.

Legolas snorted and then realized that he was feeling a little light headed. “I do not need looking after,” he insisted.

“He has a sword wound to his left arm, you see?” Beliond said, his voice too sounding a little shaky.  He peered at Legolas’s filthy arm.  “Give me your water skin,” he ordered, holding out his hand, and Eilian hastily detached his water skin and handed it to the older Elf, who began sluicing the wound out with the clean water.  Legolas hissed at the sting and then pressed his lips together to prevent any other sound from escaping.  Eilian put his arm around him, and Legolas was suddenly struck with gratitude for his familiar warmth. Perhaps being looked after a little was not such a bad thing.

Galorion came up.  “How is he?”

“The wound needs stitching,” Beliond answered.  “I can do it.”  Legolas frowned at that news, but took one look at the gaping lips of the wound and knew that Beliond was right.  His stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Good,” responded the lieutenant.  “Hello, Eilian.  You certainly arrived at the right moment.”

“I try to please,” Eilian answered.

“I am directing my warriors to set up a camp just south of here.  You can join us if you like,” Galorion offered.

Eilian nodded, accepting the invitation, but he made no move to leave Legolas’s side.  “Are you certain he should not be sent home to the healers?” he asked Beliond.  Galorion laughed softly and went off to organize the destruction of the Orcs’ bodies.

Exasperated by being talked over rather than to, Legolas spoke sharply. “Stop fussing, Eilian.  Nana can do it.”

His brother turned dismayed eyes in his direction and touched him softly on the forehead. “Were you struck on the head?” he asked gently.

Legolas slapped at his hand.  “No!  Stop fussing!  You are as bad as Adar.”

“He is not delusional,” Beliond put in. “He is simply being smart-mouthed.” Eilian frowned, but Legolas’s attention was drawn by the fact that Beliond had opened his small healing kit and was threading a needle.  He looked hastily away as his stomach tightened again.  He felt Beliond’s fingers pinching the edge of the wound together and braced himself, but when his keeper took the first deep stitch, he heard himself spit out one of the Dwarvish words Beliond had been snarling after the Orc horn had sounded. Eilian’s eyebrows shot up, and Beliond paused.

Then, with an amused half smile on his face, Eilian detached his knife from his belt, removed the knife from the leather sheath, and shoved the sheath between Legolas’s teeth.  “Bite down on that,” he advised.  “And I suggest you wipe that word from your vocabulary before you go home to see Adar.”

Beliond bent to his task again. “Thranduil already knows that word,” he said dryly.

Both Eilian and Legolas turned to look at him, but Legolas suddenly clenched his teeth around the sheath as Beliond continued closing his wound.

“You did well, Lalorn,” Beliond said, talking all the while he was stitching.  “And I was very happy to see you there shooting that Warg.  Do you know when you were wounded?”  Legolas shook his head and tried to draw deep breaths around the sheath.  “It is like that sometimes,” Beliond went on.  “The excitement of battle closes out the awareness of all else.”  He broke the thread and then reached into his healing kit again for a small jar of paste that he spread on the tightly stitched wound to prevent infection.

Legolas pulled Eilian’s knife sheath from his mouth and handed it back to him, limp with relief that Beliond was finished.  “Who is Lalorn?” he asked teasingly.

Beliond stared at him, his face suddenly stiff.  “What do you mean?”

“You called me Lalorn,” Legolas told him, a little uncertain now. “Who is that?”

Beliond bent his head to wrap bandaging around the wound, and for a moment, Legolas thought he was not going to answer.  “He was an overconfident young warrior, just like you,” he finally said.

“I am not overconfident,” Legolas protested indignantly. Surely Beliond had realized by now that his first impression of Legolas had been mistaken. Beliond gathered his belongings, rose to his feet, and walked off without another word.

Legolas turned to Eilian and Maltanaur, who were helping him to his feet.  “He is impossible to please!”

Maltanaur sighed.  “Lalorn was his son, Legolas.  He died at Dagorlad when he was not much older than you.”  Eilian’s arm tightened around him.

Dismayed, Legolas looked toward where Beliond had disappeared into the trees. “Come,” Eilian said, “I want to get you settled at the campsite with the other wounded.”  Unable to resist, he allowed himself to be helped along, with Eilian’s steadying arm around his waist.  When they reached the campsite, he found that, except for Galorion and Beliond, everyone from his patrol was there among the wounded, although all of the injuries seemed to be minor.  He was suddenly chilling aware of how fortunate they had been that Eilian’s warriors had arrived when they did.

Eilian carefully removed Legolas’s pack and pushed him to the ground near an oak tree.  “You will sleep next to me for the rest of the night. I want to keep an eye on you to make sure that arm does not get infected.”  Legolas rolled his eyes but found he was grateful to be able to lean back against the tree.  Now that the heat of battle had faded, he was exhausted and his arm throbbed with pain.

Some of the uninjured Elves were now trickling into the campsite.  Legolas recognized Galelas, who was tentatively approaching Tinár, who sat nearby.  “How are you?” Galelas asked.

“My wound is minor,” Tinár sniffed.  “It would take more than a few Orcs to bring me to much harm.”

Galorion suddenly appeared. “It almost took only one injured Orc to bring you to harm tonight, Tinár.”  The lieutenant’s voice was sharp.  “Surely you know enough to make certain an enemy is dead before you turn your back on him. You were fortunate that your brother was there to save you from your own folly. Moreover, you were out of the trees and on the ground exceptionally early. I have spoken to you before about wasting arrows.  In going to the ground so soon, you endangered not only yourself but Fóril, who had to cover your back.  I want to see a better performance from you the next time we run into danger.”

Tinár opened his mouth as if to respond, but Galorion ignored him and went over to check on Tynd, who had bandaging around his thigh.  Legolas cringed for his fellow warrior and fervently hoped he never did anything to merit such a public tongue lashing.

A sudden thought occurred to him, and he dragged his pack closer and began pawing through it.  “Let me do that,” Eilian chided, but Legolas had found what he was looking for.  He pulled out a small, wrapped package and held it out to Eilian, who took it with a surprised look.

“I know you gave me your own rune,” Legolas told him. “You should not have done that, Eilian, but now that I have it, I want to keep it, if you do not mind. I got you a new one in Esgaroth.”  Eilian looked down at the package in his hand and then back up at Legolas with a look of amusement in his eyes that Legolas had not expected.

“Thank you,” Eilian said and then leaned forward to kiss him on the forehead.

“How are you, Legolas?” said someone, and he looked up to find that Galelas had approached them.

“Not bad,” Legolas responded cautiously.  He and Galelas had never gotten along very well.  Galelas’s competitiveness had always made trouble between them.

“You did well,” Eilian told Galelas and gestured an invitation for him to sit down. Legolas was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy.  His brother had not told him that he had done well and, indeed, had spent most of his time fussing over him and giving him orders.  He watched with hooded eyes as Galelas glowed under Eilian’s praise.

Eilian turned back to Legolas. “You should sleep,” he said.  “You look exhausted.”

Legolas scowled at him.  “Yes, sir, my lord captain sir.”

Galelas suppressed a surprised snort, and Eilian looked exasperated.  “Do not make me threaten to report you to Adar, brat.”

Legolas grimaced but lay back obediently and let Eilian pull a blanket over him.  “You fought well, Legolas,” Eilian murmured, tucking the blanket around him.  “I was proud of you tonight.”  Suddenly, Legolas relaxed and found that he was deeply grateful for his brother’s presence. His last waking thought was that Eilian may have praised Galelas, but Tinár, not Eilian, was still Galelas’s brother.

***

Maltanaur moved noisily toward the rocks where he thought his quarry was perched.  He did not want to be shot, after all, so he wanted Beliond to hear him coming.  He paused about ten yards from the figure he could see silhouetted against the night sky.  After a moment, Beliond turned his head.  “Are you simply going to stand there or are you planning on joining me?”

Maltanaur smiled to himself and went to sit next to the other warrior.  “It has been long since we have met,” he observed. Beliond nodded, and the silence stretched between them.  “How is Legolas doing?” Maltanaur finally asked.

Beliond shrugged.  “Well enough. He is good with weapons, and he listens well most of the time.”

“I have always liked Legolas,” Maltanaur observed, “but that could be because Eilian dotes on him and always has. I am glad to hear that he is doing well.”

Again they sat in silence watching the stars as they began to fade in the pale light of dawn.  “And how are you doing, old friend?” Maltanaur asked softly.

Beliond sat without speaking for so long that Maltanaur had concluded he was not going to answer when he sighed and said, “I never wanted to be responsible for a new warrior again. I begged the king not to force this task on me. And the youngling frightens the life out of me at least twice a week.  How have you done it with the older one for so many years?”

Maltanaur shrugged.  “The first fifty years are the hardest,” he confided and then laughed at Beliond’s look of dismay.  “In truth, I have grown very fond of Eilian,” he added, “and keeping him safe is now a task I would entrust to no one else, especially not Eilian himself.  You may come to feel the same way.”

Beliond grimaced.  “I fear I already have.”  Maltanaur smiled a private smile and thought about what a wily Elf his king was.  Then, in silence, the guardians of two of Thranduil’s sons watched the dawn creep into the eastern sky.

***

I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they are his, not mine. I gain only the enriched imaginative life that I assume he meant for me to gain.

Thank you, Nilmandra, for beta reading this chapter

*******

10.  Warriors

Legolas wrapped the thread carefully around the pheasant feathers he was holding at the nocked end of the new arrow.  His patrol had returned from their mission late last night, and Todith had set him and his group’s other wounded members to making arrows today.  They certainly needed a new supply.  Even though they had salvaged all the arrows they could after the battle with the Orcs and Wargs, Legolas’s quiver had been only half full on the return trip, and his had not been the only one.  They had been fortunate not to have run into more trouble.

Fóril was singing a song of his own making about a foolish, egotistical warrior, and Legolas wondered how long it would be before Tinár realized that the song was about him.  He was a little worried that Fóril would go too far and provoke Tinár into blows. If that happened, they were all likely to spend the next month doing clean up duty for the whole patrol. But the song was very amusing, and Legolas had finally decided that washing dishes with his friends was a small price to pay for the entertainment.

Fóril had just reached a verse in which the foolish warrior was standing naked before the enemy, boasting mistakenly about the size of his undersized weapon, when the sound of an approaching rider was heard.  They all turned to look as a Man rode into camp, accompanied by the patrol’s sentries. The Man looked nervous.  Legolas had noticed that Men were often ill at ease around the Elves.

The Man dismounted and approached Todith, pulling a message from a pouch at his belt.  Todith scanned the parchment while the messenger waited and then spoke to him briefly, evidently sending him on his way, for he climbed quickly back on to his horse and rode out of camp with relief written all over his face.

Todith walked over to the rock he used as a desk and began writing a message of his own.  Then he looked around, spotted the group making arrows, and beckoned. “Legolas!” he called.  Legolas placed his arrow carefully in the container and then jumped to his feet and trotted over to his captain.

Todith grinned at him. “I want you to carry some messages to Ithilden for me.”  Legolas’s heart leapt.  He was being sent on a visit home!  Todith obviously saw his delight, for he laughed out loud.  “I am letting Ithilden know about our encounter with the Orcs, and also the Master of Esgaroth tells me they have imprisoned the Man who cut the trees without the king’s permission.  Take an extra day’s rest once you have delivered the dispatches,” he added, clearly enjoying this chance to make one of his warriors happy.  “With that shoulder wound, you cannot go out on patrol for a few days anyway. Beliond will accompany you, of course.  You can tell him.”  Then he waved his hand in dismissal, and Legolas turned to go happily in search of Beliond.

He stopped by Tynd, Tinár, and Fóril, who were still making arrows.  “Todith is sending me with dispatches to Ithilden,” he told them, scarcely able to contain himself.  His loneliness had abated considerably in the last few weeks, but he still missed home far more than he had ever thought he would.

Tinár raised one eyebrow.  “I wonder why he chose you,” he said, sarcasm evident in his tone.  He said no more, but the implication was clear that Legolas was getting preferential treatment because of who he was.

Fóril shrugged and winked at Legolas.  “Todith always sends the new warriors home as soon as he can after they have been wounded for the first time.  He says it eases their families’ minds so that he does not have to answer anxious letters.”  Legolas smiled gratefully at him and then ran off in search of Beliond, while Fóril took up his song again, this time with a verse about a maiden booting the egotistical warrior in the backside and sending him sprawling down some stairs.

***

“Lord Legolas,” announced the aide, and Ithilden looked up, startled to find a grinning Legolas coming through the door into his office.  The smiling aide withdrew as Ithilden jumped to his feet.

“Legolas!” he cried, coming around his desk, intent on embracing this youngling who had been in his thoughts so much over the last few weeks.

“Wait!” said Legolas. He backed up and put his hand over his heart in formal salute. “I have messages from Todith, my lord,” he announced and handed over two sealed dispatches.  He grinned again. “I planned to say that, and you almost ruined it.” Then he came forward to exchange embraces with his brother.  “It is so good to see you!”

Ithilden grasped him by the shoulders and held him at arm’s length to inspect him, and as he did so, he felt Legolas flinch slightly.  He loosened his hands immediately, dismayed by what he suspected.  “Have you seen Adar yet?” he asked neutrally.

Legolas shook his head.  “I came here first because I had the messages. Todith says I am to stay an extra day before I go back, so if you have anything to send to him, you do not have to have it ready right away.”

Ithilden hesitated.  One of Todith’s dispatches would probably tell him what he wanted to know, but he could not bear to let Legolas leave his office without learning the truth from his own mouth.  “Are you all right, Legolas?  Adar has been fretting about you for the last few days, so I thought it was possible you might have been hurt.”  He did not say that that idea had filled him with terror and not a little guilt, although he knew that the latter emotion was irrational.  He had done what he had to and, moreover, what Legolas wanted when he sent him to the Border Patrol.

“A minor wound,” Legolas admitted, looking, to Ithilden’s annoyance, rather proud of himself.  “We ran into some Orcs and Wargs, but we disposed of them without losses to ourselves.  Eilian’s patrol was there too,” he added.

Ithilden managed to keep his face from showing his alarm.  Over the years, he had grown used to the idea that Eilian was sometimes in danger, and he had gradually come to trust that Eilian would wiggle his way safely out again.  But every protective instinct he had was roused by the news that his baby brother had been wounded in a battle with Orcs and Wargs, indeed that he had even been in such a battle.  That Eilian had been there, too, was probably a sign that the situation had been ridiculously dangerous, since that was the state in which Eilian could usually be found. And the youngling had the nerve to look pleased with himself!

As Ithilden scanned the lean young face, however, he could also see something in his brother’s eyes that was not quite so straightforwardly happy with what he had been through.  Ithilden drew a deep breath.  “That is good news,” he lied calmly.  “How fortunate that you were there.”  Legolas smiled, apparently soothed by his commanding officer’s approval.  Legolas would have to go into danger again, and Ithilden had no right to let his brother see that that necessity worried him.

“You should go and see Adar right away,” Ithilden went on, “because he has been worried.  And Eilian is due home soon, I think.”  Legolas’s face lit up at this news. “Adar wanted to talk to him about something,” Ithilden added vaguely.  He knew why Thranduil had summoned Eilian home, but there was no need to share that information with Legolas.

Legolas saluted, turned to go, and then paused.   “Ithilden,” he said hesitantly, “if I am out of line, you can tell me, but there is something I would like to ask you.”

Ithilden raised an eyebrow.  “What is it?” he asked cautiously, ready to tell his little brother if he was asking about matters that were none of his affair.

“One of those dispatches will tell you that the Men from Esgaroth have imprisoned the Man who cut down trees without Adar’s permission.”  Legolas paused and seemed to grope for words.  “Will Adar have heard of this before?” he asked delicately.

Ithilden carefully concealed his amused surprise.  Legolas had evidently learned more than battle tactics during his time with the border patrol.  “I have not felt it necessary to bother Adar with this situation until now,” Ithilden answered.  “He and I will doubtless discuss it later today, though.”

Legolas eyed him levelly and suddenly broke into a cheeky grin.  “It was thoughtful of you not to bother Adar,” he said lightly and then laughed and left the office.

Smiling, Ithilden returned to his desk and skimmed the dispatch in which Todith reported on the battle with the Orcs and Wargs.  Todith did not say so specifically, but Legolas was evidently doing well.

I will do better by him than I have done by Eilian, Ithilden vowed, thinking of the shadow sickness that had weighed Eilian down the last time Ithilden had seen him.  I will not burden him with command so soon; he will stay a simple warrior until he has enough age and experience to bear being responsible for others. And Eilian is going to spend every other year someplace other than the south whether he likes it or not.  I will not see him brought so low again.

He picked up the other dispatch from Todith and read with interest about the fate of the Man who had been so foolish as to cut the trees in Thranduil’s forest.  He wondered whether Thranduil would accept imprisonment as sufficient punishment for the offense and had just decided that he probably would, when he heard a familiar voice in his aide’s office and looked up with a broad smile on his face.

“How is your new son, Calith?” Alfirin was asking, but Ithilden did not hear his aide’s answer because Sinnarn came trotting into his office.

“Ada!” he cried. “Nana says you must stop working now and go riding with me.”

Ithilden rose, caught his son in his arms, and lifted him high, making him squeal in delight.  “She does, does she?  Then I had best do so because it does not pay to disobey your nana.”  He had been expecting his wife and son because Alfirin had been telling him that he was working too hard and had convinced him to spend part of this afternoon with Sinnarn.  She stood in the doorway now, smiling at the two of them.

“The stablemaster has your horse outside for you, husband,” she told him, “and your adar sends instructions that you are to take his grandson for a long ride.”  She came forward and kissed Ithilden on the cheek.  Ithilden smiled fondly down at this Elf who had made it her business to see that he had a life outside of his work.

“If you and Adar are joined against me, then I have no hope of resisting,” he told her, resting Sinnarn on his hip.

“Ada,” said Sinnarn, patting Ithilden’s cheek to get his attention, “is grandfather your ada?”

Ithilden looked at him, amused.  “Of course.  Did you not know that?”

“I thought he was,” Sinnarn said judiciously, “but then I thought that you were too big to have an ada.”

Ithilden laughed.  “Your grandfather has always believed that your uncles and I will never be too big to have an ada, and I do believe I am coming to think that you will never be too big either.”

“Good,” responded Sinnarn approvingly, and Ithilden put his free arm around his wife’s waist as the three of them walked past the smiling aide and out to where his horse waited.

***

Thranduil looked up at the servant’s discreet rap on his office door. “Beliond is here to see you, my lord,” the servant announced.

Thranduil’s breath caught. “Show him in,” he commanded, and Beliond came into the room and bowed.  Thranduil rose and came to clasp arms with him.  “Is Legolas with you?” he demanded, unable to waste time indulging in pleasantries first.

Beliond smiled.  “Indeed he is, my lord.  He has dispatches to deliver to the troop commander and has gone there first.”

“He is well?”

“He has been wounded, but you may believe me when I tell you that he is well.”

Thranduil let out his breath slowly.  His child had been wounded.  But he is well, he reminded himself.  This Elf to whom I have entrusted him tells me that he is well.  “Come and sit,” he invited and took his own chair behind the desk.  “Tell me about my son,” he ordered as calmly as he could.

Beliond paused, looking thoughtful.  “Legolas is as skilled with weapons as the novice masters indicated,” he said slowly, “and while he is green, he is also teachable.  He is courageous; he follows orders; he gets along well with his fellow warriors.  In short, I think you may be very proud of him, my lord.”

Thranduil frowned.  “That is very gratifying, but it is not what I meant.  How was he wounded?  What happened?”

“Legolas can tell you that, my lord,” Beliond answered cautiously.

Thranduil stiffened.  “Are you refusing to tell me how my own son was wounded?” he demanded.

Beliond sat very still for a moment.  “My lord, when you asked me to become Legolas’s body guard, you told me that my responsibility was to look out for his safety.  Perhaps you feel that because your son has been wounded, I have failed in my task?”

“I doubt that,” Thranduil answered promptly.  He had been a warrior and, indeed, still thought of himself as one; he knew that sometimes wounds could not be avoided. Moreover, he trusted Beliond, or he would never have given him charge of Legolas’s well being.  “However, you have been singularly close-mouthed on the subject of my son’s activities.  I want to know what he has been doing and what has befallen him.”

“But it is not part of my responsibility to tell you that, my lord,” Beliond answered, his tone respectful but firm.  “Moreover, if the youngling believes that I am spying on him for you, he may try to evade me at times, and that could have unfortunate consequences.”

“Are you refusing to give me the information for which I am asking?” Thranduil asked incredulously.

“No, my lord,” Beliond answered. “I would never dare to refuse you anything.  But I will tell you that if you force me to give you this information, I do not believe that I can continue to serve as Legolas’s body guard, and that would grieve me, for against my better judgment, I have become quite fond of him.”

Taken aback, Thranduil sat for a moment, scanning the old friend who now sat before him.  “It seems to me that you are refusing me something,” he finally said.  “You are telling me that I must choose between having you watch my son’s back and having you report to me about what he has been doing.”

“It is not I who forces this choice upon you, my lord,” Beliond answered, his face sober.  “It is simply the nature of things that the young grow up and demand a life of their own outside of our control and sometimes out of our sight.  If we refuse to grant it, they take it anyway, and then they lose our guidance entirely.”

Thranduil studied him for a minute more, and then he looked away and sighed.  “You are right,” he admitted.  “This one is my third.  I should know better by now.”

“Legolas will tell you most of it if you give him time,” Beliond offered.

Thranduil smiled wryly.  “Most of it, yes, but he will leave out the parts that he thinks will frighten me.  As I say, he is my third. I have learned a few things while raising the other two.”  He leaned back in his chair and eyed the Elf before him.  “You look well, Beliond,” he observed thoughtfully.  “Legolas has not led you on too merry a chase then?”

Beliond chuckled.  “I must admit that life has been livelier since I began looking after your son, my lord.  He reminds me of you when you were young although he is somewhat more biddable.”

Thranduil laughed.  “Legolas brought messages from Todith you say?  I hope that one of them is about the trees that have been cut without my permission.  I am tired of pretending to Ithilden that I do not know anything about them.”  He rose to indicate that the interview was at an end.   Beliond too came to his feet.  “Come and see me again while you are here,” Thranduil invited.  “We will drink wine and talk about old times.”

“Perhaps there will be time for that, my lord,” Beliond responded, “but I think I will spend tonight and tomorrow alone in the woods.  I have grown fond of Legolas, but I think I will like him even better if I am free of his company for a few hours.”

“I understand,” Thranduil acknowledged wryly.  “I occasionally feel that way about my sons myself and I fear that they may sometimes feel that way about me.” Beliond laughed, bowed, and was gone.

Thranduil stood for a moment, trying to convince himself that he could wait for Legolas to appear and finally deciding that he could not.  He had just started toward the door when there was a quick knock and Legolas came striding in.  For a second, Thranduil stood stock still, suddenly wondering when his sweet elfling had turned into this long-legged warrior.  Then all he saw was his son, and he stepped forward and caught the youngling to him.

“Hello, Adar,” Legolas grinned

“Welcome home, iôn-nín,” Thranduil responded, caressing the back of his son’s head.  “I cannot tell you how happy I am to see you.”

“I am happy to be home,” Legolas said, sounding gratifyingly moved.  Thranduil embraced him again.  He remembered only too well Ithilden’s and Eilian’s visits home after they had first been in battle.  The fear they had felt and the death they had seen had left them both more remote and more grateful to be drawn again into the familiar circle of family and home.

Thranduil studied his last child’s face, noting the strain around his eyes.  He started toward the door, drawing Legolas with him.  “Come,” he said.  “The day is fine and I have worked enough.  We will walk together in the garden, and you will tell me how things have gone with you.”

Legolas seemed to hesitate, and Thranduil recalled the conversation he had just had and turned to him.  “I would like to know both the good and the bad, Legolas, but if there are things of which you do not wish to speak, then it is your right to keep them to yourself.  Understand, though, that I would help ease whatever burdens you carry if you will let me.”

And suddenly, Legolas seemed to relax.  “It has not been so bad, Adar.  I would like to talk to you about it.” Thranduil took his son’s elbow and led him out of the palace and into the afternoon sunshine.

***

Eilian strode down the hallway of the family’s living quarters, intent on gaining his own chamber and washing off the dust of travel before he had to face his father.  A summons from Thranduil had been waiting for him when he had arrived back at the northern Border Patrol’s campsite.  He had not really been surprised.  His response to Thranduil’s demand that he apologize to the settlers had been provocative and he knew it.  What he did not know was what he was going to do now.

He entered his chamber, slammed the door shut behind him, and stood for a second staring moodily at nothing.  Then he shrugged, dropped his pack on the bed, and walked toward the bathing chamber, peeling off clothes and dropping them on the floor as he went.  He might as well enjoy a hot bath as long as he was home.  He would deal with his father when he had to.  It is not as if Adar can make me say the words if I refuse, he thought defiantly.  But he feared that Thranduil meant to do just that.

He did not linger in the bath.  He supposed he would be summoned to the king’s presence soon.  The guards would have told Thranduil of his arrival and his father was unlikely to let the matter slide.  He was pulling on clean clothes from the chest in his room when a servant tapped at the door.  “The king wishes to speak with you, my lord,” he said.  “He is in his own rooms.”

Eilian blinked at that.  He would have expected Thranduil to see him in his office or even in the Great Hall. Eilian had stood in both places stoically accepting more reprimands than he could remember over the years.  His parents’ private sitting room had usually been the site for the sharing of confidences and comfort, and Eilian’s mother had more often than not been the one who spoke to him there.  Puzzlement mixed with apprehension as he knocked on his father’s door and then entered in response to Thranduil’s bidding.

Thranduil was standing in the center of the room while a servant adjusted the robe he was donning for the evening meal, but he came forward immediately to embrace Eilian and kiss his forehead.  Eilian returned the embrace in some bemusement, unable to make out just what his father’s intention was.  Then the king waved the servant out of the room and took a seat in one of the chairs near the unlit fireplace, leaving Eilian standing, and suddenly the situation seemed more familiar.

“You know why I have summoned you home, Eilian,” Thranduil began. “I want you to apologize to the leaders of the settlement for whatever it was you said to them.”

Eilian drew a deep breath.  “Adar, I swear to you I was not rude to them, or at any rate,” he amended, “I was no more rude to them than Sólith in particular was to me.”

“But Sólith is not my son,” Thranduil responded sharply.  “You may not have intended to speak as my representative, but you surely must know that you are always likely to be heard that way.”

“Sólith is not angry at me because he thinks I spoke as your son,” Eilian said hotly.  “He is angry because he knows I intend to bond with Celuwen.”

Thranduil regarded him for a moment and then indicated that Eilian should take the chair nearest him.  “Eilian,” he said more gently, “no matter what the cause of Sólith’s anger is, I believe that if you extend this apology, the settlers will do as I have been asking and move inside the area guarded by the border patrols.  Think about it, iôn-nín.  They will be safer there.  Celuwen will be safer there.”

Eilian looked at his father’s face and knew he was not unsympathetic but he was also unbending.  And with a sinking heart, Eilian also knew that he had no choice.  If he could do anything at all to make Celuwen safer, he would do it.  He would do it for her, even if it meant eating crow in front of Sólith. “When?” he asked.

Thranduil visibly relaxed.  “We will meet with them in the morning.”  Eilian nodded resolutely and Thranduil smiled at him and reached to pat his knee.  “Let us go to evening meal,” he said. “Legolas is home, did you know?”

Eilian’s heart lightened at that news. “No, I did not.  I do not know how much he has told you about the battle we were both in, but you would have been proud of him, Adar.”

“He told me more than I expected him to,” Thranduil answered, “and I am proud of both of you.  You are both willing to do difficult things when the safety of others depends on you.”  He rested his hand on Eilian’s shoulder and they left the room to join the rest of the family.

***

Eilian drew a deep breath and looked straight into the eyes of Sólith, who was sitting directly across the table from him in Thranduil’s council chamber.  “I must apologize for any rudeness in the words I spoke or in my manner toward you. I assure you that I intended no disrespect.”  Thranduil smiled approvingly and Eilian drew what comfort he could from that.

Sólith smiled with malicious satisfaction.  “Thank you, my lord,” he said smoothly.  “Knowing we are respected by those who guard us will help us to feel comfortable in our new home.”

The settlement leader heaved a large sigh. “We will begin the process of moving as soon as we can, my lord,” he told Thranduil, who had now risen, drawing everyone else to their feet too.

“We are glad to know that you and your people will be under our protection now,” Thranduil responded, “for you are dear to us.”

“My lord,” Sólith spoke again, “could I have a few moments to speak to Lord Eilian in private? I have a message for him from my daughter.”

Eilian’s heart leapt and Thranduil looked pleased. He had always liked Celuwen.  “Of course,” Thranduil agreed. “You may use this chamber.”  He gestured for the settlement leader to accompany him and the two of them left, closing the door quietly behind them.  Elian turned to Sólith, eager for what he might have to say.  Abruptly, he felt a twinge of apprehension for Sólith looked entirely too satisfied.

“You have a message from Celuwen?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” Sólith answered.  “Celuwen bids me tell you that she releases you from whatever commitment you might still feel toward her, and she asks that you not visit her again.”

Eilian stared at him, open-mouthed.  “That cannot be true,” he breathed.

“I assure you it is true,” Sólith answered smugly.

“But why?” Eilian cried.

“Do you really need to ask?” Sólith demanded.  “I had not been here more than a day before I heard rumors that you were drinking to excess and spending your evenings alone with a maiden in her cottage.  Do you think that I could know that and not tell my daughter?  I will not let you hurt her, Eilian.  She deserves better than you.  Stay away from her!”  Eilian stood, too stunned to even protest, while Sólith turned and was gone, leaving Eilian to sink into his chair and drop his head in his hands.

For a moment, he burned with a fierce anger toward Sólith, who had no doubt been only too pleased to pass word of Eilian’s misdeeds to his daughter.  Then he moaned, for he knew that if he had not done the things about which Sólith had heard, there would have been nothing to tell.  The person who was most to blame was himself.  By his own actions, he had driven away a maiden about whom he had cared from the time of his earliest memories.  What was he going to do?  What could he do?  He would have to go on as he had been and act as the warrior he was.  He did not really seem to have a choice.

***

Carrying his fishing gear, Legolas walked out of the Great Doors and across the bridge in front of the palace toward the familiar figure leaning against the railing at the other end.  With a grin, Annael straightened up and extended his arm to be clasped, and Legolas took it but then drew his friend into an embrace.  “How good it is to see you, Annael,” he said feelingly.  “How are you?”  He knew that Annael had been in battles with spiders and that he probably still sorrowed for the death of his father.

“I am better,” Annael answered, as they began walking towards the woods where they planned to spend the hours before Annael had to go on duty.  He smiled at Legolas a little shyly.  “Beliniel and I are going to be betrothed next month.  Do you think you will be able to be home for the ceremony?”

“Why am I not surprised?” Legolas laughed.  “I am happy for you, and I will try to be here, but you know how these things are.”

“Yes, I do,” Annael said more seriously.  They walked together in silence for a while, as the trees hummed around them.  “How has it gone with you, Legolas?  I know you were wounded.”

Legolas paused.  If this had been someone other than Annael, he might have answered lightly, but Annael knew him through and through and, moreover, had recently been in battle for the first time himself.  “Do you mean the battle?” he finally asked, and Annael nodded.  “I did well, I think, although it was terrifying,” he admitted. “And yet in some ways, it was exhilarating too.”

Annael smiled slowly.  “Yes.  That combination is odd, is it not?”

“Do you remember how we used to play at being warriors?  You and I and Turgon would guard anyone who would let us, although your naneth was usually the only one who welcomed us completely.”

Annael laughed.  “Naneth says you are to go and see her while you are home.”

“I would like that,” Legolas said.  They came to the stream where they had had the best luck fishing over the years, dropped their lines into the water, and sat contentedly on the bank.  And in talk and silence, the afternoon slipped slowly away for these two, who had now taken their places among Thranduil’s warriors, as they had played at doing when they were too young to know what it would mean.