Mid Winter Gifts

Author’s Notes:  In this tale, Legolas and the twins are nearly adult  - our equivalent to late teens.  It may eventually form part of my ‘Friends’ series, but for now it is a stand-alone story.  There will only be one or possibly two more chapters.  (Update:  I underestimated where this story would take me!  There are a total of six chapters now.  But it is finished.)

Chapter One – A Sailing Trip

The forest of Greenwood the Great was stark but beautiful in winter.  The leafless trees raised their branches high, silhouetted against the low sun.  The air was crisp and cold, and was scented with leaf mould and the distant wisp of wood smoke.

Thranduil had issued an invitation to Elrond and his family to celebrate the mid-winter festival.  Lasgalen experienced harsher, more spectacular winters than the temperate valley of Imladris; and Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen had rarely seen snow.  Elrond’s party had arrived some two weeks before mid-winter, before the passes over the mountains became impassable from storms. 

A week after their arrival, an expedition was arranged; a visit to Esgaroth, or Laketown as the inhabitants called it.  A great market was held there, spreading from the town square to the quays and on to barges moored in the central lake.  All manner of goods were sold there,  leatherwork from Rohan, silver jewellery from Gondor, toys from Dale, and wood carvings from the lakeside villages.  Thranduil was quite sure that his guests would never have seen the like before.

Esgaroth was a day’s journey from Lasgalen.  The party of elves – Elrond’s family, Thranduil and Legolas, and an escort of warriors – arrived at dusk, just as the lamps were lit around the lakeside.  The market continued into the night, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat, baking bread, spices, and the sweet smell of sugar confectionary.  Flames flickered and danced, reflecting off the water, creating a magical atmosphere.  Legolas hovered for some time between two adjacent stalls, finally selecting a silver handled belt knife and choosing an tooled leather scabbard to match it for his father.  Finally, laden with purchases, fripperies and sweetmeats, they returned to the house of the Master of Laketown for the night.

The next morning dawned bright and clear.  Before breakfast Legolas went to the outskirts of the town, leaning over the railings and looking down into the water.  He was joined by Elladan and Elrohir, and together they watched the fishing fleet set off across the lake.  The fleet, a flotilla of small, masted boats, sped over the water to the centre of the lake and then spread out, casting their nets wide.  The three watched with great interest. 

“That looks wonderful!” exclaimed Elrohir.  “Imagine being able to fly across the water like that, like a bird!”  All three were used to handling rowing boats and negotiating the swift-flowing Bruinen and the Forest River, but the sailing boats and the open lake were totally new to them.

“I wish – ” began Legolas.  “I wonder if it would be possible to go out in those boats?  What do you think?”

Elladan looked interested.  “Do you think we could?  Who would we have to ask?  Who’s in charge of the fishing fleet?”

Legolas shrugged.  “I don’t know.  But we could find out!”  They made their way back to the Master’s house for breakfast swiftly, formulating plans.  When they arrived, Thranduil looked up with a smile. 

“Ah, there you are!” he exclaimed.  “This is Peneldur, the fish-master.  He has a suggestion.”

Peneldur, a short, rotund man, with a remarkably fish-like face, bowed.  “My men and I were wondering if the young lords and the little lady would be interested in sailing across the lake today?  We have had a good morning’s fishing, so we could take you if you wish?  All of you, if you desire.”  His gesture included Elrond, Thranduil and Celebrían in the invitation.

Elrond’s eyes were twinkling.  “I think that there are some among us who would be delighted.”  He turned to Celebrían.  “What about you, my dear?  Arwen?”

Celebrían shook her head firmly.  “Thank you, but no.  I recall feeling distinctly unwell when Círdan took me sailing at Mithlond once.  I have no wish to experience sea-sickness again.  You will have to excuse me.”

Arwen was torn.  Sailing sounded wonderful, but she felt disloyal abandoning her mother.  Besides, she had seen a pair of silver signet rings the day before, and this would be the ideal opportunity to purchase them,  while her brothers were safely out of the way.  “Perhaps another time.  I have plans for this morning,” she explained.

They all made their way to the quay, where Celebrían and Arwen watched the departure.  Peneldur went with Elrond and the twins, while his deputy escorted Thranduil and Legolas.  Arwen waved at the departing figures, laughing at the enthusiasm that even her father and Thranduil were displaying.

Celebrían drew her away from the railing.  “I am sure they will have a wonderful time.  And I believe we deserve a little treat for ourselves.  Thranduil tells me that there is a tavern which sells a quite delicious mulled wine.  Shall we find it?” 

They made their way back towards the market place, trailed by two of Thranduil’s guards, who followed at a discreet distance.  Arwen glanced back at them.  “Come, join us!” she invited.  “Perhaps you would help us find the tavern the King spoke of?”

~~**~~

Elrohir and Elladan sat at the front of their boat, trailing their hands in the water.  Peneldur rowed until they came clear of the piers and pillars of the town, away from the shelter of the settlement, and out onto the open lake.  He brushed aside their offers to assist.  “There is no need – I have been sailing single handed, and with my crew for very many years!” 

As the little boat reached the open water, it lurched as the wind buffeted it.  Then with the slap of rope on wood, the sails billowed, and the boat shot forward like an arrow from a bow, the wind carrying it south, away from the town.  With a whoop of exhilaration, Elrohir stood in the prow, Elladan beside him.  He lifted his face to the chill breeze as his hair streamed out behind, feeling the spray splashing coldly on his face.  The boat sped gracefully across the water, skipping from wave to wave, occasionally dipping this way or that as some waves caught it side-on.  Elrohir laughed with delight at this new sensation, and turned to Elladan.  His twin had moved back, and sat in the stern, talking to Peneldur and looking up at the sails.  Elrohir turned back again, releasing his hold on the gunwale, and shifting his balance easily from foot to foot with the movement of the boat.  They soon left Esgaroth far behind.  After a while, however, he felt a strange sensation of unease building within him.  He frowned, puzzled, but ignored it for the moment, revelling in the speed of their passage.  The feeling did not fade, but grew ever stronger, and he turned to his father to mention it to him.

Peneldur had come forward to stand beside him, and  nodded towards Elladan.  “It seems he’s inherited your mother’s sea-sickness!  I don’t think he feels too good.”  Elrohir looked back, then made his way to where Elladan, very pale, sat hunched against the side.  The instinctive impulse to tease his twin died away as he saw how utterly wretched Elladan looked.

Elladan  glanced up. “I’m sorry, El,” he said faintly.  “I didn’t mean to spoil the fun.”

“It doesn’t matter.  You can’t help it.  You must be feeling horrible!”  Elrohir put one hand on his brother’s shoulder, and then turned again to the fish-master.  “Peneldur, can we go back?”

Elrond seconded the request.  “I think we should.  I recall how ill your mother felt at Mithlond.  But when we get back to Esgaroth you should feel better quite quickly.” He looked down at Elladan.  “There is nothing to feel ashamed about,” he added.  “These things cannot be helped.”

“But I feel such a fool!”  Elladan admitted miserably.  He swallowed hard and went even paler as the boat lurched sharply to one side as Peneldur turned it to head back to Esgaroth.

“I think it’s time we were getting back any how,” Peneldur explained.  “The weather feels wrong.  I reckon there’s a storm coming.  We get some vicious squalls coming down off the mountain.  I hope the rest of the fleet gets back into shelter soon!”

The wind was rising, whipping the surface of the lake into white-capped waves.  Sudden sharp gusts caught the sail and shook the boat, rocking it violently from side to side.  Elladan gave a faint moan and sank down further into the well of the boat, his head pillowed against his arm. 

“Not much longer, El.  We should be back at Esgaroth soon,” Elrohir told him quietly.  His own enjoyment of the moment had evaporated with his growing sense of Elladan’s discomfort, and the abrupt change in the weather was worrying.  Out here on the open lake they were completely at the mercy of the wind, and the darkening sky told of a gathering storm.  They had been caught in the open in appalling weather before now, but always before there had been the chance of shelter, and the ground had not heaved and shifted beneath their feet.

The return journey seemed to take forever, and Peneldur was fighting against the wind the whole way.  At long last the lights of Esgaroth appeared through the driving rain that had started to fall.  As they approached the town, Peneldur dropped the sail, using the momentum of the boat and a few swift strokes of the oars to bring them to berth alongside steps which led upward to the walkway that encircled the town.

With a sigh of relief, Elrond pulled Elladan to his feet and guided him up the steps.  Finally on ground which stayed reassuringly still, Elladan began to recover his spirits.  “Father?  Please don’t tell Arwen about this!” he begged.

“I think she will probably guess, but if not I promise I will say nothing,” Elrond reassured him.  “Peneldur, thank you for returning us safely.  Are all the boats back in?”

Peneldur looked grim.  He had been holding a rapid, terse conversation with some of his sailors, but it seemed they had not had good news.  “The storm came down from that mountain very sudden.   It hit the boats that went north hard.  Several capsized, but we recovered their crews.  But some – some are still missing.”

“That is bad news indeed,” said Elrond in sympathy.  “How many boats?  How many men?  Is there any aid we can give you?”

“Three boats.  Five crew, including my deputy, Gundor,” Peneldur listed grimly. 

“But that’s – ”  Elrohir began.

“Aye,”  Peneldur confirmed.  “That’s the boat the King and his son were on.  They’re missing too.”

To be continued

Chapter Two – Rescue

The storm finally blew itself out some time after midnight.  The pounding rain which had been hammering on the windows gradually eased, and the howling wind dropped to a mutter.  The silence seemed loud after the fury of the gale, and the only sounds now were the crack of wood from the fire, and the soft, restless movements and voices of those who waited. 

Elrond had known better than to suggest anyone try to sleep.  He knew it would be impossible.  He had spoken with Peneldur and Nahald, the guard captain, and reluctantly agreed with their refusal to send anyone out searching in the storm.

“I’ll not risk any more men,”  Peneldur stated flatly.  “We’ll see nothing in this, in any case.  We’ll see what happens come dawn.”

He had also spoken with Thranduil’s guards.  They were desperate to search for their King and the prince, but had agreed to wait until Nahald’s men could join them.  There was little the two of them could do alone.  They both seemed stunned by what had occurred, at the magnitude of the tragedy which had hit the Greenwood.  Although Elrond hoped desperately that they would find both Thranduil and Legolas, the practical part of his mind knew it was an almost impossible chance.  The reality was that both had perished in the icy, storm-tossed waters.

Just before dawn, Peneldur returned.  “We’re leaving at first light, sending out search parties.  I’m sending the fleet out, but it’s a huge area to search.  I’m not sure which way the other boats went, and even if they started close together, the storm will have scattered them.  I suppose you’ll want to come?”

“Yes,” Elrond confirmed.  Peneldur’s question had saved him the trouble of asking to accompany the searchers.

“I’m coming as well,” Elrohir stated firmly.  Elrond looked at him, then nodded in acquiescence.

“And me,” added Elladan.  “And don’t tell me I can’t, or that I was ill before, I don’t care!  I’m going with you.”

Elrond immediately protested.  “Elladan, there is no point.  You would be better off here.  It will not help Legolas or Thranduil.”

“I’m going,”  Elladan repeated stubbornly.  “Surely you don’t expect me to just stay here and wait?”

Before Elrond could answer – he did not imagine for one minute that Elladan would docilely sit in Esgaroth – Nahald joined in.

“I’m sending men out to search along the lakeside.  If you’ve got eyes like those wood elves, you’d be more use to me there.  So will you help us instead?”

As soon as it was light enough for the men to see, the search parties left.  Elrond and Elrohir accompanied the rescue boats, while Elladan, Celebrían and Arwen went with the troops who would search around the banks.

At the docks, the devastation was clear to see.  Two of the jetties had been destroyed, and another badly damaged.  Wreckage littered the surface of the water; sharp, splintered planks, and wicker fish baskets.

“The storm was one of the worst we’ve had for nigh on twenty years.  The town’s built to withstand the weather – but nothing can stand against that wind when it comes from the north.  It will take a long time to rebuild.”  Peneldur sounded bitter.  The damage to the docks, the loss of the boats – and the crews – were hard blows.

In sharp contrast to the day before, the lake was as calm as a mill pond.  It was bitterly cold, but a pale, wintery sun shone down, sparkling off the water.  The boats negotiated their way through the flotsam, and spread out to search as much of the lake as possible.  Peneldur took the boat north, and Elrond and Elrohir gazed out across the lake, searching desperately for a boat, even upturned; wreckage large enough for a survivor to cling to; or even bodies. 

One of the other boats had already found something.  The crew were leaning over the side, dragging something on board, their faces grim.  Peneldur peered at them.  “What is it?  Can you see?” he asked Elrond.

“One of your fishermen, I fear.  He looks young, with short, brown hair, slightly curled.”

Peneldur gave a deep sigh.  “Ramdal.  It was his first season in the fleet.  I’ll have to see his ma when we get back.  He was her eldest, the only lad.”

“I am sorry,” Elrond told him quietly.  “I hope we will find some of your people alive.”

They continued northward, making slow progress in the light wind.  For a long time they saw nothing of what they sought, just floating wreckage here and there.  Then Elrohir pointed to the east.  “Look, there!  I can see a boat.  It’s overturned, but at least it hasn’t sunk.”

Peneldur grunted.  “With the wind in this direction, it’ll be quicker to row.  Can you steer us there?”

Elrohir nodded, taking the rudder, while his father and Peneldur pulled at the oars.  He did not take his eyes off the upturned hull.  He could see something on the keel, near the stern, but could not work out what it was.  As they drew nearer, he realised.  It was a hand; bloodless, white-knuckled, clinging desperately to the boat.  It was impossible to see who the hand belonged to, so he steered the boat around to the far side. 

There was a figure in the water, head just clear of the surface, blond hair plastered over the deathly pale face, eyes closed. 

Legolas.

Beside him, Elrohir heard his father murmur something to Elbereth, then he raised his voice.  “Legolas?  Can you hear me?  Legolas?”  There was little response, Legolas appeared to be only semi-conscious. 

Peneldur was leaning over the side, but then he gave a curse.  “I can’t reach!  I can’t get close enough!”

Without hesitation, Elrohir slid over the side and into the water, stifling a gasp.  It was bitterly cold.  He swam to Legolas’ side, placing one arm around his waist.  “Legolas?  You can let go now.”  The death-like grip did not relax, but Legolas slowly opened his eyes.

He gazed at Elrohir without recognition for a moment, then whispered incredulously, “Ellahir?”

“That’s right, but only one of us.  Now, will you let go of that boat?  I think we should get you back to Esgaroth, don’t you?”  Elrohir tried to pull Legolas towards Peneldur’s boat, but he still did not relinquish his hold.

There was a slight splash, then Elrond was there as well.  He reached up, and gently prised Legolas’ stiff, numbed fingers free from the keel he clung to so desperately.  Holding Legolas between them, Elrond and Elrohir swam the few yards to the boat, passing him up to Peneldur, and scrambling back on board themselves.  Peneldur had already stripped off Legolas’ drenched clothes, and wrapped a thick blanket around him. Legolas sat motionless, eyes closed, leaning against the side, the blanket draped around his shoulders.  His expression was  bleak and desolate.

“My father,” he murmured softly.  “Where – where is he?”

Elrond shook his head sadly.  “I do not know.  We hoped we would find you both together.”

Legolas hung his head in despair, his hands hanging limply between his knees.  It was a miracle the cold had not killed him.  The youngling was totally exhausted, as pale as a wraith, and chilled to the bone.  But that, at least, Elrond could do something about.

He removed his own tunic,  and pulled Legolas against him, wrapping the blankets around them both.  Legolas desperately needed warmth, and sharing the heat of his own body was all that was available at the moment.  Elrond wrapped his arms around Legolas, holding him close, and extended his healing senses, giving of his own strength, and warmth, and power.  

Dimly, he could hear Elrohir’s concern.  “Father, be careful. Don’t overdo it.  Just –”  Elrohir sighed.  “Be careful, please?”

At last, Elrond opened his eyes, and looked down at Legolas again.  He was stronger now, but there was one thing he had not been able to help with.  Legolas was in utter despair.  He believed his father was dead – and Elrond feared he was right. 

~~*~~

Along the edges of the Long Lake were several tiny villages and hamlets, and many solitary homesteads.  The folk here survived by hunting, and fishing, and scavenging what could be found along the sides of the lake. 

Tayla’s parents lived in one of the more isolated huts. After the storm, at dawn,  she set off along the shores, searching for debris, firewood, useful pottery, anything that could be of use; either in their home or for trading.  Rounding a small headland, she came to another mud bank, and stopped dead.  There was a figure, lying half in, half out of the water.  She approached cautiously, noticing the long, fair hair; tangled and smeared with mud. Then she saw that the figure was breathing; not dead as she had thought.  Turning, she ran back to the hut, shouting for her mother. 

“Mama!  I found someone!  Come and see!  A lady, I think, but she’s not drownded!”

Tayla’s mother followed the girl to the mud bank.  There was a figure, but not a woman, she thought, despite the long hair.  No, this was undoubtedly a male.  She felt for a pulse, could not find it, and carefully turned the figure over.  The pulse was strong, regular, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  She hated finding victims of drownings or shipwrecks.  But as she brushed the long hair aside, her hand froze.

“Mama?  What is it?  Who is it?”

“An elf.  Look, can you see the ears?  He must be from the Greenwood.  I wonder how he came to be here?  Tayla, go and find your Da.  Tell him to come and help.  We need to get this one back home.  He’s hurt.” 

She brushed the hair away again, tracing the long gash along one side of the face.  “I wonder who he is?”

To be continued

Chapter Three - Awakenings

The short winter day was already darkening into dusk by mid-afternoon as Peneldur brought his boat back to the one remaining undamaged jetty.  From the lakeside, the damage looked even worse.  Carrying Legolas, Elrond strode up the steps to the town, Elrohir pacing beside him.  There was a bustle of noise and people as they entered the master’s house.  Some of the search parties had already returned, most of them completely empty-handed.  Some had grim news, tales of wreckage found from the missing boats.  Besides Ramdal, another fisherman had been recovered, but too late.

Elrond carried Legolas to the room he had shared with his father that first night.  It seemed so long ago now.  “We need to get him warm,” Elrond explained.  “But carefully.  Like this.”  He wrapped stones, already heated in the fire - the men of Laketown had long experience in treating immersion in the icy waters - in thick cloth, and placed them next to Legolas, close to his body.  Then he carefully covered him with a warm blanket, and filled a deep basin with boiling water.  A handful of crushed athelas was added, and the scent crept around the room.  The basin was placed on the floor, at the head of the bed, so Legolas could breathe the warm, moist air.

With a weary sigh, Elrond straightened.  “That is all I can do for now,” he said.  “Elrohir, will you stay with him?  Find me if he wakes.  I will see if I can find any more news.  Keep the fire going, and replace the stones, and the water, when you need to.”

Nodding, Elrohir sat down by the bed.  The room was hot and stuffy, and after a while he removed his outer tunic, leaving just a sleeveless shift.  But the heat was just what Legolas needed – already he seemed a little warmer to the touch.   He was deeply relieved that they had at least found Legolas; it would be terrible if anything happened to his friend.  But he was still deeply concerned for Thranduil.  If he was dead – and things did not look promising – then Legolas would be thrust into kingship.  His mother had died when Legolas was just ten, and if he had lost his father as well …  Elrohir tried to imagine how he would feel if anything happened to either of his parents, or Elladan, or Arwen, but found it too dreadful to contemplate.

He boiled a little more water, and added some more athelas, then checked the heated stones, replacing them as well.  The fire was still burning brightly, and he was quite sure now that Legolas felt warmer.  He was still asleep, his eyes closed, his dark lashes showing up starkly against his pale skin.

Elrond joined him a little later.  There was one piece of good news – one of the missing fishermen had been found, adrift in his boat, the mast broken and the oars missing.  He, too, was suffering from the effects of the  cold, but was expected to recover.  There was little other news, and nothing had been heard of from the search parties that Celebrían, Arwen and Elladan had joined.  If they did not find anything by nightfall, they were to camp during the hours of darkness, and continue the next day.

As Elrohir slid his hand beneath the blanket to check the warming stones again, he was startled to hear a faint voice make a protest.  “Hey, watch where you’re groping me!”

He looked up in delight.  “Legolas!  Thank the Valar!  How do you feel?”

“A lot warmer than I did.”  Legolas was looking, and sounding, more alert by the minute.  “But is there any more news?  Have you found my father?”  His face fell as he read the answer in their expressions.

“No, not yet,” Elrond told him sadly.  “But one of the fishermen has been found alive.  Legolas, there is still hope.  Can you tell me what happened?  Do you remember?”

Legolas nodded.  “Yes, everything apart from the very end.”  He closed his eyes again wearily, trying to come to terms with the fact that his father was still missing.  Tears pricked at his eyelids.  He felt Elrond stroking his head gently.

“There is no shame in tears, little one.  But do not give up yet.”

“I’ll go and find Peneldur,” suggested Elrohir.  “I know he wants to know about Gundor.”  He returned moments later with Peneldur.

“Do you have a clearer picture of the damage yet?”  Elrond asked him.

Peneldur nodded.  “Aye.  It’s the worst we’ve had for twenty years or more, I’d say.  We can rebuild it, but it’ll take time, timber – and men.  It’ll be a hard task.”

As Legolas listened to Peneldur’s description of what would have to be done, he realised this was not just his personal tragedy.  The disaster had hit the whole of Laketown hard.  Then Peneldur turned to him.  “Can you tell me what happened to you, lad?”

Legolas dropped his head, wondering where to start.  Then he looked up again.  “When we saw the storm approaching, Gundor turned and began to head back to Esgaroth.  But it hit us almost immediately.  Gundor tried to drop the sail, but a rope snapped, and the end of it hit Father in the face.  He – he was knocked overboard.  I went in to try to find him, but I couldn’t see him, I couldn’t see him anywhere!  Gundor kept trying to pull me back on the boat.  He said –”  he voice quavered, just a little – “He said he was damned if he was going to see us both drown.  But I couldn’t just give up!  The water was very murky, so it was impossible to see anything, but I kept diving down, and calling, and trying to find him, but there was nothing.”  He fell silent.

“And what then?  What about Gundor, and the boat?”  Peneldur asked him.

Legolas shrugged.  “I’m not quite sure.  While I was searching, the boat was being carried further and further away.  Then it suddenly wasn’t there anymore.  It had capsized.  I tried to find what had happened to Gundor, but I couldn’t see him either. The water was so rough, I couldn’t see anything.  I’m sorry.”  His voice dropped, and he added, almost to himself, “I couldn’t find either of them.” 

He paused for a moment, then continued, “In the end, I couldn’t go on any more.  I was so cold, so tired.  I was so scared.  It was dark by then, and I didn’t know where I was.  Then I saw a boat, and managed to swim just that bit further.  Somehow I got up on top of it – I thought that would be better than being in the water.  I thought that maybe, in the morning, someone would find me.  But then, in the morning, I think I fell asleep – and I slipped off the boat.  I couldn’t get back on.  So I just hung on to it.  It seemed to be forever, and the water was so cold.  I – I don’t really remember anything after that.”

“That would be when we arrived.  Just in time, it would seem.”

“Oh.  I thought I remembered seeing you there.”  Legolas closed his eyes again, and leaned back against the bedhead.  “Lord Elrond, who’s here?”

“Who is here?  Some of your father’s guards, and Peneldur’s men, and the warriors from Esgaroth.  The Master is talking to them now.  Why?”

“Because I want to talk to them as well.  Now.”  He stood, pulling the blanket off the bed with him, and draping it around his shoulders. 

“Legolas, wait!  At least get dressed first!”  Elrond protested.

“There’s no time, he’s almost finished, can’t you hear?  Come on.”

He went straight to the main hall, where the Master was addressing the assembled rescuers.  “It’s now too late to continue our searches, but we will start again at dawn.  There are still three missing, we’re going to do everything we can to find them.”

Before he could dismiss them, Legolas stepped forward.  “Lord Bregor, may I speak as well?”  At Bregor’s nod, Legolas stood at his side, facing the hall.  His feet were bare, he was clad only in the blanket snatched from the bed, and his hair, snarled and tangled, hung in limp rats-tails around his shoulders.  But Elrond did not see this, and nor, it seemed, did the men in the hall.  Legolas stood, tall and confident, waiting until those that had already turned away at the end of Bregor’s speech turned again to face him.  Despite his bedraggled appearance, he looked every inch  a Prince of the Greenwood.

“People of Laketown,” he began.  “I understand from fish-master Peneldur that this is the worst disaster to strike you for many years.  Much of your fleet has been damaged or destroyed, and the docks and jetties also damaged, which will affect your trading and commerce.  The elves of the Greenwood will lend what aid we can.  We will give wood, to rebuild both the docks and the fishing fleet.  We will provide extra hands for the rebuilding work, though I fear we have little knowledge of boat-building.  We will help you to search for those of your people who are still missing.

“This is in gratitude for your efforts to help me and my father, and because we are neighbours and allies.  My father – ”  Legolas stopped momentarily, but then continued steadily – “my father is still missing, but I know that he  would – will – agree with this pledge.”  He stepped back, and seemed surprised at the applause that broke out from the men in the hall, and at the way every single one of the elven guards bowed to him.

He crossed to the doorway, where Elrond and Elrohir both stood, also applauding.  “Well done, little – forgive me.  Well done, Prince Legolas,”  Elrond said.  “Your father would have – your father will be proud of you.”  He cursed himself for that unfortunate slip of the tongue.

“I hope so,”  Legolas murmured, almost to himself.  “I hope so.”

~~*~~

Slowly, very slowly, Thranduil opened his eyes.  For a moment the world was a blur, and he blinked several times, gradually finding he was able to focus.  It did little to help his sense of disorientation.  He was looking at rough-hewn planks only inches above him; the wood coarse-grained and splintered.  He lay on a thin, lumpy mattress and was covered by a coarse blanket that felt harsh against his bare skin.  He gazed blankly at the boards.  Where in all of Arda was he?  How had he come to be here?

There was a throbbing pain along one side of his face, and he began to raise one hand to explore the injury.  As he did so, he was aware of a slight movement at his side, and turned his head to see a girl of perhaps ten years staring at him.  She backed away hurriedly, her eyes wide in an expression remarkably similar to –

“Ion nîn!” Thranduil said desperately, his voice a little hoarse.  He tried to sit, but had to stop partway, before his head connected with the planks above him.  He repeated, “Ion nîn.  Mas i ion nîn?”   Memory came crashing down on him; the boating trip, the storm, Gundor desperately trying to control the little boat and drop the sail before the wind ripped it to shreds.  There had been a sharp crack, audible over the buffeting wind, and something had struck him in the face with all the force of a heavy blow.  Then there was a confusing blur of falling, icy waters closing over him, Legolas screaming his name, and the boat being swept away from him.  He had dimly been able to hear Legolas calling; his voice growing ever fainter; but had been unable to respond, all his attention and effort concentrated on staying afloat, staying conscious.  There was little to recall after that.

At the sound of his voice, a woman appeared, but she and the girl both stared at him uncomprehendingly.  The child took a further step back, although she could not go far, the room was tiny.

Abruptly, Thranduil realised he had spoken in Sindarin.  It was small wonder they stared at him so blankly.  He tried to gather his scattered thoughts, and repeated the words in Westron.  “My son.  Where is my son?  He was with me.  Have you seen him?”

Understanding broke over the woman’s face, but she shook her head regretfully.  “No,” she whispered, a little fearfully.  “There was no one else. Your son?  How old is he?”

Thranduil closed his eyes in despair.  He hoped desperately that Legolas had had the sense to stay on board the boat, and was safely in Esgaroth now, but he feared it was no so.  He could not be sure, but he thought Legolas had jumped into the water after him.  Had Gundor been able to pull him back?  “He is just a child,” he explained.  “Nearly adult now, but still a child.”

“Aye, I know what you mean.”  The woman spoke with complete understanding.  “My lad’s one of the fisher folk at Laketown.  This is his first season there.  He’s grown, but I still worry about him.  And specially after that dreadful storm yesterday!  I hope he weren’t out in it.”

“Wait a moment,” Thranduil interrupted her.  “Yesterday?  The storm was yesterday?  How long have I been here?”

“Tayla here found you just after dawn.  You’d been washed up on the shore, and we brought you back here. Now it’s the afternoon, a bit after midday.  I’m Estella.  Do you have a name?”

Thranduil answered automatically.  “Oropherion.”  It was a name he used among strangers, when it might not be wise to disclose his true identity.  What was more, it had the advantage of being true.  Yesterday.  The storm had been a day ago.  He had been missing for all that time.  Legolas, if he was safe – please, blessed Elbereth, he must be safe! – would be frantic with fear and worry.  “Lady Estella, I have to return to Esgaroth.  If my son is there, he will be desperately worried.  If he is not there …”  He could not continue that thought.  “I have to find him.  Your name means ‘hope’ in my tongue.  Perhaps it is an omen.  Let us hope we will both find our sons.”

Estella nodded.  “I understand that you want to go as soon as may be, but first, will you eat with us?  There’s bread, and cheese, and apples, and milk to drink.  There’s no meat, I’m afraid.  Is that all right?  I’m sorry, I don’t know what you might eat.  I’ve scarcely met any of your folk before.  People say that the Elvenking is wary of men, that he’s a bad one to cross, that it’s dangerous to trespass in his forest.  Is that true?”  She flushed.  “Forgive me, I don’t mean to be rude.  ’Tis your King I’m talking about.”

“I – have never heard any of those rumours before,”  Thranduil told her.  Did they really say such things about him?  “But I think you would have nothing to fear.  The only dangers are the spiders, and we try to keep them under control, and well away from this part of the forest.  And I think the King would be greatly pleased at the care you have shown me. But thank you, cheese and bread would be most welcome.”

Estella pointed to a pile at the foot of the bed.  “Your clothes are there.”  She blushed, most becomingly.  “I took off all your wet things, they were soaked through, and you were so cold!  We had to get you warm and dry. And I washed them, and dried them  for you.”  She took her daughter’s hand.  “Tayla, come away, we’ll leave Oropherion in peace.”  She moved aside, pulling a thin curtain across behind her. 

Thranduil saw she had left him in a tiny alcove off what appeared to be the only other room in the hut.  On the far side – two feet away – were two narrow bunks, one above the other, the same, he realised, as where he had lain.  Standing, he dressed swiftly.  He still felt a little light-headed from the blow, but nothing would prevent him from returning to Esgaroth as soon as possible. 

Trying to piece together his hazy, jumbled memories he remembered attempting to swim towards the shore, knowing that in the vastness of the lake, amid the icy waves, he had no chance of survival.  He had come across a floating log and had clung to it desperately, as fiercely as he had held on to his fading consciousness; knowing that to relinquish either would be to perish.  There was no recollection at all of ever reaching the lake shore.  His stubbornness and obstinacy, which Telparian had told him – on more than one occasion – was his greatest failing, was all that had saved him.  That, and an incredible amount of luck.  The luck had to hold for Legolas as well.  It had to.

On the other side of the curtain, in the main room, he could hear Estella talking about him to someone – her husband?  “He’s called Oropherion, and he’s nothing like I imagined, he’s very charming and gracious, but so worried about his son!  He’s going to go back to Laketown now, to see if he’s there.  And I want to go as well, to see our Ram; see if he’s safe.  Tayla, you be a good girl now, and stay here with your Da.  Mind you do what he says!”

All three looked up as Thranduil pulled back the curtain and came into the small room.  Estella’s husband rose to his feet, extending his hand.  Remembering this form of greeting, Thranduil shook it. 

“I’m Elemas.  And you’re most welcome here.  Estella tells me you want to leave soon?  We’d be glad for you to stay, but I understand that you want to see if your lad’s safe.”

Thranduil inclined his head, placing his right hand to his chest in the elvish greeting.  “I thank you, Elemas, Estella.  And you have my eternal gratitude for your kindness.”

“It were nothing!  I’m just glad we found ye.  And maybe someone’s found your lad, and is looking after him?”

“I hope so,”  Thranduil murmured, almost to himself.  “I hope so.”

They ate swiftly, Tayla chattering of some of the other things she had found along the shoreline.  Then she shivered.  “It’s cold, Da.  The fire’s nearly out.  Can I put on some more wood?”

Elemas grunted.  “No wood left, sweetling.  I’ll gather some more tomorrow.  We’ll be fine for now.”

Thranduil had a sudden flash of insight.  Estella’s words about when they had found him came back, how cold he had been, and the need for him to be warm and dry.  These people had used the last of their precious firewood for him.  He also knew that if he mentioned it they would be greatly embarrassed.

They prepared to travel as quickly as possible.  Thranduil wanted to get as far as possible before the short day faded into night.  If alone, he would have continued until he reached Esgaroth, but Estella would not be able to walk in darkness.  But the further they got, the greater the chance that they would meet up with one of the search parties he knew would be out looking.

After walking for perhaps two hours, dusk was falling.  Estella slowed, stumbling once or twice.  She was tired, and found it impossible to see the path before her.  Thranduil was just about to agree to stop, when in the distance he heard something.  “Someone approaches,” he told her.  “I can hear horses.”  He listened carefully, then turned, smiling.  “There are five riders, some of them my own people.  I think we have found one of the search parties.”

Estella stared at him.  “I can’t hear anything!  How can you tell?  How do you know they’re elves?”

“I can hear their voices.”  But none of them was Legolas, he already knew that.  He had still not found his son.

Some five minutes later, the riders appeared.  Thranduil saw two of his own guards, and Elladan – or was it Elrohir? – and two soldiers from Esgaroth.  He stepped forward.  “Mae govannen, my friends!”

He saw relief on all their faces, and both Hathol and Galdor, his own warriors, dropped to the ground.  They knelt on the muddy path, saluting him.  “Your majesty!  Thank the Valar you are safe! We feared you were both lost!”

Thranduil’s heart sank.  “Both?  Is there no news of my son?”

Hathol shook his head.  “Prince Legolas is still missing, your majesty,” he whispered.

Thranduil felt deep despair.  All his worst fears had been realised.  If Legolas was dead – if he had drowned in the icy waters – if he had slowly succumbed to the freezing cold – without Legolas, Thranduil could not continue.

Galdor was speaking now.  “Your majesty, it is possible that one of the other search parties found him.  If we return to Esgaroth there may be more news.  If we ride swiftly we can be there in a few hours.  We came more slowly on the outward journey, we were searching all the reed beds and inlets.”

Thranduil swiftly took stock of the situation.  “Get up, both of you.  I will need your horses.  Lady Estella – ”  he turned to her, saw her standing, staring at him in shock.

“Your majesty?” she repeated.  “You’re the King?  But – those things I said!  Please, forgive me!”

“Lady Estella, it is I who must beg your forgiveness.  I was not totally honest with you.  I am Thanduil Oropherion, King of Greenwood the Great.  The Elvenking you spoke of.   And I hope I am not as terrifying as you thought.  Now, can you ride?  Galdor will give you his horse, she is smaller than Hirrim there.  Or if you will, you can ride with me.”

Estella pulled herself together.  “I’ve never ridden a horse, I wouldn’t know where to start.  I’ll ride with you, if I may – your majesty.”  She sounded rather timid.

“Do not name me that, I am not your King.  Call me Thranduil, if you will.”  He smiled.  “Or Oropherion, as you did before.”  He turned to his guards.  “Hathol, may I take Hirrim?  You will have to ride with Galdor.  I want you to continue north, keep searching.”  He addressed the men from Esgaroth.  “I have a request.  Would you go with them?  There may be other people missing after the storm.  I do not want to stop the search parties.”

The men saluted him. “Yes, my Lord, of course!”

“Very well.  Elladan?  What of you?  Where is the rest of your family?”

“My mother, and Arwen, are with one of the other search parties.  Elrohir and my father went with the fleet – there’s several fishermen missing, too.  But I saw their boat returning a few hours ago.  They wouldn’t have gone back unless they had found something, or someone.”

Estella stifled a gasp at Elladan’s news.  “My lad’s with the fleet,” she told him.  “I hope he’s safe.  When can we go?”

They set off, the four guards continuing northward.  Thranduil, with Estella seated in front of him, went on Hirrim, while Elladan rode with them back to Esgaroth.  All three hoped fervently that they would find the lost ones safe and well.

To be continued

Author’s Notes:  I found out a lot about hypothermia, and the treatment of it, thanks to several people who answered my plea for information.  Thank you, everyone who responded!  Also thanks to First Mate for helping me with the sailing details.

Author’s Notes:  This is turning out to be slightly longer than I imagined, and with far more angst.  Just bear with me!

Chapter Four – Father And Son

When he left the hall, Legolas returned to his room.  He desperately needed some time alone.  Despite his brave words to the elves and men in the hall, that his father would honour the pledge of aid Legolas had given, he knew in his heart that would not happen.  Not now.  He was foolish to hope.

The blanket he still wore trailed on the ground behind him.  Legolas dropped it back onto the bed, and turned to his pack to search for some more suitable clothes.  Although it was late now, he knew he would be unable to sleep, despite the utter exhaustion he still felt.  Finally dressed, he pulled a boot onto one foot, and delved deep into the pack in search of the other.

At the bottom of the pack, carefully wrapped and hidden from casual view, was a long, slender package.  His hand froze, but then he pulled the package out, very slowly, and laid it on the bed.  He peeled the wrappings away, and sat staring blindly at the contents for a long time.  He had bought the knife as a mid winter gift for his father.  The blade was forged from mithril, with a keen edge that would never blunt, and the silver handle was etched and engraved with a pattern of leaves and vines.  After much searching, he had found a scabbard to match, the leather dyed and painted with a similar design.  It would have been a perfect gift – one that now would never be given.

Only two short days ago, they had all been so happy, exploring the marketplace, selecting gifts for one another, savouring the unique atmosphere, laughing at the drunken antics of some of the young men.  Only two days ago.  In that short time, Legolas reflected, his life had been turned upside down, irrevocably changed.  The same was true for several of the fisher families as well.

All at once, the warmth of the room seemed too stifling and claustrophobic.  Pausing only long enough to pick up a thick cloak he left the room, closing the door very quietly behind him.  The great hall lay at one end of the corridor, but at the other end was a door that led out onto the walkway that encircled the town.  At this time of night it was likely to be deserted.

Legolas drew back the bolts and let himself out into the bitter night, crossing to the waist-high railing.  He was looking straight down at the lake – there were no docks or jetties here to disturb the peace of the Master’s house.  The water looked black and cold and deadly.  He stared at the lake for a long time,  seeing not the dark surface, but his father’s face in those last seconds.  The expression of pain, surprise and shock as he fell, and the waters closed over him.  It had all happened so quickly that if Legolas had not turned only moments before, he would have seen nothing.  And that had been his last glimpse of his father, despite diving in after him; searching and calling desperately through the driving rain, mountainous waves and ever-growing darkness.

He hoped fervently that his father had been knocked unconscious by the impact as the snapping rope sprang back like a whiplash; that he had never known what happened.  But he was plagued by images of his father struggling weakly in the water, too dazed by the blow to shout for help or to be able to swim, slowly dragged down by his water-logged clothes and boots. 

At the end, had Thranduil cried out to his son?  Or to Telparian?  Legolas knew he would never know any of the answers.  It was even possible that his father’s body would never be found.  The lake was vast and very deep, and at the southern end a series of mighty waterfalls cascaded down onto jagged rocks.

Finally, with a deep, shuddering breath, Legolas lifted his gaze at last.  His eyes felt dry and sore, for he was unable to weep – the pain he felt was far too deep seated.  He faced north, and across the long expanse of the lake he could see, dwarfed by distance, the Lonely Mountain.  A bitter wind blew down the lake, and Legolas shivered, pulling the cloak more tightly about him.  He never normally felt the cold, but the chill he now felt came as much from within as without.  Lifting his gaze still higher, he looked at the sky.  It was a clear, cloudless night, and the stars shone down brilliantly.  Whenever he was troubled, the sight of the stars would usually soothe and calm him – but not tonight.  Tonight he would find no peace anywhere.

Behind him, he heard the door to the Master’s house open and close, and footsteps crossed the boards towards him.  Elrond normally walked soundlessly, so he was clearly alerting Legolas to his presence.  Legolas spoke without turning.  “Lord Elrond.”

Elrond stood at his side by the railing.  “Elrohir and I wondered where you were.  Then I remembered that you would seek solace with the trees or stars.”

“There are no trees here,” Legolas replied softly.  “And there is no comfort in the stars either.  There is no hope.  How can any of those missing still be alive?”

“Only the Valar know why things happen as they do.  The only comfort you can take is that your parents are at last reunited.  Lissuin will finally be able to see her father.”  Elrond paused, adding,  “And I know that it is no comfort to you at all at the moment.”

Legolas was silent.  Thranduil had never stopped grieving for Telparian, it was true.  While a small part of him was glad that they were finally together again after thirty-three long years, a much larger, more selfish part, simply wanted his father back.  Turning to face Elrond, he began to voice the other fears he had scarcely acknowledged even to himself.  “I don’t want to be King.  Not yet, not like this!  I am too young – I will not even be of age for another seven years.  I cannot do this.”

Elrond raised both hands, cupping Legolas’ face, then pulled him close in an embrace.  “Ah, elfling,  I am so sorry for you.  But your actions tonight proved that you can do this.  Your father would have been so very proud of you.  Did you know that he voiced exactly the same fears at Dagorlad when Oropher fell?  He was much older than you are, but he experienced the same fears and uncertainties.  But come now, I want you to return indoors with me.  We did not retrieve you from the lake only to have you succumb once more to the cold out here!”

Inside, lamps still burned, and in the main hall several people still worked.  Legolas, Elrond and Elrohir watched as Bregor, Peneldur and Nahald studied a large map that had been set out on a long table at one end of the hall.  It showed the lake, and the surrounding lands and shores.  It was apparently normally used for tracking the best fishing grounds, but in times like this, search patterns and anything found could be plotted as well.

Elrond had a fascination for maps of all kinds, and Elrohir had obviously inherited the interest.  As they looked more closely, they saw it was studded with many coloured pins, each representing a different find.

“This shows areas along the bank which have been searched,” explained Peneldur,  pointing, “and these show where wreckage has been found.”  He indicated yellow pins around the shore and on the lake itself. 

“What about these?” asked Elrohir.  There were two red markers, and two green.

Peneldur placed a finger next to one of the green pins.  “These show where we found the two survivors,” he explained.  “This was where we found you,” he said to Legolas.  “The red ones are where we were too late – where we found the dead.  Now, if you can estimate where it was that your father went in, and where the boat capsized, it will give us a better idea of where to look tomorrow.”

Legolas looked at the map carefully, trying to remember how far they had sailed before disaster struck, what landmarks he had seen on the shore.  “About here,” he said finally.  “We’d just passed that promontory, and were about in the middle of the lake.”

“Right, that’s further north than I thought.  We’ll get someone up there tomorrow.”

Elrohir cocked his head to one side as he listened to something outside.  “I can hear horses!” he exclaimed in surprise.

“Can’t be,” grunted Peneldur.  “Horses aren’t allowed in the town, they’re stabled by the bridge.

Legolas had also heard the unmistakeable sound, and the commotion outside.  He straightened, staring at the outer door, an expression of mingled disbelief and incredulous hope on his face.

~~**~~

The ride back to Esgaroth passed in something of a blur for Thranduil.  He had been hoping desperately that Legolas would be safe and well – if worried – in the town, and Hathol’s confirmation that his son was indeed missing had been a crushing blow.  He had kept a close eye on the lake shores as they walked, and apart from a few small pieces of wreckage had seen nothing.  There were certainly no other victims of the storm, alive or otherwise.  Similarly, Elladan had reported seeing nothing during his own search.

By the time they reached the guard post that stood at the head of the bridge leading across to Esgaroth, it was past midnight.  The guards were sitting by a fire in their hut, and did not notice the sound of the two horses galloping along the shore until they reached the bridge.  The thud of hooves on the wooden planks roused them at last.

“Here!  You can’t take horses across there!  You’ll have to leave ’em here!” protested one of the soldiers.

Thranduil looked back at the men with displeasure.  If any of his own guards had been so lax, they would have faced cleaning duties for a month.  “Do you intend to stop me?” he asked coldly, and rode on.

One of the guards looked as if he was about to do just that, but another pulled at his arm.  “Stop that!” he hissed.  “You know who that is, don’t you?  It’s the Elvenking.  I was here when they arrived a couple of days ago.  And I heard his son is one of the ones who’s dead.  Leave him be!”

Thranduil clearly heard the guard’s comment, and froze.  He turned, ashen-faced, to ask further questions, but Elladan stopped him.  “Lord Thranduil, it could be nothing more than idle gossip.  Rumour has you dead as well.  Any news, for good or ill, is reported immediately to the Master’s house.  We must go there first.”

They crossed the bridge and entered the town, riding through the market-place.  The taverns were still open, despite the hour, but there were none of the drunken antics of two nights before.  The mood was sombre.  Several of the silent drinkers looked up at the unusual sound of horses, and one leapt to his feet.

“Ma?  Ma!  What are you doing here?”  A young man stood before Hirrim, staring at Estella in amazement.  “And who’s that you’re with?”

“Ram?  Oh, Rammas, thank goodness it’s you!  I knew about the storm, and then that some of the boats were lost, and I was so afraid for you!”  Tears streamed down Estella’s face as Thranduil helped her gently to the ground, and she hugged her son fiercely.

“Tis all right, Ma, I’m fine, I weren’t out in it.  We’d finished by then.  But what’re you doing with him?”  Rammas asked, glancing at Thranduil.

Thranduil interrupted the reunion.  “Lady Estella, I must continue.  Thank you for your help – and I rejoice for your good news.”  His face, however, was bleak as he spoke.  The guard’s words had extinguished the last embers of hope.

Estella seized her son’s hand.  “Ram, come with me.  I’ll tell you everything, but he’s looking for his son too, and I want to know as well.”

Thranduil rode numbly to the end of the market-place where the Master’s house stood.  Dismounting, he spoke quietly to Hirrim, who then stood obediently by the door.  Thranduil thrust open the door, strode across the entrance hall, and then hesitated for a long moment, his hand on the latch,  before finally opening the next door.

There were several people in the long room, gathered around a table at the far end.  Thranduil, however, saw only one.  He crossed the endless expanse, Legolas meeting him halfway, and crushed his son to him as if he would never let go.  Drawing a deep breath that was more nearly a sob, he murmured, “I thought I had lost you, elfling.  I thought you were dead.”

Legolas returned the embrace, hugging his father more tightly than he had since he was very young.  “No.  I am well,” he said shakily.  “But when you fell – I thought I would never see you again!  Oh, I missed you, Ada,”  he added, returning to the childish term he had not used for many years.

At length, Thranduil raised his head, unashamed of the tears that brimmed in his eyes.  He caught sight of Estella, standing to one side with Rammas.  “This is my son,” he told her proudly. “This is Legolas.”

To be continued

Author’s Notes:  There are several references in this story to Legolas’s mother, who died when he was ten.  The story is told in ‘Telparian’, on my bio page.

 .

Chapter Five – Gifts

Elrond watched the joyful reunion with a smile.  He had not seen Thranduil look so ecstatic for a very long time, since before Telparian’s death.  Not since – he sighed, remembering.   It had been the day Telparian and Thranduil had told him they were expecting another child, a daughter this time.  Lissuin.  He turned away, not wanting the sad memory to blight the delight of the moment.

Instead, his gaze found his own sons, who had greeted one another gladly and were now deep in conversation.  He crossed to them, and placed an arm around their shoulders, drawing them both close.  Thranduil and Legolas had both believed the other dead, an unimaginable torture.  Silently, he thanked the Valar that Elladan and Elrohir were safe and well.  With their usual empathy, the twins had followed his thoughts, and were watching the reunion themselves.  “I’m so glad they’re both here,” Elrohir said softly.  “I felt so helpless, when Legolas realised Thranduil was still missing.”

After the joyous reunion and excited, incoherent explanations that followed, it was some time before they began to exchange their news.  Peneldur requested a formal report from all those involved, and even Estella had been persuaded to join the group.  Gradually all those there told their tales.  Thranduil spoke first, telling of his grim, semi-conscious struggle in the lake waters, his fading awareness and strength.  Then Estella took up the tale, describing how she had come across him after Tayla’s alert.  “Then Elemas carried him back to our hut, and we just looked after him.”   She spoke casually, as if it was an everyday occurrence.

“You did indeed,” said Thranduil quietly.  “And you have my undying thanks for what you did.”  Legolas regarded his father expressionlessly.  Inwardly, his thoughts were a turmoil of what could have happened, of what had so nearly happened. 

Impulsively, he reached across the arm of his chair and touched his father’s arm.  “I’m glad they found you when they did,” he murmured softly.

“So am I, elfling.  So am I.”  Thranduil returned the caress, stroking his son’s head gently.  “And now, will you tell me what you have been doing?” 

By the time first Legolas, then Elrond and Elrohir had finished their stories, it was just a few hours before dawn, and Bregor’s house and hall were silent.  The last of the searchers, even Peneldur, sought their beds for a few precious hours’ sleep before their desperate search – with hope growing ever fainter – resumed.  Those remaining, though exhausted, were too elated to sleep, but eventually Elrond shepherded Elladan and Elrohir towards the room the three shared for what remained of the night.  “Rest,” he instructed them firmly.  “We must at least try to rest.  Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Rammas was to take his mother to the rooms he shared with another of the fishermen, down by the docks.  “Lady Estella,” Thranduil reminded her as they left.  “I would speak with you again before you return to your home.  May I see you tomorrow?”

Smiling, she nodded her agreement.  “Yes, of course.  And I’m glad you found your son.  He looks like a good boy – and so like you!  His mother must be very proud of him.”

Thranduil gave her a sad smile.  “His mother died long ago, when Legolas was just a child.  But yes, I think she would have been proud of him. Very proud, as I am.”

It was late, very late before Thranduil and Legolas at last left Bregor’s hall.  Finally alone, father and son returned to the room they had shared on their arrival in Esgaroth.  As Thranduil opened the door, a wave of heat hit him.  The room felt like a furnace.  Soberly, he turned to his son.  “I know why it is so hot in here.  Do you still feel cold?”

“I did, but not any more.  But it is too hot to sleep here.  If I open the shutters – ”  Legolas crossed to the window, pulling open the window, and thrusting the shutters outward – “it will soon cool down.  We can go outside.”  He looked up at his father.  “I want to talk to you,” he added.

Outside on the walkway surrounding the town, it was silent apart from a few voices from those still wakeful, and the water lapping at the wooden piles which supported Esgaroth.  “Tell me again what happened to you,” Legolas asked.  “Everything.  The lady – Estella – seemed very kind.”

“She was,” Thranduil said.  “Kindness itself.  She had no reason to take me in, a strange elf, especially as they had heard rather wild tales of the terrifying Elvenking.  I must find out where these tales come from,” he added.  “She and her husband cared for me, fed me.  They are so poor, they had very little – but what they did have, they shared.  They even used the last of their firewood to keep me warm, and dry my clothes.”  He fell silent, recalling the incredible generosity of the family, and the way in which the wind had whistled between cracks and gaps in the log walls in the little sleeping chamber.  The roof had leaked as well, he had noticed, and dark stains of damp had marked the walls.  Repairs had been made, but apparently insufficient to withstand the storm’s violence.

“The people here have been just as helpful,”  Legolas explained.  “The search parties they sent out – it made no difference who they were searching for, their own fishermen, or you, or me – and both Peneldur and Bregor told me that they would continue to search until everyone who was missing was found.”

Thranduil nodded.  “I would like to help them in some way,” he mused.  “Estella especially, but the people here as well.  The storm did so much damage – surely there is something we can do?”

Legolas gave his father a sidelong glance.  “There’s something I should tell you.  I have already promised aid.  I said we would provide wood and material to help rebuild the docks and the fleet, and provide labour as well.  I – I had to do something.  Peneldur had told me just how widespread the damage was,  and I realised it was not just me, not just us, who was affected.   I felt so helpless – it was the only thing I could think of.”  He stopped, and turned to Thranduil.  “Did I do the right thing?” he asked anxiously.  “I told them that – that if you came back, you would honour that promise.  Will you?”

“If I came back?” Thranduil echoed.

Legolas nodded, his eyes suddenly blurring with tears.  “By that time, I – I thought you were lost.  And I knew I should have been  glad that you and mother were together again, and Lissuin, but all I could think about was how scared I felt, and how alone I was.”  He stopped, feeling foolish to be so close to tears now, when he had been reunited with his father, when he had resisted for so long.  He was no child!  The feel of his father’s arms around him shattered his resolve, and his tears began to fall.  He leaned into the embrace, noticing with faint surprise that he could no longer lean his head against his father’s chest, but was nearly at eye level with him.  His slight sense of shame for his weakness vanished as he realised that Thranduil was also crying.

“I am so proud of you, little one,” Thranduil whispered.  “You were so brave.  At a time like that, your first thought was for others.  You will make a fine King one day – but I hope that day will not come too soon!”

Legolas gave a shaky laugh.  “So do I,” he agreed fervently.

“And you know that I will always keep any pledge that you make.  Especially that one.  I trust your judgement, and you did well.  I shall send word to Tionel in the morning.  Now come, little one, it is already tomorrow.  We have a long day ahead of us; we should rest.”

Legolas nodded his agreement, but made no attempt to move away from the rail.  He stared out across the darkness of the lake, north, towards Erebor, much as he had done earlier that night.  Then, he had felt such deep, black despair.  Now – he smiled suddenly, joy flooding though him again.  Now his father was safe.  Now the lake did not appear black and deadly; he could see how it glittered with the reflected brilliance of starlight.  And yet …  “Father?  What about the two men who are missing?  Do you think they could still be alive?”

Thranduil considered the possibility.  “Who knows?  If they were in the water, I do not see how it is possible.  But if they made it to shore, if they were found by someone like Estella, then yes.  And remember, there is always hope.  And I will have the warriors continue to search with Bregor’s men until we know.  Now come.”

Together, they returned to the room, now thankfully much cooler, and retired to bed for what little remained of the night.  Much to his surprise, Legolas slid into dreams almost immediately, but Thranduil stayed awake as the room gradually lightened and dawn broke over the lake.  He gazed unblinkingly at Legolas, marvelling at the wondrous gift of the Valar, who had given his son back to him.

~~**~~

Shortly after dawn, the search parties and rescuers assembled in Bregor’s hall again, before they were dispatched to hunt for the two remaining fishermen.  There was a ragged cheer from the men as they learned that Thranduil had returned, but hope was fading that the others would be found alive.   The first groups had already been dispatched on their searches, and the final parties were gathered around the map to be shown their areas, when a commotion broke out as the door burst open.  A messenger burst in, tired and dishevelled, panting for breath.

“My lord Bregor!  There’s news, I think.”  He stopped, gasping, until he could speak again.  All those in the hall had turned, and were listening intently.  “Fire.  We saw fire, away on the eastern shore.  It seems too far from any villages to be hunting parties, so it could be a signal.”  He paused again, then began to elaborate.

“We called a halt last night, stopped when it were too dark to see.  We lit a fire for warmth, and not long after, one of the elves with us said she could see flames in the distance.  I couldn’t see nothing myself, it was too far away, but the other one – her ma – agreed.  So I left the others to carry on, and came back here.  We’ll need to take a boat across the lake, but I think we’ve found at least one alive.  Who’s missing?  Has anyone been found yet?”  The man looked expectantly at the Master, and at Peneldur.

Elladan and Elrohir exchanged a grin at the news.  Arwen had evidently played her own part in the search, and done it well.

Peneldur seized the man’s arm, and dragged him across to the map.   “Brant, is it?  Well done.  See if you can show me where you’d got to, and where they saw the fire.”

Brant studied the map, muttering to himself.  “Well, we’d got further than I thought we would.  Here, I’d say.  And I think the fire must’ve been about there.”  He pointed to a spot well to the south, not far from the waterfalls where the lake ended.  “I must say, I thought it were a mistake, taking two women with us, even two such good-looking ones; but they could ride as well as any man, and didn’t complain, neither.  Not even when we stopped, and they had to bed down on the ground with the rest of us.  And to be fair, it was them what saw the flames.”

The twins exchanged another grin, storing away this description of their mother and sister.  Peneldur cuffed the messenger lightly.  “Watch your mouth, Brant!  Remember where you are!”

Brant glanced around the room, noticing for the first time the elves regarding him with varying amounts of disapproval,  and the men, watching with broad grins.  The news that another survivor had in all likelihood been found, together with Brant’s anecdotes, buoyed their spirits.  He smiled suddenly at his audience and bowed.  “Your pardon, sirs,” he said to Elrond, and the other elves in general.  “I meant no disrespect to – to the ladies.  Very fair they were too, both of ‘em!””

“You speak of my wife and daughter,” Elrond informed him.

“Our mother,” Elladan joined in.

“Our sister,”  added Elrohir in the same breath.

Legolas was tempted to join in too.  Perhaps he could claim that Arwen was his betrothed?  However a glare from his father, who clearly guessed his intent, stopped him.

“Ah,” murmured Brant.  “And may I say, how very gracious and valiant they are?”  He turned to Peneldur.  “I’ll meet you down by the docks.  I think maybe I’ll be taking that boat myself!”  He slipped out of the door without meeting Elrond’s stare.

Peneldur  gazed after him, shaking his head.  “I’m sorry about that, Lord Elrond,” he said.  “He’s a good man, but he opens his mouth without thinking at times.  I hope you didn’t take no offence.”

Elrond suppressed a smile.  “There was no offence offered.  In fact, I fully intend to tell my wife – and my daughter – of his comments.  I think they would be most amused.”

The final rescue parties were dismissed, and the room emptied.  As the western shore had already been searched, the remaining boats were sent out across the lake, to search areas that had been missed the previous day, either because of lack of man-power, or because the crews had returned to Esgaroth with news.

Determined to repay, in some small way, the efforts of the searchers on their own behalf, both Thranduil and Legolas went with them, as did Elrond and Elrohir.  Elladan agreed to remain at Bregor’s hall and coordinate the rescue efforts, collating the information so far received.  It was most interesting to be able to study a map on such a large scale – and gave him great pleasure to be able to mark, with a green peg, the spot where Estella told him she had found Thranduil.

“Three survivors, two dead.  And what of the other two, I wonder?  Do you think we will be able to place another green marker down here?” he asked her, indicating the spot where Brant had reported the fire.

“I hope so,” she agreed fervently.  “Gundor’s a good fellow, he looked after my son when he first joined the fleet.  And the other lad, Tomas, he and Ram shared rooms for a while.  Someone must have made that fire your sister saw!  I wonder which of them it is?”

The day dragged.  Elladan studied the map with interest, and then, to pass the time, wrote an account of his own search the day before, as Peneldur had requested, then added Estella’s description of how she had found Thranduil and subsequently journeyed south with him.  In addition, he reported what Elrohir had told him of where and how they had found Legolas.

Finally, one of the search parties returned.  The first to arrive was the group he had been with: Thranduil’s guards, Hathol and Galdor; and the two warriors from Esgaroth.  They had ridden far to the north, where the mouth of the Celduin met the lake, and had been able to go no further.  They had found nothing apart from a few fragments of wreckage.  They returned to make their report, rather dispirited, but were elated when Elladan told them that Legolas was safe and well.  The searched area, and the location of the debris, were marked.

Shortly after, Celebrían and Arwen returned, equally empty handed, but with the news that in daylight, two figures had clearly been seen on the eastern shore of the lake.  It seemed that the last of the missing fishermen had been located.

“But what about the others?”  Arwen demanded.  “What about Legolas, and Thranduil?  Is there any sign of them?”  Her expression was deeply worried.  She had always been very fond of Thranduil, and regarded Legolas as yet another brother.

Elladan nodded joyfully.  “Yes, they’re safe, both of them!” he told her.  “Father and El fished Legolas out of the lake yesterday, and Estella here found Thranduil on a mud bank.  But they’re not here – they went out to look for the other two men.”

“Oh, thank the Valar!” murmured Celebrían softly.  “I have been so worried about them both.”

Finally, at dusk, Brant returned.  He had taken a boat south to the point where the flames had been sighted.  And there, miraculously, both the missing fishermen had been found, safe and well, eating fish cooked over their signal fire.

Elladan turned to the map.  He was about to place the final two pins when he stopped.  “Arwen, Mother!  You do it!” he told them.  “You were the ones who saw the signal fire, and the two fishermen.  Put these pins here.”  Quickly, he explained the significance of the pegs as Arwen and Celebrían placed the final markers.

“And that’s the last of them,” announced Bregor with deep satisfaction.  “Everyone’s accounted for.  It’s time to bring the search parties back home.”

“How will you do that?” asked Elladan

“We have a signal.  Come and see.”

Intrigued, Elladan, Celebrían and Arwen followed Bregor out onto the walkway to a wide area near the ruined docks.  A large horn stood there, and one of the men stepped forward to blow it.  A low, mournful noise issued forth, thundering and rumbling across the lake as it echoed off the water.  It was deafening, and such a deep note that the boards of the walkway seemed to vibrate beneath their feet.

“No matter where they are, they’ll hear that!  They’ll know it’s time to return,” explained Bregor.  “Most of the searchers are over on the eastern shore, so they’ll take a while to get back.  But tomorrow, when everyone is safely back, and rested, we will celebrate.  This was a disaster, but it could have been so much worse.”

As the evening wore on, all the search parties gradually arrived back in Esgaroth.  Towards midnight, another group arrived, elves wearing the colours of Lasgalen.  Their leader stepped into the hall, saluting Bregor in a perfunctory way.  Lines of grief and distress were clearly visible on his face as his gaze swept the hall.  But then his eyes fell on Thranduil, standing next to Legolas, and it was as if a ray of sunlight had broken through a raincloud.

Mindful of protocol in such a public place, he bowed low.  “Your majesty, it is a joy to us to see you return!”  But then, regardless of protocol, he stepped forward and clasped Thranduil’s forearm.  “Thank the Valar you and Legolas are safe!” he murmured.

“Thank you, Tionel.  I must admit, I did not expect to see you here – as Steward, I thought I had left you in charge of Lasgalen?”  But Thranduil was smiling as he embraced his friend.  “I am glad you are here – I have much for you to arrange.”  He drew Tionel aside, and very quietly, began to issue his instructions. 

At length he finished.  Tionel looked a little surprised, but nodded in agreement.  “Of course, my Lord.  I will see to it at once!”  He saluted crisply, and left the hall.

Ignoring his son’s questioning expression, Thranduil then turned to Arwen.  “Lady Arwen, I wonder if I may ask your advice?”

She looked rather surprised, but nodded her agreement.  “My advice?  Of course, my Lord.  How can I help you?”

“I have little knowledge of young girls.”  A fleeting expression of sadness crossed his face.  “So I ask your help in this matter.  What gift should I choose for of maiden of – perhaps ten years?  I was thinking of a doll, perhaps.”

“A doll?” Arwen echoed.  She shook her head firmly. “No, lord Thranduil.  Not unless you wish to insult her, make her think you regard her as a child.  I would suggest a scarf, or a shawl, maybe ribbons for her hair.  Something to make her feel like a lady.  I can help you choose, if you would like.”

“Father?”  Legolas could not contain his curiosity.  “What are you planning?  What did you say to Tionel?”

Thranduil smiled, rather secretively.  “I was simply arranging for some gifts.  Some mid winter gifts.  You will see shortly.”

To be continued

Epilogue

Thranduil regretfully declined Bregor’s invitation to attend the celebratory feast that night.   “I cannot, I am afraid, though I know Legolas will be disappointed.  I must go back to Lasgalen immediately – my people believe us both dead.  Although I have already sent messengers,  we must return ourselves.  And I must be there for the mid winter festival the day after tomorrow.  But I will honour the pledge that my son made – I will arrange for shipments of timber for the rebuilding work, and send some warriors – perhaps the older novices as well – to assist.  Perhaps we will be able to return to see the progress of the work.”

Before he had to return to Lasgalen, Thranduil made the time for one vital task.  With the willing assistance of Arwen, he went to the shop of one of the merchants they had dealt with at the waterside market just four nights previously.  It seemed so very long ago now. 

It was not long past dawn, and the shop was tightly shuttered.  A knock at the door eventually provoked some response, and a window was thrust open above their heads.  The merchant looked out, bleary eyed, but his expression sharpened as he recognised his customers.

Within minutes, Thranduil and Arwen were inside the shop, while the owner enthusiastically showed this and that.  Arwen proved most decisive.  Thranduil found himself holding a rainbow array of brightly coloured ribbons, with a long, woven scarf draped over one arm.  “This.  And this,” she told him, adding more goods.  “Oh, and look at this!” she exclaimed, holding up a thin, gauzy wrap.  It shimmered with all the iridescent blue of a butterfly’s wing.  Reluctantly, she carefully refolded it and replaced in on the shelf.  “It would be far too impractical.  Estella and the girl – Tayla? - would never wear it.”

“No, but perhaps this would be of more use?”  He picked up a shawl, warm, hard-wearing; but soft and beautifully patterned.  “It would keep out the winds that blow down from the Mountain.”

Arwen nodded her agreement, and Thranduil paid the delighted merchant.  Finally, laden with purchases, they returned to Bregor’s house and found Estella about to leave with Rammas.  She looked stunned at the gifts he gave her.  “But – but your majesty, I told you, we didn’t do anything special!  I can’t accept this! 

“You can and you will,” he told her firmly.  “Take it, and remember Oropherion who you helped.”  He smiled suddenly.  “I told you, did I not, that the King would be pleased at the care you gave me!”  He tore open one of the packages, and draped the thick shawl around her shoulders.  “Wear this on your journey home.”

She fingered it lovingly, and looked up.  “Thank you,” she said simply.  “From Elemas and Tayla as well – we’ve never had such fine things before, none of us!  Thank you.”

“There is this, as well,”  Thranduil added, giving Estella a final small parcel.  “This is for Tayla, a mid winter gift.  To say thank you for finding the ‘lady’ in the first place!”

Legolas looked on, his eyes bright with amusement, as Estella flushed.  “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you knew about that!  She – she made a mistake, that’s all.”  Then she smiled, impishly.  “She’ll be that surprised to find out that the lady is really a King!”

Thranduil watched Estella and her son cross the bridge and begin their journey home.  There would be a further gift waiting when they arrived home – Tionel had been ordered to arrange delivery of a wagonload of firewood, with regular supplies throughout the year.  Thranduil was determined that the family would never again go short.

Legolas could scarcely wait until they were both out of earshot.  “A lady?” he questioned gleefully.  “The little girl thought you were a lady?”

“It may have escaped your notice,”  Thranduil began, “but among these people, only the women have long hair, or braids.  The child made a natural mistake.”

Legolas bowed to his father, very formally.  “Yes, Adar, of course she did.  And I’m quite sure that Tionel would agree.  And Alfiel, and Elladan and Elrohir.  And everyone else at home.”

Thranduil sighed, then looked at his son sternly.  “Elfling, I hope you are not intending to spread this tale any further?”

Legolas shook his head solemnly.  “Father, you have my word that I will not tell anyone in Lasgalen about this!”

“Good.”  Thranduil was about to relax, when he considered the precise phrasing Legolas had used.  ‘Anyone in Lasgalen’ meant that anyone not in Lasgalen could be told with impunity.  That meant all the guards currently here in Esgaroth, and all those in Elrond’s party. Then he smiled.  He and Legolas were alive.  Against that, nothing else mattered.  “I see you were well trained in diplomatic skills,” he said dryly.

~~**~~

The return to Lasgalen was the most joyous that Legolas or Thranduil had ever known.  All the glades and halls were filled with light and song for joy at their homecoming.   Tionel, Thranduil’s steward, had returned earlier that day and preparations had immediately been set in hand for a celebration.  Tionel’s wife, Mireth, waited at his side, hardly able to restrain her joy.   She had been Legolas’s nurse when he was an elfling, and had been distraught at the news that he and Thranduil were missing.  As the King and prince dismounted, she moved forward and hugged Legolas fiercely.  “Oh, my little elfling, I was so worried about you!  Let me look at you,” she demanded.

Legolas returned the embrace, laughing down at her, and bending to kiss her.  “ ‘Little elfling?’ ” he echoed.   “Mireth, I am taller than you now!”

“Oh, so perhaps that means that you will not want the sweet cakes I had baked for you specially?  Are you too grown up for them?”

He hugged her again.  “Never.  Thank you, Mireth.”

Much, much later, long after midnight, and after too much rich food, and too much fine wine, Legolas stepped outside the caverns, crossing the bridge onto the lawn that lay before the entrance to Lasgalen.  He found his father already there, looking at the stars and deep in thought.  They sat in silence for a while, enjoying one another’s company, when Legolas spoke.  “Father, this evening was such a joyous time, but I was thinking.  What would have happened if we had both been killed?  What would have happened to the realm?”

Thranduil was silent for a while.  “Tionel would have remained as steward for a time, before other – arrangements – could be made.  What do you recall of your family history?”

Legolas frowned.  “What part of it?” he asked.

“My father’s father had a cousin, Galadhon.  His son was Celeborn.  So Celeborn, or Lady Celebrían, and when they are come of age, Elladan, or Elrohir, or Arwen, could all rule Lasgalen.  A Council would have to decide.”

“Ellahir could rule here?”  Legolas was incredulous.  “I had not realised!”

Thranduil nodded.  “Your friends’ lineage is complicated.  They are kin to every elven realm in Arda, and several realms of men as well.  It is as well they are not overly ambitious!”

Legolas was silent, contemplating this revelation.  Then he smiled.  “I suppose it is irrelevant now, anyway.  It is as well that we are still here!”  He looked at the stars, realising it was not long before dawn, and yawned.  “Goodnight, father.  Happy Mid Winter’s Eve!”

“Goodnight, my son.  Sleep well.”  Thranduil watched as Legolas crossed the bridge and disappeared inside the halls of Lasgalen.  Tomorrow would be Mid Winter’s Day, a day of song and rejoicing, filled with the chatter of excited elflings.  Gifts would be exchanged in accordance with tradition, some useful, some beautiful, like Arwen's filmy shawl, some frivolous. 

This year, Thranduil knew he had already received the most precious mid winter gift of all.

The End

Author’s Notes:  It seems to be generally accepted that Thranduil and Celeborn were related in some way, but I have not been able to establish exactly how.  Celeborn’s father is mentioned in Unfinished Tales, so I have made him a distant cousin.

If anyone has more definite information, please tell me so that I may correct it!

Jay