Characters: All of the following characters have appeared in May the Valar Protect them or Journey's End.  They will not all be in this story (esp since many are dead), but may be referred to.

Family of the King

Thranduil* -----King of Mirkwood the Great
Narawen* ------Queen of Mirkwood the Great, killed the day Legolas was born
Bregolas------- Eldest son; name means fierce, wild leaves; warrior; heir to throne
Lathron---------Second son; name means listener; wise beyond his years
Celebrinduil---Third son; craftsman
Alagos*--------Fourth son; warrior; name means storm of wind, killed the day Legolas was born
Elenath --------Daughter; novice warrior, name means starry sky
Elumeril*------Daughter, child, name means blue rose
Legolas---------infant son, abducted on his day of birth with Tathiel, Tinánia & Eärundra

Urithral*-------Advisor to the King
Ethiwen*§-----Wife of Urithral, warrior of Mirkwood
Tinánia*-------child of Urithral and Ethiwen, abducted with her sister, Tathiel and Legolas
Eärundra*-----child of Urithral and Ethiwen, abducted with her sister, Tathiel and Legolas

Rawien*§------Captain of Mirkwood
Elryndel*------Warrior of Mirkwood, killed in the Iron Hills
Orchalthon*---Warrior of Mirkwood
Sadron*§-------Warrior of Mirkwood
Laerion*§------Warrior of Mirkwood
Tathiel  ---------healer and attendant to the queen; abducted with the three children
Calardan-------Craftsman of Mirkwood

*Characters were part of the original group who traveled to Laketown

Search Party (marked with §)

Bellion§--------Warrior of Mirkwood
Meren§---------Warrior of Mirkwood
Elunell§--------Warrior of Mirkwood
Lachthoniel§--Warrior of Mirkwood
Galithon§------Captain of the King’s Guard
Varandil§------Warrior of Mirkwood; Healer

Members of Bregolas’ patrol that saved everyone in the end

Galthenin------Captain of Mirkwood
Aranu----------Captain of Mirkwood
Camnesta------Chief healer to the Realm; travels at times with warriors.

Characters from the Iron Hills

Balak-----------Man of the Iron Hills
Ban-------------Father of Balak; chief of small village
Ain-------------Dwarf they meet near the ore mines in the Iron Hills

Village of Agar

Tal-Elmar-----son of Hazad of Agar
Hazad----------youngest son of his mother, Elmar
Guryn----------brother to Hazad
Patel------------son of Hazad
Nurnan ---------son of Hazad
Sarn------------shopkeeper in Agar
Balwyn --------wife to Sarn

Hunting

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters and places belong to the esteemed J.R.R. Tolkien and Tolkien Enterprises and/or New Line Cinema. I borrow them carefully and gently, and promise to return them intact and unharmed at the end of the story. Lord Elrond assures me I will make no money on this endeavor whatsoever and I believe him.

This story occurs six years after Journey’s End, when Legolas is about nine years old and the size of the cutest four year old (human) you have ever seen.  The original characters are from my two earlier stories, and this story will make much more sense if you have read ‘May the Valar Protect them’ and ‘Journey’s End’.  Please see Chapter 1 of Journey’s End for a character list, if needed. At SoA, I will add a list to the chapter called author's notes (that is no longer allowed at ff.net).

Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 1: Tracking

The Woodland Realm, 2469 of the Third Age.

Legolas glided silently down the corridor, his feet barely touching the floor as he stayed close to the cavern wall.  He stopped at the well known apartment door, and grinned as he opened the latch without a sound. He slipped inside the room and studied his surroundings carefully. In the sitting area, he could see a shawl that had been carelessly thrown across the back of a chair. In the eating area, a bowl of fruit had been replenished. All evidence pointed to his quarry being present in these chambers.

He continued his trek to the sleeping chamber, noting the door was ajar. He pushed on the wooden door with one hand as he used the fingers of his other hand to push on the hinge so it would not squeak. Finally able to see inside, he saw his prey with her back unwittingly turned to him. He leapt at her with a war cry, throwing his arms about her waist.

“Legolas!” cried Tathiel as she felt small arms twisting into the fabric of her tunic as he climbed up her back.  She leaned forward over the bed, using it to balance herself and the elfling scaling her from behind.

“I tracked you and caught you!” crowed Legolas gleefully.  He slipped off her and landed on the bed, flopping on to his back and then rolling to look at her.  “You do not hear me very well.”

Tathiel inhaled deeply and turned slightly to sit on the bed.  Her hands moved instinctively to cover her belly, and she lightly rubbed the expanded surface.

“Legolas, you startled me,” she reprimanded him.

The impudent elfling grinned unrepentantly. “You should be more aware of your surroundings,” he quoted Sadron, one of his favorite warriors.

“Yes, and were I in the forest, I would be,” replied Tathiel wearily.  “Can you not track and hunt your brothers for a while?”

“Bregolas always hears me.  Maybe Lathron, though,” said Legolas seriously.

Suddenly, a blanket was thrown over his head and Legolas squealed as he fought his captor.  He was lifted high into the air and then dropped on the bed, where his much larger predator pounced on him and began tickling him through the blanket.  Legolas giggled and squealed until his ribs hurt.

“Stop!  You win,” acquiesced Legolas with a final laughing groan.

The blanket was pulled off him, rolling him across the bed, and he looked up to see Rawien grinning at him.  “You should be more aware of your surroundings, elfling.  I tracked and caught you easily!”

Legolas lay on his back, breathing heavily, but his ever present smile never left his face.  “Rawien, I was talking to Tathiel,” he argued, trying to explain why he had not been paying attention.

“You were harassing my wife, little one.  I am Tathiel’s protector, which makes you fair game!” replied Rawien with a final tickle of the elfling’s stomach.

Rawien stood then and walked around the bed to where Tathiel still sat.  He wrapped one arm about her and slipped his other arm beneath her legs, lifting and turning her to lie on the bed. “Are you well, meleth-nín?”

Tathiel turned slightly to lie on her side, sighing as she felt Rawien’s strength flow into her. His hands covered hers where they rested over her belly, and she felt his communion with her and the babe growing within her.  “I am well now,” she answered finally, a smile on her face.

Legolas scooted over to lie close to his Tathiel, gently touching her face and then placing his small hands over her large belly. “I am sorry I startled you, Tathiel,” he whispered.

Tathiel leaned down and kissed his forehead, even as her eyes drifted nearly closed. Legolas stared at her, worry in his small face, and then Rawien picked him up.

“Come, Legolas.  Tathiel needs a nap, and you can only stay if you want to take a nap too!”

“No naps!” exclaimed Legolas as he squirmed from Rawien’s arms and flew out the door.  “Goodbye!” he called over his shoulder.

Legolas then walked slowly along the hall, making no attempt at silence, finally stopping in front of his own chamber door.  He pushed the door open and walked inside, looking at the toys and books that filled low shelves on the far wall. He plopped down on his bed, staring at the ceiling and the stars that had been painted there.  He really wanted to play outside, he decided.  Maybe he could track a squirrel or even a deer!

A sound from the next chamber caught his attention and a slow grin spread across his face.  It was probably just Meriwen, bringing up the clean clothes, but maybe it was Ada. Legolas covered his mouth to stifle the giggle that threatened to escape him. He moved stealthily to the door that separated the two rooms, and quietly flipped the latch. He slipped inside, entering far enough to see that it was indeed his ada. Barely contained excitement flowed through Legolas, and he had to press his palms against his legs to keep from jumping and making noise.  He began to stalk his father, moving closer and closer to him, and just as he was about to make his leap, Thranduil turned and caught him in his arms.

“I got you!” Thranduil laughed at the look of disbelief on his youngest son’s face.

“Ada!” wailed Legolas, but the grin never left his face.  “One day I am going to surprise you,” he promised as he hugged his father.

“When fish fly,” came Thranduil’s standard reply. “However, you must not track Tathiel anymore.  You are startling her baby too much.”

“Can her baby hear me coming?” asked Legolas.

“I do not know, but the baby certainly knows when you scare its naneth,” replied Thranduil. “No more, ion-nín.  Announce your presence to Tathiel in your indoor voice when you see her.”

“Yes, Ada,” agreed Legolas readily.  There were other people to track, after all. “Ada, can I go outside and track a squirrel?”

“You may try,” replied Thranduil. “But you must stay in the garden.  Do not go beyond the beech tree at the far end, or the little creek to the side.”

Legolas’s face fell, but he knew better than to argue with his father.  “Yes, Ada,” he answered in a subdued tone.

“Do not look so sad.  There are plenty of squirrels in the garden.”

“I want to track one though, Ada.  I cannot track one in the garden.”

Thranduil kissed Legolas and then set him on the ground. “You may not leave the garden today, Legolas, but I will consider taking you beyond it to learn to track properly.”

Legolas beamed, threw his arms about his father’s legs and hugged him, and then ran out the door.  “Goodbye, Ada!”

* * *

In the Misty Mountains, northeast of Imladris

Elladan slid on his belly through the mud, finally coming near enough to the edge of the cliff that he could peer over the side.  A grim smile crossed his face as he watched the orcs entering the cave below.  He stayed in that position for nearly a half hour, until all visible orcs had entered the cavern and he felt confident he had an accurate count. The cave was located a short way off the main trail through the High Pass, and the cliffs and tall trees shrouded the trail from sunlight except for the hours of the day when the sun was at its zenith.  They had perhaps six hours to prepare for this group of orcs.  Elladan silently slid away from the cliff edge and out of hearing of the cave. He heard the call of the other scout on this patrol and quickly answered.  They met a quarter mile ahead, Garthon dropping from the tree he was in to stand before Elladan.

“This is one of the larger parties I have seen or heard traveling through the mountains,” Elladan informed his companion. “I counted sixty, and some had surely entered the cave before I could see them.  There could be seventy total.”

Garthon gave a nearly silent whistle. “It must have been a smaller party, an offshoot to this one, that attacked the travelers we met two days ago.”

“Then they were fortunate to have escaped alive,” agreed Elladan as the two moved swiftly back to their camp.

Garthon announced their return with the pre-determined call and a few minutes later they entered the camp made by their patrol.  Both Elladan and Garthon immediately found Glorfindel, their captain on this patrol, to give a report of what they found.  Their body language spoke volumes, though, and soon the whole patrol was gathered around them.

“They are less than a league from here,” said Elladan, kneeling to draw a rough map in the dirt. “Sixty to seventy orcs, sheltering for the day in the large cave off the main path, about here.”   All knew that cave, as orcs had used it for shelter before.  “The cliffs on both sides of the trail provide ample hunting space.” Elladan quickly sketched the cliff ridges that had vantage points over the cave and the trail.

“Good job,” said Glorfindel, touching them both lightly on the shoulder as he stood. “Get cleaned up and rest.”

Elladan grinned and made his way to the pool of fresh water that they had camped near.  A spring fed it, and a small stream led away from it, later flowing down and joining the Bruinen.  He walked a short way down the stream, and stripped off his mud covered clothing, leaving it to soak where the cold mountain water could flow over it.  Then he walked in the water back up to the deeper pool and sank into the cold water. Closing his eyes, he leaned back and allowed the sun to warm his face even as the water chilled his skin. He opened his eyes when a small splash in the water caught his attention, and quickly caught the chunk of soap floating near him.

“You are filthy, brother,” laughed Elrohir from the bank, where he sat with a towel and fresh clothing.  “Wash your hair.”

Elladan smiled his thanks, not having come prepared, for he knew his twin would follow and provide what he needed.  He soaped his hair and body, and then submerged himself to rinse.  As he stepped on to the bank Elrohir threw him a towel, and he quickly dried off and then dressed. He was surprised to see his bedroll lying beneath a nearby tree, with Garthon, who had not gotten so dirty, already asleep on his next to it.  Elladan fought back a yawn as he realized he was tired.

“Sit,” commanded Elrohir as he pushed his brother lightly. With deft fingers, he quickly braided his brother’s damp hair into a single thick braid and then pushed him down.  “Rest before we go to battle.  I will take care of your clothing.”

Elladan was asleep moments later, his head resting in the crook of his arm and a slight smile curving his lips. 

* * *

Elrohir quickly washed Elladan’s muddy tunic and trousers, and then laid them over a nearby bush to dry in the sun.  His brother was one of the best scouts Imladris had, and he and Garthon had done exceptionally well to track the Orcs from high in the mountains to their current location.  They had come from the north, from the Ettenmoors, and reports had reached Imladris from the Dúnedain that Orcs were moving south. The elves of Imladris kept the High Pass clear of danger, and Glorfindel had led their patrol north of the pass into the mountains to track this party. 

Elrohir finished his tasks and moved to rejoin Glorfindel where the captain again sat near the map Elladan had drawn.  His hands were busy, as usual, as he set about fletching more arrows.  If Elladan was the best scout, Elrohir was the best archer, and archers would lead tonight’s battle.

“Why do you think such a large party is heading south?” asked Elrohir quietly as he worked.

Glorfindel was silent for a moment, then turned to Elrohir.  “They could be heading for Dol Guldur and for some reason wish to avoid the eastern shore.  Perhaps the woodsmen have been resistant to their passage. They could be seeking new strongholds in the Misty Mountains, perhaps to prevent passage across them. Whatever the reason, it does not bode well for any who live or travel nearby.”

“We will annihilate this group,” replied Elrohir confidently.

Glorfindel grinned and plucked an arrow from the growing stack at Elrohir’s side. “Do you plan on leaving any of the enemy for the rest of us?”

Elrohir grinned and answered, “Only if you draw fast.”

Glorfindel laughed aloud.  “Over-confident, impudent elfling. You have won a few archery contests and are now nearly unbearable.”

Elrohir only smiled at the reference to elfling.  Glorfindel had called him that for all of the centuries of his life, and he had long since given up protesting the moniker. Glorfindel treated him as an adult, and that was what mattered.  Although Elrohir would never admit it to anyone but his twin, there was something comfortable and comforting in knowing that the adults of his childhood still watched out for him.

Glorfindel pointed down at the sketch in the dirt. “This appears to be the ridge with the best view of the cave.  You will take point position here and firing will begin on your signal.” Elrohir nodded, familiar with the tactic and the role he was to play. 

They sat in companionable silence, listening to the quiet sounds of the twenty-five elves in their war party as they prepared for the night’s battle. When two hours had passed, Elrohir rose unbidden and awakened his twin and Garthon, and the party set out to take up position for the ambush.

* * * * *

meleth-nín –---- my love
ion-nín-----------my son
ada(r)------------dad/father
nana/naneth----mom/mother

 Thanks to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 2: Brothers

Legolas lay on his belly under the thick branches of the bush, now in full bloom.  Drooping flowers and wide green leaves hid him from sight, or at least he hoped they did, for at the end of the garden, by the beech tree that marked the boundary of his play, sat the squirrel he was tracking - chattering loudly, its tail flicking, and a nut in its small paws.  Legolas held his breath, trying to still even the slight noise of air passing his nose and lips.  Still the tail flicked and the squirrel chattered, looking in his direction.  Legolas finally gave a rather loud sigh of exasperation and buried his head in his arms. How could he possibly be tracking the squirrel when the furry critter knew he was there?  He rolled out from under the bush and lay on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, as he looked up at the canopy of leaves and the patches of blue sky.  He suddenly felt a nudge against the bottom of his foot and looked to see his brother grinning down at him.

“You are mighty easy to find, elfling,” teased Bregolas.

Despite his frustration with squirrels and the confines of the garden, Legolas could not help but smile back at his brother.  He sat up and then jumped to his feet, jumping on to the tops of his brother’s feet and holding his hands up to the tall elf. Bregolas picked him up and swung him through the air, and then sat down on a nearby bench with Legolas beside him.

“Tracking is not very exciting in the garden,” said Legolas sadly, his smile of joy at seeing his brother fading as he considered the failure of his mission.

“I imagine not,” agreed Bregolas.  He looked down at the triumphant squirrel, still chattering at Legolas as if to point out that it had won, and then tossed a small stone near the rodent, causing it to scurry up into the beech tree.  Legolas looked up at him and grinned.

“I know where the squirrel lives and he knows where I live, so tracking him is a rather silly thing to do,” announced Legolas wisely.

Bregolas laughed. “I suppose that is true. But I have good news - I have a surprise for you.”

Legolas perked up. “What kind of surprise, Bregolas?  What is it?”

“Adar has said that I may take you out into the forest and teach you about tracking.”

“Yes!” Legolas clapped his hands in joy. He jumped to his feet to stand on the bench next to his brother, leaning against Bregolas’s shoulder. “Can we stay out overnight? Can we sleep under the stars?”

“Yes, we may,” answered Bregolas, laughing as he found himself caught up in Legolas’s excitement. “We will go north . . ..”

“Can we take Urevio?  Can I ride with you?”

“Yes, we will take Urevio.  He would be sad if we did not.”

“Can Sadron come?  And Rawien?  And Bellion?”

“We will see, little one. Now, I think it is time you went inside and cleaned up for dinner.  Ada will be waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Bregolas!” cried Legolas, as he flung his arms about his brother’s neck and hugged him tightly. He jumped to the ground and then called, “I will see you at dinner!” as he ran to the palace.

Racing along the garden path to the steps of the palace, Legolas stopped where the guards were standing and announced, “Bregolas is going to take me tracking in the forest!” He bounced on the balls of his feet as the guards congratulated him, and then continued past them, running as fast as he could.  He saw that the door to Rawien and Tathiel’s chambers was ajar, and skidded to a stop outside of it.  He peeked inside and saw Tathiel sitting in her chair, skeins of yarn about her, and he knew she was making blankets for her baby.  Remembering his ada’s rule, he stepped inside quietly and in his nicest indoor voice said, “Tathiel, I am here.”

Tathiel looked up at him and smiled, then held out her arm to him.  He skipped to her quickly and leaned against her knees and big belly as she kissed him.

“Hello, Legolas,” she greeted him.  “Thank you for not startling me.”

“Bregolas is going to take me tracking in the forest,” he announced. “We are going to take Urevio and sleep under the stars!”

“That does sound exciting!” replied Tathiel, but her hand had moved to her belly and she sat up straight in surprise.

Startled, Legolas looked at Tathiel’s stomach and then cautiously touched it where he thought he had just seen movement. Beneath the silk, he felt something move and jerked his hand away. Big blue eyes turned to Tathiel in fear.  “There is something moving in you!”

“That is the baby, Legolas,” answered Tathiel with a look of wonder on her face.  She took his hand and pressed it back to her belly, moving it slightly to a spot where he could feel the baby kick again. “It is kicking!”

Legolas’s eyes grew wide with awe and he brought his other hand up to rest by the first one, moving them across Tathiel’s stomach with her guidance. He felt her whole belly move then and pulled both hands away. “I have to go tell Ada about this!” He turned and started to run for the door, and then stopped and looked back at her. “Does Rawien know your baby does that?”

“Yes, dear heart, he does,” laughed Tathiel.  “I will see you at dinner!” she called as he turned again and ran from the room.

Legolas dashed around the corner and ran into his own chamber, and then on into his father’s, where he found his father seated at his desk.

“Ada!” he called as he slammed into Thranduil’s side and then bounced on his ada’s thigh on both elbows. “Bregolas said you said he can take me tracking in the forest!  And Tathiel’s baby moves inside of her!”

Thranduil laughed at his son’s joy, but managed to slip a hand between himself and Legolas’s dirty tunic.  He stood and with one hand on Legolas’s shoulder, guided him back to his own room.

“Let us change your tunic,” he said as they walked to the cupboard where Legolas’s clothing was kept.  He untied the cords of the small tunic and pulled it up over Legolas’s head even as he asked, “Did you feel Tathiel’s baby kick?”

Legolas nodded as his father washed his face and hands with a warm cloth and then slipped a clean tunic over his upraised arms. “It kicks and I think it turns somersaults, too,” he replied when the tunic was off his face.

“Leggings, too,” decided Thranduil. “Were you lying on your belly in the dirt?”

“I was trying to track the squirrel who lives in the beech tree, but he was not cooperative,” Legolas informed him with a grin.  He had been told to be more cooperative on many occasions and decided he liked the word.

Freshly dressed and with clean hands and face, Legolas trotted after his father as Thranduil returned to his own chamber.  “Bregolas says we canride Urevio and sleep under the stars,” said Legolas.  His words trailed off as his father entered his own bathing chamber, and he saw his father’s sword hanging on the wall.  He pushed the chair from his father’s writing desk to a table below the sword and, climbing up on it and then on to the table, he was able to stand and reach the weapon.  It was very heavy, but he managed to let it slide from its holder down on to the table with the hilt resting against his chest, and then lower it so it lay flat.  He climbed the rest of the way down, leaving the sword within reach on the table.

Legolas then carefully lifted the heavy scabbard, cradling it in both hands as he looked at the runes carved into the leather. He grasped the hilt of the sword with one hand and attempted to raise it, but found he had to use his other hand to hold it upright.  He scowled as he looked at his small hands.  Why would they not grow faster?  He returned his attention to the sword, grasping the hilt in his right hand, while his left supported and guided it, and moved it slowly, as if blocking an attack.

“I have you now,” he muttered as he thrust at the unseen enemy. “You will not escape the sword of Legolas, Warrior of the Woodland Realm!”

He lifted the sword high, as if in triumph, but the sword continued up and out of his hands! 

“Come, mighty warrior, it is time for dinner,” laughed Thranduil as Legolas spun on his heel to face the one who had taken his prized weapon.

“Ada, when can I have a sword?” asked Legolas as he watched Thranduil place the sword back on the wall where it belonged and move the chair Legolas had used to reach it back to its normal position in front of the desk. If he were going out into the dangerous forest, he should have a weapon.

“I think we have many years before we must train you to defend our people,” answered Thranduil as he held out his hand to the child. “You are not to touch the sword again without permission, Legolas,” he instructed the elfling.

“Yes, Ada,” agreed Legolas, grinning as he slipped his small hand into his father’s, and began to skip down the hall.

They were nearing the family dining area when another elf stepped from his chamber into the hall in front of them.  Legolas dropped his father’s hand and dashed wordlessly forward, leaping in the air as the elf turned just in time to catch the flying elfling.

“Lathron!” said Legolas joyfully as he snuggled against his brother’s shoulder.  “When did you get home?  Was your trip good?”

“I returned just a short while ago, my trip was beneficial and I missed you terribly,” replied Lathron as he hugged him close.  Legolas clung to him tightly, and when Lathron tried to loosen the hold about his neck, he found the small hands clasped even tighter about him and one of his braids suddenly firmly entwined in a small fist. He gave in readily and carried his little leech into the dining room.

“Someone missed you,” said Tathiel to Lathron as he sat down with Legolas in his lap.

Lathron smiled as Legolas suddenly raised his head and looked at Tathiel, and then whispered to Lathron, “Tathiel’s baby moves inside her stomach.”  He suddenly grasped Lathron’s face between his hands, ensuring his full attention, and said, “Bregolas is taking me tracking in the woods!  We are going to sleep under the stars!”  A long pause followed, and then Legolas said softly, “I do not know when we are going, but if you will be sad we can wait a few days or you could come with us.  Bregolas would protect you.”

Laughter filled the dining room, and Legolas smiled in spite of himself.  Lathron had been gone for days and he had missed him terribly, and he thought his solution rather good. He normally sat between Lathron and his ada at meals, and he moved willingly to his chair now that those on both sides of him were again occupied.   Legolas ate quietly, listening as everyone else talked and perking up in particular when Bregolas and Rawien talked about his trip.  But as soon as the meal was over, Lathron excused himself, for he was tired after a long day of travel. 

“Ada, I am tired, too,” said Legolas as he tugged slightly on Thranduil’s sleeve.

“You did play hard today,” replied Thranduil as he stood and offered Legolas his hand.  After bidding good night to everyone, Legolas led his Ada back to his room, where Thranduil helped him get ready for bed.  As soon as he was tucked in and his door closed, he slipped from his bed and padded quietly into the hallway.  Lathron’s room was close to his own, and he entered silently, before anyone saw him in the hall.  Lathron was sound asleep already.  Legolas climbed up on to the big bed, and burrowed beneath the covers, cuddling up to Lathron.  As soon as those familiar arms encircled him, he, too, fell asleep.

* * *

Thranduil waited for a few moments after tucking Legolas into his bed, and then left his own chamber to rejoin his other children in the sitting room.  He stopped at Lathron’s chamber and smiled with satisfaction to see Lathron and Legolas snuggled together in the bed.

“Is he in bed with Lathron?” asked Bregolas as Thranduil entered, looking up from where he was admiring Elumeril’s latest completed wall hanging.

“Yes, and he was so stealthy about it.  He does not know that his heart is so easily read, and that we all, including Lathron, knew he would do exactly this,” laughed Thranduil. “I hope he is not so obvious learning to track.”

Bregolas grinned. “He will learn.  He can be quiet, when he wishes to be.  We will go out with a scouting group that will be joining the Northern Patrol, and stay just for a day or so.  There are many deer in that part of the wood, though I will not plan on refreshing the cellars on this trip.”

“I have something to send to Elenath,” said Elumeril. “Will the scouts take it?”

“Yes,” answered Bregolas.  “Where do you plan on displaying this tapestry, Elumeril?”

Elumeril smiled. “It is for Lathron, a gift for his begetting day. He shall decide where to put it.”

The tapestry was passed around the room, with many murmurs of appreciation for Elumeril’s growing skills as well as the subject matter.  The relationship between Legolas and Lathron was special, and it was captured perfectly in Elumeril’s depiction of the two of them together.

“It is your best work yet, Elumeril,” said Thranduil as he bent down to kiss his youngest daughter on the top of the head.  “I am proud of you.”

Thranduil seated himself with a sheaf of parchments, drawings sent by Celebrinduil of the plans he and his craftsmen had made for talans to the south of the cavern, an improved road for delivering supplies to them, and a small bridge over the nearby creek.  Thranduil was impressed by the design, for truly a visitor who happened upon the small settlement would not know that it was present in the trees above them, and even the small buildings on the ground were well concealed.

He felt within himself for the bonds to his children, for Elenath on the Northern Patrol, Celebrinduil just a day’s ride to the south and the others with him in the palace.  He had not thought it possible six years ago that he would again feel content, but he did.  He turned his attention back to the plans, adding notations here and there with questions and suggestions.

* * *

Elrohir and Elladan led the patrol to the ridge overlooking the cave where the orcs were sheltering for the day. The sun was still high as they began to set up their archers in the best positions.  Some of the elves would block the High Pass heading towards Imladris, ensuring the orcs were forced away from their valley refuge.

Elrohir motioned to a spot that appeared to be the one marked on Elladan’s map earlier as where the lead elf would have the best view of the cave, and Elladan nodded his agreement.  Elrohir made himself comfortable in the shelter of a rock and the scrub brush around it, and with his bow comfortably at his side, began his watch of the cave entrance.  His gaze roamed the surrounding ridges and cliffs, as he mentally catalogued where each of the warriors was hidden, but returned constantly to the cave. He could feel his heart rate had increased in anticipation of the upcoming battle, and he slowed it by sheer will.  They had hours left to wait, hours that Elladan and Garthon would spend scouting ahead on the High Pass.

An Imladris call sounded indicating that all warriors were in position, and Elrohir responded immediately, for that call meant that the signal for battle now rested with him. He recalled the first time Glorfindel had put him in this position, many years earlier when Imladris was besieged.  Glorfindel himself had led the elves in the overthrow of the Witch-King of Angmar, but it was Elrohir and Elladan who had protected Imladris.  Elrohir had learned he had a knack for the timing of battles and ambushes, and had grown into that role over the centuries.

“You have excellent timing,” Glorfindel had said, then paused and added, “for an elfling.”

A smile crossed Elrohir’s face as he remembered that, for he had truly given up answering ‘I am not an elfling’ after that.  An elfling he would be until end of the Arda.

The hours passed in silence, and Elrohir found he was enjoying the sunshine and the calls of the birds as he waited.  The sun was passing into the west when noises were first heard from the cave, and all the elves perked to attention.  The bright light of the sun was hidden beyond the trees on the west ridge when the first Orc left the cave, quickly followed by others.

The first orc seemed to be a leader or captain of the host, better armed and armored than those that followed behind him.  He had bow, sword and knife, Elrohir noted. He found himself counting the archers, coming to the same conclusion Elladan had that approximately one third to one half had bows.  The lead orc stopped on the main path, calling some orders to four others who were apparently scouts.  Two jogged westward, towards Imladris, and the other two headed east.  Elrohir frowned, and sounded a call that he knew would be conflicting.  Scouts heading in both directions meant they might be fighting two fronts in the battle.

The captain, however, began to lead his host east, and Elrohir counted sixty two that followed him. When the first had reached the last of the archers, Elrohir called the signal to attack.  His own arrow flew first, and the elves targeted all the Orcs with bows first.  Their arrows flying true, orcs fell as few had any armor to protect them.

Even in the midst of the noise of battle, a cry of pain in an elven voice caught his attention, and Elrohir realized that one of the Orc archers had struck an elf.  He watched as the elf fell, and then began firing arrow after arrow at the Orcs climbing the cliff to grab the fallen warrior. An arrow passed close by his ear several moments later, and he was forced to return his attention to the orcs below him.

When he could next break to look, Elrohir noted that several elves were battling the small group of orcs that were attempting to drag the injured elf off the ridge.  His own position was such that many of the surviving orcs were now ahead of him, and he moved to a slightly higher location where he could focus his remaining arrows on the orcs assailing his fellow warrior. Around him, elves were dropping to the ground with swords drawn as their arrows were depleted, and soon Elrohir was in the same situation.  He took a moment to survey the battle and realized that the leader of the orcs was fleeing, while other orcs were drawing the elves attention away from him by continuing their efforts to capture the wounded elf. He is on some sort of mission, thought Elrohir as the lead orc disappeared from his sight.

When an elf was injured, his fellow warriors surrounded him, either protecting his position or dragging him to safety.   Several elves were guarding two who were injured, and another five were battling the orcs still harassing the injured elf on the ridge.   Suddenly, the remaining orcs gave up their fight, one of them managing to slice the leg of the already pierced elf as he retreated, but the elf was not taken. Two warriors quickly carried the downed warrior to where the other injured elves were being guarded, while the orcs fled eastward.

Elrohir watched as the handful of orcs disappeared into the forest, and he sounded the call to regroup. He began accounting for each elf in the patrol as they appeared in response. In the darkening night he counted three with more serious injuries, six with lesser injuries that would preclude further battling this night, two missing and the rest uninjured or minimally so.

“Elladan and Garthon have not returned,” said Glorfindel quietly after hearing Elrohir’s report. “They are likely following those who escaped. Those unable to fight this night will prepare to return to Imladris with a guard. The rest of us will pursue the orcs eastward.”

Elrohir moved a step towards the injured, but his eyes were drawn eastward.  Having learned the healing arts at the hand of his father, another role he served was the tending of the wounded.  Elladan shared much of the same skills, but his first priority was normally in scouting. Elrohir felt Glorfindel’s hand on his shoulder. “Tend to Berein, Elrohir.”

Elrohir turned soundlessly to face west, to an area where the injured were being tended.  Berein’s injury was severe, the gash to his leg coming perilously close to a major artery.  Blood no longer spurted from the gash due to a tightly bound cloth wrapped above the wound, but the elf was suffering from blood loss. Elrohir forced concern for his twin from his mind, and focused all of his attention on the serious wound before him.

“Build up the fire and heat some water,” he directed.  He looked into the ashen, sweat covered face of Berein, and then knelt beside him and rested one hand upon the elf’s forehead and the other across his chest.  They could not risk sedating him with the chance of battle still so high, but Elrohir could reduce his pain and ease his fears.  He felt Berein relax under his touch and appear to drift into slumber.

Elrohir mended the nicked vessel and stitched close the wound. At Berein’s head, two warriors sat with their hands upon him, their purpose twofold.  They comforted him and eased his pain with their touch and song, and in the event the pain overcame the relief they brought him, they would hold him still if he could not do so himself. Elrohir bound and wrapped the leg, and then tended the arrow wound that had brought the elf down initially.  Berein had fortunately removed the arrow instantly, but the wound edges were reddened and angry from some sort of poison used by the orcs.  Others had already covered that wound with a paste that contained an antidote to constrict the vessels and prevent further penetration of the poison.  Elrohir carefully removed that now filthy paste and cleaned the area.  He decided it would heal better without stitching, coated it again with a fresh covering of the healing paste and bandaged the wound.

The two elves aiding him still soothed Berein as Elrohir sat back on the ground, stretching his arms and neck from the uncomfortable position he had been working in.  He closed his eyes and tried to sense if Elladan was injured or dead, but could feel nothing amiss.  He pushed aside his worry again, and turned to where the next most severely injured elf lay.

“He is tended,” said Glorfindel softly as he stepped around the resting warrior.  He held out Elrohir’s pack to him, and motioned for him to follow.

Elrohir looked up to see three elves waiting.

“Elladan and Garthon are tracking the orcs east.  They are approaching the Anduin.  Come!”

Elrohir felt his heart leap in his chest, not at the thought of battling orcs, but because his brother was safe.  He fell into step with Glorfindel as the two followed quickly after the three in the lead.

“You waited for me,” he said suddenly, not slowing or taking his eyes off the terrain they were racing over.

Glorfindel laughed lightly.  “The extra hour makes little difference, especially since our scouts were following. More importantly, elfling, I learned long ago not to separate you two when one of you might be harmed.”

Elrohir smiled as he flew light-footed over the ground

* * *

Elladan counted the remaining orcs, noting the lack of bows and arrows among the remnant. What appeared to be a captain or leader still ruled the twenty survivors, and he moved among them as they rested and tended each other’s wounds.  The language was harsh and guttural, yet Elladan picked up the words and phrases indicating that the captain still had a message to deliver and his maggots would see him through.  He cursed the elves that had ambushed them – and Elladan learned that two scouts had been sent to see to the valley of the hidden elf-Lord. He smiled in grim satisfaction, for he doubted if the westward scouts had survived for more than a few hundred yards beyond their cave.

Elladan waited patiently in the boughs of a tree a short distance away until the orcs resumed their journey.  Soon they would be out of the Misty Mountains, and he had heard their references to crossing the big waters.  He followed them covertly, a slight chirping call of a night cricket the only sound to mark his passage.

Nearly a league away, Garthon passed on the call, and after receiving a response, he followed Elladan.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter.

Chapter 3:  Surprises

Legolas awoke early, still snuggled in Lathron’s arms.  He rolled on to his back and looked up at his brother, a smile covering his face.  He was glad Lathron was home. Legolas stretched and sighed in contentment, but then something caught his eye – something he had not seen before in Lathron’s room. He crawled to the edge of the bed and slid off the side, then pushed the door of the wardrobe the rest of the way open. A sword. An unstrung bow. An empty quiver with a long sheathed knife in its outer pocket. Legolas touched them, each in turn, then turned back to look at his brother.

Bregolas was a warrior.  Elenath was a warrior.  Ada had been a warrior and still had a sword. Was Lathron a warrior too?

Legolas climbed back on to the bed and kneeled in front of Lathron.  He stared hard at his brother, but Lathron did not wake up.  He lightly touched Lathron’s face, and Lathron stirred, but his eyes did not focus. 

“Lathron!” whispered Legolas loudly. Lathron sighed and rolled over, but still did not wake. Legolas turned to look again at the open wardrobe.  Ada told him he could not touch his sword without permission, but Lathron had not said that. Maybe Lathron would not mind if he only touched the bow, or the empty quiver. He moved to the edge of the bed, temptation pulling him back towards the wardrobe.  He slowly slid down until his feet touched the floor.

“I have you, elfling!” said Lathron with a growl.

“Aiii!” squealed Legolas as a long arm grabbed him around the chest and pulled him up into the air.  He landed on his back on the bed, and long hair tickled his face as Lathron bent over him.

“What are you up to, Legolas?” asked Lathron as he held Legolas down with one hand on his chest.

“I wanted you to wake up!” explained Legolas with a giggle.

“Why?” Lathron tickled the elfling’s belly, evading the small hands that were seeking to stop him.

“Because you have a sword and a knife and a bow and a quiver,” replied Legolas seriously.  “Did you know they were in your wardrobe? Are they yours? Where did you get them?”

Lathron sat down and pulled Legolas upright, straightening his night tunic. “They are mine.”

“Why do you have them?”

“All elves need to know how to protect themselves, Legolas.  And if there were need, I would use my weapons to defend our people.”

Lathron stood, closing the wardrobe door as he walked by to his bathing chamber.  Legolas slid off the bed to follow him.

“Did you have them on your trip? Was it dangerous?” pressed Legolas.

Lathron turned and knelt down before Legolas.  He looked him in the eye and was quiet for a moment, as if he was thinking. “I did have them on my trip, for the times we live in can be dangerous, Legolas.”

“Did you see any orcs?”

“No, fortunately we did not. Do you want to take a bath?”

Legolas stripped off his night tunic as he ran into the bathing chamber. He climbed in the carven tub as Lathron turned on the water and began searching for his favorite bubbles among the jars along the tub’s wide edge. He looked up at Lathron before adding any, but Lathron had his back turned.  Smiling, Legolas dumped in the whole jar.  He splashed in the bubbles as Lathron relaxed in the warm water, and remembered why he liked Lathron supervising his bath.  He never told Legolas he used too many bubbles.

“Lathron, you could come tracking with me and Bregolas and Bregolas would not need to protect you!” announced Legolas. “Do you know how to track too?”

Lathron opened one eye to look at him, and Legolas grinned at him and threw bubbles in his direction.

“I dare say Bregolas is the better person to teach you tracking,” replied Lathron. “I think I will stay home, though, and sleep in my nice bed.”

Legolas frowned and stopped splashing.  He did not want Lathron to stay home while he went away.  He had not liked it when he had to stay home while Lathron was gone.  He wanted to go with Bregolas, but he did not want to leave Lathron.  He swam over to Lathron and wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and hugged him tightly.

“I will always be here when you come home,” whispered Lathron. “But Adar needs me while Bregolas is gone. I have much work to do too, reporting and planning from all I learned on my trip.”

Legolas did not reply.

“You have not asked me if I brought you anything,” said Lathron, teasing in his voice. 

Legolas perked up.  He pushed away from Lathron slightly, so he could see his face.  He tugged his brother’s long wet hair towards him, pulling the long strands apart. “Did you?”

“I did.  But you must get dressed and have breakfast first, and then I will show you.”

Legolas clambered over his brother and out of the tub, pulling Lathron by the arm.  “Come on, Lathron!  Hurry!”

* * *

Thranduil was seated for breakfast when he heard the patter of small feet and then the breathless voice of his youngest son before Legolas actually burst into the room.

“Ada!  Did you wonder where I was last night?” called Legolas.  He slid through the door, wrapping both of his arms around his father’s elbow.  “I was in Lathron’s room!”

“I rather thought you would be,” answered Thranduil as he kissed the top of the small head. “Sit and have breakfast.”

Legolas climbed up on to his chair and tucked his napkin into his tunic, then surveyed the good things on the table intently.  Thranduil smiled indulgently as his youngest reached immediately for sweet seed cakes, but placed a bowl of porridge next to his son’s plate.  Legolas stuck out his tongue at it, but when his eyes met Thranduil’s, he grinned saucily and immediately placed a spoonful in his mouth.

“Ada, did you know Lathron has a sword and a bow and a knife?” asked Legolas.  He did not wait for a reply, but continued. “Lathron could be a warrior too, Ada, if you needed him. The times we live in can be dangerous,” he finished with a sincere look on his small face.

Thranduil felt his smile fade, and he looked up to meet Lathron’s eyes.  His gentle son nodded at him, almost imperceptibly, and turned his gaze to Legolas.  Legolas was eating breakfast with vigor, seemingly unaware that he had said anything untoward.  Thranduil reached out, caressing and smoothing the hair on the small head next to him. Legolas flashed him a grin in response – a smile that dazzled just like his mother’s had.  The child had lived through a dangerous and uncertain time, yet the parts he most remembered were the good times on the trail home.

“Lathron brought a present for me, too, but I have to finish breakfast first,” Legolas informed him. “But he cannot come tracking with me and Bregolas because he has to help you, Ada.”

“Yes, there is much work for us to do now that Lathron has returned,” agreed Thranduil.  He watched as Legolas returned to his meal with relish, finishing his porridge and all the fruit and cakes on his plate.

Thranduil thought back to his feelings of contentment the night before, and decided his current feelings were not at odds with them.  He was grateful that Legolas was oblivious to the events surrounding his birth. Thranduil glanced at Lathron again, noting that some of the tension that had surrounded him the evening before was now gone. For though Lathron had not been on that fateful journey nine summers earlier, memories, dreams and flashbacks still occasionally haunted both his sleep and waking hours. He had just returned from Esgaroth and a rendezvous west of the iron hills, meeting with some of the same Men who had helped arrange for the ore and goods nine years before.   Lathron was very skilled in negotiating contracts and deals with the Men, and had been adamant that his father not attend the meetings. Thranduil smiled as he thought of his sons’ protectiveness. None of them wanted him to relive that journey that had ended the lives of his wife and son, Alagos, and started the horror of an infant son missing for nearly two years.  Yet Lathron suffered for having gone, though Thranduil suspected he suffered most from being apart from Legolas.  He looked down at his grinning elfling. It was his smile, Thranduil decided.  Legolas had inherited his mother’s smile, an ever present reminder of her.

Pounding on the underside of the table caught Thranduil’s attention, and he reached without looking to grasp the small foot inflicting the noise.  Legolas giggled and squirmed as his father held his foot. “May I be excused, Ada?” Legolas asked.

“Lathron has not yet finished,” Thranduil replied.

“I will stay nearby,” promised Legolas.

“Of that I have no doubt,” laughed Thranduil dryly as he released the foot. Legolas then began bouncing on his chair, his legs swinging back and forth. Thranduil pulled Legolas’s chair back and Legolas slipped to the ground, dancing in place.  “Stay in the garden until we come to find you.”

Legolas spun in a circle and skipped from the room, singing to himself, “Today I get a present, a present from my brother.  Today I get a present from my brother!”

The door closed behind the elfling and Thranduil laughed aloud.   “Is his gift ready for him?” he asked Lathron.

Lathron nodded.  “Yes.  I have a note indicating all was well during the night. He will be very excited.”

Thranduil nodded.  “He will.  He is a little young, younger than the rest of you were, but he will be thrilled and he is ready for it.”

Lathron stood. “Are you ready then, Adar?”

Thranduil stood.  “I am.  And you, ion-nín?  Are you well?”

“I am fine, Adar.  I needed a good night’s sleep, and to see all of you,” replied Lathron.

Thranduil pulled Lathron into an embrace, stroking the dark head and kissing his son on the brow.  “Did you have visions and memory of the places you went?”

Lathron looked away. “I think perhaps they were flashes of the visions I had while Legolas was missing. Though I knew he was safe at home with you, I feared for him.  But I saw only that which I had seen before.”

Thranduil released his son, feeling a remnant of Lathron’s uneasiness, but trusting in his own sense that Lathron was overall well. In the last nine years he had come to understand this son, even to rely on his sensitivity, both in matters familial and in the running of the realm.  “Let us go find Legolas.”

Legolas was easily found, his sing-song voice carrying throughout the garden.

Lathron is home
And he brought me a gift
A present for Legolas
And Legolas is me!

“Lathron! Ada!  Is it time?” shouted Legolas, as he ran to his father and brother. Legolas launched himself at Lathron, who caught him easily.

“Yes, it is time,” replied Lathron.

“Where is it?” asked Legolas breathlessly.

“It is in the stables.”

Legolas’s brow furrowed, as he seemed to ponder what Lathron would have to hide in the stable.  Then, suddenly, they were at the stable doors, and Lathron set Legolas on his feet. The stable master was waiting for them, a smile on his face, and all the elves who worked in the stables had gathered round, as well as a number of warriors.  The stable master stepped aside, and Bregolas walked out.

Thranduil watched as Legolas’s face reflected anticipation and then confusion, and finally utter joy as a small pony followed Bregolas out into the yard.

“A pony!” cried Legolas in delight. He looked from Bregolas to Lathron and Thranduil.  “Is he for me?”

Thranduil laughed. “He is for you.  Come, let us meet him.” He took Legolas by the hand and led him forward. Legolas stopped in front of the pony, which eyed him curiously. His hands clasped over his chest, Legolas could only stare at the pony in wonder and awe.  Finally, the pony lowered his head and snuffled into Legolas’s hair. That drew Legolas from his stunned inaction, and he threw his arms around the pony’s neck and hugged him.

“He is speechless with joy,” laughed Bregolas. 

The pony whinnied and lowered its head further to snuffle his nose into Legolas’s stomach, blowing warm air through the tunic and making Legolas giggle and release him.

“What is his name?” asked Legolas, turning to Bregolas.

“He is for you; therefore you must name him.”

Legolas stroked the pony’s nose as he looked him in the eye.  It was a fine looking pony, a rich brown in color, with a crescent moon shaped silver spot above his eyes.

“Cúron,” answered Legolas.  “Pony, your name is Cúron. I am Legolas.  You are mine and I am yours!”  The pony whinnied in response and Legolas turned so he stood next to the pony, leaning against the pony’s sturdy side, to face his family. “Can Cúron come tracking with us?”

Thranduil looked to Bregolas and Rawien, who had spent part of the evening and the morning evaluating the pony. Both nodded.

“Yes, Cúron may go with you,” answered Thranduil.

Legolas returned his attention to the pony, and Thranduil watched as the warriors and stable hands each came up to Legolas and Cúron, introducing themselves to the pony and congratulating Legolas for his good fortune.  The wide grin never left his son’s face, and if anything, Legolas reveled in the attention of these people he so admired. The stablemaster nodded to Thranduil, and then called to Legolas, “Come, Master Legolas.  We will teach you how to take care of Cúron and get you used to riding him.”

Legolas turned to his father for permission, and when it was received he jumped and called out his joy as he took the bridle and led his pony back to the stable.

Bregolas fell into step with Lathron and Thranduil as they returned to the palace. “We will leave tomorrow morning. Our pace will be slow enough for the pony to keep up, although Legolas will ride with me, for the most part.  We will spend a day or two in the forest, while Rawien rides ahead with the scouts to meet the Northern Patrol.  Depending on how quickly his trip is made, we may wait and return with him.” Bregolas turned to Lathron.  “We will be gone three to four days, Lathron. Are you sure you do not wish to ride with us?”

Lathron smiled.  “I may ride out to meet you on your return trip, depending on how quickly we can settle these contracts and distribute the goods we purchased.”

Thranduil watched the conversation between his oldest sons, noting that Bregolas also seemed to be assessing if something was amiss with Lathron.  Thranduil made a note to himself to question Bregolas later.

* * *

Elladan followed the orcs as they moved quickly through the night. Their speed both amazed him and supported his belief that these orcs were on an important mission.  By his estimation, they were covering nearly two to two and a half leagues every hour, despite the rough terrain. Their course had veered to the northeast as they hugged the edges of the mountains. They came from the north; why do they return that way? Elladan asked himself. If they bear a message to the south, to Dol Guldur or Mordor, they would not reverse course because they met opposition. On the contrary, the leader had indicated they continued with their mission.  Something in this situation is not right, he concluded.

Tracking the orcs had not proved difficult, and Elladan had to remind himself to proceed with all due caution.  The orcs appeared to be unaware that anyone was following them, yet he would not underestimate their cunning.  He was still alone, although Garthon would soon catch up with him, and the enemy could trap him if he was not careful.

A whiff of a foul odor came to him on the breeze, and he slowed from his run, stopping and climbing into a nearby fir tree. Yrch.  Their odor was immediately recognizable.  Now is a good time for a rest, Elladan decided. He settled himself on to a wide branch near the trunk of the tree, and willed himself to relax and rest. The sound of a heavy foot on the ground below him a short while later caused Elladan to freeze in place. Though he could not see the creature, slight grunts and the sound of a heavy foot on the branches told him an Orc was climbing the same tree he was in.  He had thus far remained downwind of the orcs, but soon the orc would sense his presence. It might have done so already if he had not been so dirty.  I never thought to be so glad to be this filthy, he though bemusedly, as he looked down at his muddy tunic and trousers. They seem to know and find the scent of elves as offensive as we find them.

He climbed higher, taking great care to be silent. He was lighter than an orc and could potentially climb higher. However, if the orc became aware of his presence, the additional height would bring him only temporary relief.  He could not stay aloft forever.  While he kept his hearing focused on the sounds below him, his eyes began searching the darkness for any other routes of escape. The fir trees grew close together here, and where their branches intertwined, but were not dead from lack of light, he could cross from one tree to the other.   If the branches are strong enough, he amended his thought.

The sounds below him were growing in volume, and then suddenly all was quiet. He heard the Orc sniff and was almost sure he could feel the excitement radiating from the beast.   The sounds of climbing resumed. He knows I am near, but he does not know I am above him, Elladan suddenly realized.  He could barely make out the creature’s form in the branches far below him, and the orc still looked outward and not upward.  Nor has he sounded a call.  He knows not if I am alone or part of a large group, and seeks to have all his information before notifying his captain.

Elladan chose a sturdy branch and began to move laterally towards a nearby tree.  He moved cautiously, testing the branch’s strength before each step.  Ahead, he could see a branch slightly to the left and higher than the one he was currently on.  He would swing on to that branch, and then climb to the ground, again downwind of the orc. His plan in place, Elladan reached for the branch and heard the wood crack as the old bark split under his weight. He froze, motionless, listening for any noise behind him. A slight grunt and sniffing told him the orc had heard the noise too. Suddenly, the orc snarled and sounded a guttural call, and an instant later an arrow flew past Elladan’s head, lodging several feet beyond him in the trunk of the tree.

He sprang on to the branch, heedless now of the noise.  He sounded his own call, and answered himself a moment later, and then heard a response from Garthon, followed moments later by a second call from Garthon.  He pulled his dagger from its sheath at his hip, and threw it at the next movement he saw from the tree beyond him.  A grunt of pain confirmed he had scored a hit, although the orc did not fall.  He moved to the other side of the tree trunk, using it for a shield against future arrows. Watching for any movement from the other tree, he began slowly moving downward

He heard a whistling sound before a dagger embedded itself in his upper arm.  Unable to contain all response to the pain, he heard his own sharp intake of air but managed to make no other noise. He yanked the dagger free immediately, sniffing it but smelling only his own blood.  He allowed the wound to bleed freely, to help cleanse any poison that might have been on the knife.   Taking a deep breath, he moved down another branch, watching the other tree.  As the moon sunk against the horizon, it shone through the tree branches, perfectly highlighting the orc between him and the moon.  Elladan reacted swiftly, pulling his bow into hand and nocking and releasing an arrow an instant later.  He heard a sharp cry at the same moment that he saw the figure in the moonlight jerk back from the force of the impact, and then the creature fell into darkness, the sounds of its body crashing against tree limbs marking his passage as he fell through the branches.  Elladan let out a sigh of relief and leaned back against the tree.

A sharp pain on the outer side of his right thigh caused him to release his own small cry, and he pulled the arrow from his leg with one hand even as he was pulling an arrow from his own quiver with the other. There was a second orc below him on the ground!  He nocked another arrow of his own, firing at the same time as the orc on the ground. He moved immediately after shooting, a skill learned in battle to evade incoming arrows, but his line of sight never left his quarry.  He felt a surge of satisfaction as his arrow penetrated the orc’s eye, and then another searing pain as the orc’s arrow grazed his shoulder.

A call sounded to his east, close by, and Elladan answered immediately. Moments later, Garthon was below him, checking to ensure both orcs were dead and moving ahead a few hundred yards to see if more orcs were returning to help.  Elladan began lowering himself from the tree, and then Garthon was back, helping him down.

Elladan would have sunk to the ground right below the tree, but Garthon did not allow it.  He slipped an arm around Elladan’s waist, and guided him away from the dead orcs, to a better location on higher ground. Elladan looked at the climb before him, agreeing with the position, but groaning at the thought of climbing it with the pain in his leg and arm.

“Hold on,” whispered Garthon. He knelt in front of Elladan, and then lifted him up and over his shoulder, wrapping a strong arm across the back of Elladan’s knees to hold him steady.  Garthon then leapt gracefully and lightly up the steep path, his movements barely jostling Elladan.  He chose a well protected spot and gently lowered Elladan to the ground.

“Thank you,” grunted Elladan softly.

Garthon removed Elladan’s tunic carefully, cutting it off him around the wounds to his upper arm and shoulder.

“Knife to arm, arrows to leg and shoulder,” Elladan informed him tersely.  “I do not think the knife was poisoned, but the arrow wounds burn.”

Garthon immediately cut Elladan’s trousers away from the leg wound, and then began cleansing them with water from his water skin and applying the antidote paste they all carried. “None of the wounds look bad,” he announced.

A faint sound was heard that blended in with the night, but Garthon jumped to his feet and climbed quickly to a rocky outcropping and answered with a series of cricket chirps. Elladan smiled as he heard both elves and crickets answer.  A half hour or a little more and the rest of their party would be with them. 

“Why did the orcs not come to the aid of their scouts?” Garthon asked as he landed lightly next to Elladan again.

“I do not know,” replied Elladan, and he realized he felt grateful for conversation to take his mind off the burn of the orc poison.  “They were not that far ahead of me, and the call certainly had to be heard.  Whatever their mission, they seem intent on completing it and not even the joy of killing a few elves is enough to turn them from their purpose.”

“Tonight we will be grateful for that,” said Garthon. He looked at Elladan intently for a moment.  “These orc scouts were skilled.”

“Very,” agreed Elladan.  “I had just reminded myself to take care, to not underestimate them.”

“Perhaps our signals threw them.  They might have fled believing a whole patrol of elves was nearly upon them.”

“That is the unfortunate part of this business of war with them – we must assume our tactics worked – or guess why they failed – and we really do not know.”

“Keeps our jobs exciting,” said Garthon dryly.   He pulled Elladan’s waterskin over his head, and opened it.  “Drink some water.”

Elladan realized he was thirsty and drank of the water.

“Anor rises soon.  We will have to rest and resume tomorrow, if you are able.”

“These wounds will heal quickly.  I need only a few hours of rest.”

“Elrohir will decide,” Garthon informed him with a smile.

Elladan smiled at the mention of his twin’s name.  He closed his eyes and felt deep within himself for his bond to his twin.  I am well, Elrohir.  No serious injuries, he communicated without words.

* * *

Elrohir breathed a sigh of relief and willed his heart to slow even as his feet increased their pace until he drew even with the lead elf. Elladan was injured, but not seriously.   He had heard the communications, the chirps and songs telling him that their scouts were under attack, and then minutes later that they were safe, at least temporarily.  Glorfindel had increased their pace to a full run, hoping to arrive in half the time it would have otherwise taken them.  They would be worn when they arrived, but the alternative could not be considered.  But he felt the message from Elladan himself, not transmitted through Imladris signals, not even a message of words, but a feeling and sense that he was going to be well.

They maintained their quick pace, arriving on schedule and following Garthon’s directions to their location.  Elrohir leapt over a downed tree and landed at his brother’s side. He did not immediately speak, nor did his twin.  Elrohir instead began inspecting the wounds, undoing Garthon’s temporary measures and then pulling his healer’s kit from his pack to treat the wounds properly.  A slight sigh of relief slipped from his twin as Elrohir applied a numbing solution to the irritated wounds, and he smiled as Elladan relaxed. 

Glorfindel dropped Elladan’s pack near them, as the scouts’ packs had both been brought by others in the patrol. Elrohir helped Elladan change into fresh clothing and someone else brought them food as the sun rose.

Glorfindel listened to Elladan’s tale with a gleam in his eye. “You did well, Elladan,” he finally said.  “I do not know what is so important to the Orcs that they did not stop to engage us, but if it is important to them, then it is important to us.  We follow at dusk.”

Glorfindel rose and began moving among the members of the patrol.  Guard shifts had already been arranged and, further below them, two elves were tossing the remains of the orcs over the side of a ravine.  They would not risk giving away their location by burning the bodies.  Then, those elves not on guard settled down to rest.

Elladan did not need to be told that he must sleep to allow his body to heal, and his eyelids had drifted close as oft was the case when he was injured.  Elrohir curled protectively against his side, and also gave in to his need for rest.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter. 

Chapter 4: Journeys

Anor had set and yet sounds still drifted from Legolas’s chamber.  Thranduil stood in the darkness of the doorway between their rooms, observing his youngest son. He watched as feet rose under the sheet, tenting it over the small body below.  Soon the sheets were kicked off and Legolas somersaulted to the end of the bed, then jumped to the floor where he rummaged through his small pack again.  Back on his bed a moment later, he sprawled out flat on his stomach, but soon was rolling back and forth, talking aloud about the day to follow.

“Cúron is coming too and Urevio will watch out for him, especially if Cúron walks underneath him again and . . .” The small voice drifted off, and Thranduil turned to leave, believing the child was finally drifting into elven dreams. 

“I will capture you and you will be my prisoner!” Thranduil spun around, thinking Legolas had seen him, but now Legolas was under the covers where he had apparently trapped his imaginary foe. “I am warrior Legolas and you will heed my sword!”

Just as Thranduil had decided to remind Legolas of his need for sleep, the outer door to the room opened and Lathron walked in.  His older son strode purposefully to the bed, pouncing on the sheet-covered figure, who was unaware of his presence.

“You are my prisoner,” growled Lathron playfully as Legolas squealed and pulled the sheet down from his face.  The tousled blond head appeared, a huge grin on his face. “Why are you not sleeping?  You will be so tired in the morning that you will fall asleep riding your pony!  You will fall off him and Cúron will step over you and keep going without you.”

Legolas giggled. “Cúron will stop for me!  He is a good pony.”

“Can you not sleep?”

“I am too excited, Lathron.”

“Morning will come faster if you sleep.”

“Can I sleep with you?”

“Yes, you may,” replied Lathron.  He tossed Legolas over his shoulder and walked back to the door, but then paused for a moment. “Say goodnight to Ada, Legolas.”

Legolas’s head popped up from where he was slung over Lathron’s shoulder, his eyes opening in alarm, for Thranduil had told him twice to be quiet and go to sleep.

“Good night, Ada,” said Legolas sheepishly as his eyes met his father’s.

“Good night, Legolas,” answered Thranduil. “Go to sleep!”

* * *

Lathron tightened his arms about the small figure spooned against him, stilling the squirming elfling. 

“Lathron, it is morning!” whispered Legolas loudly.

“Lathron, I have to go take care of Cúron!  I have to brush him and walk him to warm him up.” The whispering had risen in volume.

Lathron released the elfling, and Legolas sprang to his feet.  “Lathron, it is time to get up!” called Legolas loudly, pulling on Lathron’s arm.

A short while later, Legolas was dressed, had had his breakfast and had hugged Tathiel goodbye. He pressed his ear against her belly, listening intently while moving his hand over the surface, then said, “Goodbye baby elfling.  I will be back in a few days.  Be cooperative for Tathiel!”

Tathiel laughed as Legolas flashed her a smile, and then he was dragging Lathron from the room.  They left the palace, greeting the morning guards, and Lathron had to quicken his own pace to keep up with Legolas’s skipping. Legolas’s face was alight with joy as he saw his small pony standing patiently next to Urevio and Bregolas. His small pack was slung over Cúron’s back and everyone was waiting for him.  Running to Bregolas, he flung his arms about his brother’s legs and then turned to face his father, Lathron and Elumeril. The smile on his face suddenly dimmed and he chewed on his lower lip, as his eyes grew bright with tears.

Thranduil knelt down and held out his arms to his son, and Legolas raced to him, flinging himself into his father’s arms and holding on tightly.

“Be obedient, Legolas, and enjoy your trip. We will see you in a few days,” said Thranduil calmly.

His voice did much to soothe his small son, who had been trembling.  Legolas drew in a ragged breath and stepped back.  He nodded to his father, “I will, Ada.”

Legolas hugged Elumeril, and then turned to Lathron. “Will you come meet us, Lathron?” he asked.

Lathron hugged him tightly. “I will do my best to meet you for the ride home, Legolas.  Be good.”

Legolas straightened his small shoulders, then turned away from his family and walked back to Bregolas.  Bregolas lifted the elfling on to his pony, and then walked between Cúron and Urevio as they followed the lead guards away from the palace.  Legolas twisted to wave at them, then turned his gaze forward as they headed away from the palace.

* * *

“Look for the birds, Legolas.  Listen to their calls and songs, and I will teach you to mimic them,” encouraged Bregolas.

Legolas’s chattering ceased as he instead listened. At each sound around him, he would seek out the bird that made that sound and then try to softly repeat it.  Bregolas lifted him to sit on his shoulders, to give him the best view possible, and Legolas was soon relaxed against his brother, his arms folded across the top of Bregolas’s head.

Bregolas did not mind.  Legolas had enjoyed riding Cúron, but his pony was so small that he could see little but the horses around him.  When Bregolas had pulled him up on to Urevio, Legolas’s smile had returned and his eyes brightened. As his interest in the birds had grown, Bregolas had placed him atop his shoulders. 

“I like riding up here, Bregolas,” said Legolas.  “Tathiel rode with us before.”

Bregolas felt his heart drop to the pit of his stomach. Unsurprisingly, Rawien and Sadron suddenly appeared very attentive, Rawien drawing nearer to his side and Sadron moving slightly closer from his position behind Bregolas.

“Yes, she did,” he finally replied.  “I did not know you remembered that, Legolas.”

Legolas bent to the side and down so he could see Bregolas’s face.  “I remember!” he said stoutly.

“What else do you remember about riding with Tathiel?”

Legolas thought carefully. “Rawien was with Tathiel and me. I rode with them, and with you, Bregolas! Do you not remember?”

Bregolas laughed. “I do. Do you remember where we were going?”

Legolas giggled.  “We were going to see Ada. It was an adventure!”

Bregolas was unable to respond.  He had discussed this very thing with Lathron and their father before leaving. All of them had wondered if riding among the warriors would cause Legolas to remember the events of his earlier life, and if so, how he would react to them.  His memory did appear stimulated, but apparently what he remembered was very selective.

“Let us stop here to rest the horses and eat.” Rawien’s voice was a welcome interruption.  Bregolas lifted Legolas off his shoulders and tossed him to Rawien, who had come to stand next to them.

“Come, Legolas!” called Sadron.  “You are paired with me to help prepare lunch.”

Legolas scrambled down from Rawien’s arms and ran to Sadron, eager to help. Bregolas watched him go, conflicting emotions dueling within him.

“Children are resilient,” commented Rawien. “All the efforts everyone has put into his young life have been returned many times over.  We tried to make the trip home an adventure, and that is indeed what he remembers.”

“I have to remind myself that there is nothing else he needs to remember.  He knows he is loved, he knows he is important to us.  We cannot put behind us what happened to him, for those events took our naneth and brother.  But he did not know them, and recalling more of the trip will not enable him to remember them,” mused Bregolas thoughtfully.

“When he is older, he will begin to ask more about them. You will know when he is ready to hear about those times.”

“Bregolas!” called Legolas as he saw his brother and Rawien walking towards him.  He carefully lifted a filled plate and carried it to him.  Beaming, he set it down before Bregolas and then raced back to Sadron, who handed him a plate for Rawien.  Once Legolas was sure everyone was served, he plopped down next to Sadron and gladly ate what was on his own plate.

Legolas was practicing the bird calls he had learned on the morning’s ride when Rawien called for them to resume their journey.  Jumping to his feet, Legolas raced to Bregolas.

“Listen, Bregolas,” he said breathlessly. He carefully pursed his lips and blew a sound that was passable for a bird.

“Very good,” replied Bregolas.  “Watch what I do and then try it again.”

Legolas put his fingers up to his brother’s cheek, watching the movements of his mouth and lips. He mimicked the motions and repeated the call, grinning widely when it sounded more like Bregolas’s call.  Satisfied, he let Bregolas put him back on Urevio and mount behind him.  Bregolas felt a similar satisfaction as the small body in front of him relaxed. Seemingly contented, Legolas enjoyed the afternoon’s ride in companionable silence.

* * *

They reached the small clearing where they would camp by late afternoon.  Here Bregolas and Legolas would stay, with a small contingent of warriors, while Rawien rode with the scouts and one guard to meet the northern patrol. 

“Legolas!” called Bregolas.  “Come and walk with me.” Taking his small brother by the hand, Bregolas walked out a path in a triangle shape around the small campsite.  “From this tree to the campfire, and from the campfire to this area by the horses, and then back to the tree – these are your boundaries. You are not to go beyond them unless I am with you.”

Legolas dropped Bregolas’s hand and raced around the triangle, touching the tree to start, then running around the campfire, then to the horses where he petted Cúron and finally returning to Bregolas.  “I have memorized the boundaries,” he pronounced.

“Good,” replied Bregolas.  “Do not stray, Legolas.  The forest can be dangerous for lost elflings.”

Legolas nodded, and then trotted off to hang on Sadron’s leg as Rawien and Bregolas spread out maps on the ground.  Bregolas kept one eye on him as they spoke, and interrupted Rawien a short while later.

“Mischievous elfling,” he said, motioning across the camp to where Legolas stood behind the tree that marked part of his bounds.  Sadron was inspecting something at the base of another tree, seemingly intent on whatever he had found, while Legolas stalked him.  Legolas moved quickly and silently from tree to tree, crawling at times as he looked for bent blades of grass or footprints in the soft dirt, finally coming up behind Sadron.  He pounced, landing on Sadron’s back and wrestling him to the ground.

“I tracked you and found you!” said Legolas gleefully.  “Now you are my prisoner!”

Sadron lay flat on his back on the ground, Legolas astride his chest and gloating.  “How do you intend to keep me prisoner, elfling?” he asked curiously, arching his back and bouncing Legolas slightly.

Legolas pondered the question, then called to Laerion, who was watching them in amusement. “Laerion, I need rope.”

Laerion complied with pleasure, enjoying seeing his friend Sadron bested by an elfling.  Legolas bound the hands that Sadron willingly held in front of him, and then stood, pulling on the rope until Sadron stood. Leading Sadron back to his brother, Legolas stood proudly before Bregolas.

“I have a prisoner,” he announced.

Bregolas looked at Sadron in amusement, but the elf merely shrugged. “So you do.  He is now your responsibility, Legolas.  You have to feed him and take care of him, and never let him out of your sight.”

“One would think I was a pet,” grumbled Sadron as Legolas laughed and dragged him off.

When Legolas finally settled down for the night, he was snuggled against Bregolas, but a length of rope still connected him to Sadron, who slept a short distance away.  Sadron had the last laugh though.  “At least I cannot stand watch now,” he said, grinning.

* * *

Thranduil sat in the family sitting room, rubbing his thumb against a goblet of wine absently as he stared at the fire.  He knew he should sleep, but a feeling of discontent had grown in him as the evening had passed.

“Adar?”

He turned at the sound of Lathron’s voice, beckoning his son to join him.

“You cannot rest?” he asked as Lathron sat down in the chair across from him.

“No,” answered Lathron shortly. “I apparently am a mothering hen who cannot sleep if a chick is out of the nest.”

Thranduil laughed. “Apparently we are a pair, then. It is the first night he has not slept in the family quarters since the day he came home. My head tells me he is safe and having an adventure to remember, but my heart wants him home and in my care.”

Lathron remained silent, and the two sat in companionable silence far into the night.

* * *

Elladan awoke as the sun was setting. He sat up gingerly, stretching his arms over his head and then behind him, feeling the bandages pull and the wounds tingle and burn.  A short distance away, he could see Elrohir and Glorfindel bent over a map spread out across a large rock. He glanced quickly around the campsite, noting that Garthon was gone.

He rose to his feet, putting only tentative pressure on his injured leg and felt the same burn as he had felt in his shoulder. Clearly the orcs had dipped their arrows in poison.  Bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, he tested his balance and was shocked when a slight wave of dizziness washed over him.  A hand reached out to steady him, and then he heard his brother’s voice in his ear.

“Let me help you back down, Elladan. It will be a little while yet before the effects of the poison wear off.”

Elladan let Elrohir guide him down to his bedroll, and then Elrohir began to examine his wounds, changing the bandages and checking his twin for other signs of the poison. “Your eyes are still dilated and your heart a little slow. The knife wound is almost better, but the arrow wounds have not yet healed over.  By tomorrow they will.”

“Has Garthon gone ahead without me?”

“Nathrion is with him.”

“Another hour and I should be ready to go.”

“You will not scout tonight,” replied Elrohir firmly.

A small noise of displeasure escaped him before he could stop it. “They are up to something. Some purpose drives them.”

“Our scouts will find their trail and we will resume pursuit tomorrow.  Drink this.” Elrohir pushed a small flask of miruvor into his twin’s hands.  Elladan complied, taking a long swallow of the sweet liquid.

“I had not realized how thirsty I was,” he admitted.

“It is an effect of the poison.  It must be clouding your mind or you would remember that,” teased Elrohir. He next handed Elladan lembas and a skin of water. “Eat, drink and go back to sleep.”

Elladan frowned. “You are decidedly obnoxious when power is in your grasp,” he growled.

Elrohir sighed in mock satisfaction.  “Where it involves you, brother, yes I am.”

Elladan fell asleep at dusk, the slight shadow of his brother visible as he watched over him.

* * *

Garthon and Nathrion returned early in the morning.

“They are continuing north, holing up along the riverbanks to rest.  They have injured. We stayed always several leagues away, but on this clear night with Ithil shining on the Anduin, they were easily seen.”

“They must plan to cross the river if they are that close,” said Glorfindel.  He looked at Garthon and Nathrion, and then at Elladan who was walking about the camp, stretching his healing limbs.

“How soon before everyone is ready to travel?”

A chorus of “Now’s” met his ears as Elladan, Garthon and Nathrion all indicated their readiness.

“We did not travel far,” explained Nathrion.

Camp was broken and the patrol resumed their pursuit.

* * *

Glorfindel led the party of elves north, angling away from the Misty Mountains and to the Anduin. They traveled cautiously, for Garthon suspected that orc scouts might be keeping watch even in daylight.   They stopped several time to rest, knowing that the night might be spent in chase or battle. 

“They took cover in those trees shading the riverbank,” said Garthon from his spot high in the tree.  Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel were above and below him, looking up the rippling waters of the river, the sunlight glinting off the water and obscuring the details of the land.

“They are likely holed up in the hollowed roots of the trees and the heavy undergrowth,” said Glorfindel thoughtfully.  “We will let them leave their warrens and engage them once they have resumed travel.” 

Elrohir nodded in agreement, knowing that the orcs would have the advantage in a battle begun while they had cover to hide under.  For that same reason, they would not risk their scouts. The attack on Elladan along with Garthon’s sense of orcs watching their rear flank were adequate proof of the danger.  Elrohir scanned the horizon, noting the flattened grass on the east side of the river.  He hoped that none who crossed or fished in the area were taken unaware by the enemy.

The elves waited patiently for the sun to set and the orcs to leave their lairs.  Elrohir sat high in a birch tree, his gaze roaming the shore where the orcs were holed up and then over the surrounding area as he contemplated what routes they might follow as they continued their journey. Dusk was upon them when movement caught his eye.  He nudged his twin and then directed Elladan’s gaze to the spot.

Bodies seemed to emerge from the ground and then blend in with the brushy overgrowth, moving under and through it.  Elladan signaled the elves to begin a quiet pursuit, and they began to move northward.  The noise and smell of the orcs both grew in intensity. Suddenly, before they had a clear view of any of the enemy, a splash caught their attention.

Elrohir ran swiftly and silently towards the river, dropping his pack and sword and then climbing down the steep bank and wading out into the water, which quickly deepened. He caught his breath in surprise at what he saw.  Small barge-like boats, each holding several orcs, were being paddled out into the current. His voice blended in with the noise of the creatures that lived along the riverbank but was discernable to his fellow warriors.

A moment later, just as Glorfindel and others passed north of where Elrohir was still in the river, another call sounded.  Elladan warned them of orcs on land, moving out of the overgrowth and continuing north on the west side of the river.  Elrohir hissed angrily, and began to swim farther out, seeking numbers – how many were crossing the river and how many were continuing on land? As he swam soundlessly into the current, he heard his twin call again – at least five were on land. Elrohir had already seen at least ten in the boats.  Already soaking wet and nearing the middle of the river, Elrohir notified the others he was continuing to follow the boats. 

* * *

Elladan felt Glorfindel brush against his shoulder, and the two ducked down into the scrubby undergrowth.

“Five remain on land and perhaps fifteen are moving by water,” reported Elladan. “I did not see the captain among the five.”

“Nor did I in the boat I saw,” answered Glorfindel.  “Either tactic has value – they might hope we will follow the larger group, thinking they are the ones who carry the message, while it continues in the forgotten smaller group.”

“Or they send it with the larger group, hoping that within the larger troop the captain retains a greater chance of survival,” said Elladan.  “What, then, is our plan?”

Glorfindel paused for only a moment.  “We split as well.  Both must be stopped.” He suddenly grinned at Elladan. “I will take Garthon and Nathrion north along the west side.  Take the rest and catch your brother.”

Elladan gave a slight bow to his captain in thanks, and slipping from their cover, motioned for all but his fellow scout and Narthion to follow him, as Glorfindel quickly conferred with his small contingent.

“There is evidence that this is a crossing,” whispered Elladan.  “Search for any remaining boats.”

When none were immediately found, Elladan tossed his pack to the elf who also carried Elrohir’s, and motioned for one other to stay with him.  “Keep searching for a vessel, while we begin our swim across.  If none can be found before we reach the shore, one of us will row back with an orc-barge.”  With that order, he slipped into the river, long arms cutting the cold, deep water as he began his swim across the Anduin.

* * *

Elrohir continued soundlessly swimming across the river, smooth strokes cutting the swift current that never ceased to pull him south of the point on shore that he had fixed his eyes on.   Just north of that point, the first of the orc boats had reached land. A sudden flare caught his attention then, as moonlight reflected off something worn by one of the orcs.  The captain! he thought.  A strange joy flooded him as he regained sight of his quarry.

A slight noise sounded to his left, and he reluctantly dragged his gaze away from the orc captain. Elves were entering the river, Elladan in the lead.  Several moments later, however, another boat pushed off from the shore. Two elves rowed silently towards those in the water, the other elves climbing aboard or finding a grip on the edge of the craft, away from the paddles.  Elrohir resumed his powerful strokes, intent on reaching the shore before or at the same time as his fellow warriors.

Elrohir had just reached a spot near shore where he could stand when he heard the cry from shore.   He ran through the water, pulling his bow from his back and an arrow from his quiver and then, shaking the water from them, he moved towards shore.  He was still south of where he wanted to be, but that now appeared to be of benefit.  He saw an orc raising its bow and aiming in the direction of the elves in the boat, and loosed his own arrow. A grin of satisfaction crossed his face as the creature fell into the river, Elrohir’s arrow protruding from its ear, deeply embedded in the orc’s brain.  He fired twice more in quick succession, killing two more orcs before they realized he was there.  The remaining orcs took flight, and Elrohir followed.

* * *

Elladan had seen the first orc fall and not realized his twin had killed it until the next two toppled near the shore.  Under the cover Elrohir provided, they reached the grassy spot where the orcs had dragged their ships ashore.  

“There are still ten alive,” said Elrohir softly as he nudged the corpse of an orc near his foot. “The captain is among them.”

Elladan could not help but grin at his twin.  “You killed four, brother, but you missed the important one. We can see if Glorfindel can provide you with extra strategy lessons when we return home.”

“At least I did not get impaled by a dagger and two poisoned arrows,” retorted Elrohir playfully.

“Take up your sword and pack and go,” laughed Elladan. “The captain is mine, though.”

“Only if I do not find him first.”

* * *

Glorfindel pushed the last corpse over with his foot and sighed in disgust as he searched the clothing of the orc.  “Nothing,” he muttered uncharitably, “and they stink.”

Garthon dragged another dead orc over to the pile, then finished piling dry wood over them. As Glorfindel stepped away, he lit the funeral pyre of the five orcs they had slaughtered, having surprised them unawares.  The captain was not among them.

“Come, let us catch the others.  Look for a boat along the banks, or we will be swimming with our packs and swords,” said Glorfindel.  The three set off south at a quick pace.

* * * * *

A/N:  Curon means 'crescent moon'; also, not sure how much effect water would have on an elvish bow.  Didn't seem to matter much at Helm's Deep - but then, all those elves died, so maybe it did *grin*.

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 5:  Land of the Wood Elves

Legolas stirred and shifted slightly in response to the slight tugging of the rope still tied about his wrist. Without waking, he rolled on to his side, allowing for a little more slack on the line.  His movements shifted the blanket covering him, however, and the cool morning air tickled the exposed skin of his bare legs and arms. He reached to tug on the blankets, but the rope tied to his wrist did not allow for the movement. Murmuring in his sleep about the cold, he buried his face in the blanket below him.

Bregolas leaned against a tree just a few feet away from his small brother, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he watched Sadron tease Legolas.  Sadron had actually untied the rope from his arm during the night, stood watch, helped with breakfast and bathed in the nearby stream in the early morning light.  Now, his duties tended to for the morning, he had reattached himself to his favorite elfling.

“Does he still awake cheerful?” asked Sadron.

Bregolas grinned as recalled the times he had awakened to the beaming smile, sparkling blue eyes and tousled blond hair of his youngest sibling.  A sudden memory came to his mind of Legolas awakening the first morning after the terrible battle that would have claimed all of their lives, had Bregolas’s troops not arrived when they did.  Bregolas had watched over him most of that night, as he lay snuggled in Tathiel’s bandaged arms.  He had awakened and squirmed loose from her at first light, then looked at Bregolas with dawning memory of meeting him the day before.  When Bregolas had held out his arms, Legolas had come slowly, first touching Bregolas’s finger and then his hand, before finally allowing Bregolas to pick him up.  As Legolas sat on his knee, small fingers had brushed across Bregolas’s chest and then touched his cheek and hair, until Legolas had finally proclaimed, ‘brothers’ and snuggled up to him.

“Yes,” he answered as the memory faded. “He might awaken annoyed, but his smile is never far off.”

“Good,” answered Sadron mischievously.  “Alagos did not. One had to be very careful when tormenting him, always leaving room to move quickly up or away, for he was very fast.”

Bregolas laughed aloud as he thought of his brother Alagos, known for his quick responses and what Bregolas had often thought was an exaggerated reaction to the teasing of his fellow warriors, for he enjoyed the resulting chaos his reaction caused.   Alagos had been killed on his first assignment as a warrior, going to the Halls of Waiting with his mother on the day of Legolas’s birth.  Sadron had been his friend, and his love and protectiveness of Legolas stemmed from that friendship. Guarding the king’s youngest son on a short tracking expedition would ordinarily draw only the young and inexperienced warriors to whom the least exciting assignments might fall, but there had been many volunteers for this trip.  Sadron, Laerion, Meren and Rawien had all been part of the rescue party that brought Legolas home.

Sadron took a short length of rope, loosely tied Legolas’s feet together, and then settled himself above Legolas’s head, and using a feather, began tickling his cheeks and neck. Legolas’s nose wrinkled, and he twitched several times and finally moved away from the annoyance disturbing him.  He turned over, burying his face back in the blanket.

Bregolas grinned at Sadron.  “Pretty ineffectual. If this is how you tormented Alagos, perhaps it was your effort that annoyed him.”

Sadron laughed.  “This one is still a sweet little elfling.  I cannot tease him too badly.”

Rawien had been listening from near the campfire and he snorted in disgust at Sadron.  Walking over, he knelt at Legolas’s feet and checked the rope bound about his ankles. He pulled the sagging stockings up about the small ankles and ensured they were between his skin and the rope.  Then, grasping the rope in his hand, he swung Legolas up into the air by the ankles.

“Ai!” shrieked Legolas at the rude awakening. His arms flailed and then tried to push up the night tunic that had fallen into his face so he could see who had him. Instead, the night tunic was pulled over his head, leaving his chest bare and him only wearing short leggings.  He squealed again when cold water landed on his back, and then whoever was holding him turned him, allowing cold water to hit his chest as well.  A gentle swat on his backside led to his next indignant yell, and then he was flying through the air.

Bregolas caught him easily, turned him over his knee and gently swatted his backside again. He allowed the elfling to sit up then, and his gaze was met by wide eyes and an expression that seemed torn between laughter and outrage.

“Bregolas!” cried Legolas, confused.

“Good morning, elfling!” replied Bregolas as he kissed his brother on the forehead.  “Did you sleep well?”

“Bregolas!” Legolas’s response was turning into outrage.

“Hmm….that must be a ‘no’ answer,” replied Bregolas easily.

Legolas turned to see the others of the camp watching him.  Rawien was standing before him, arms crossed over his chest and smiling smugly.  Sadron was laughing, a cup still in his hand.  Confused, Legolas turned back to Bregolas.

“This is what happens to a warrior who sleeps in while on a mission,” Bregolas informed him.  “The other members of the patrol consider if any remedial action is warranted, and if they decide it is, they carry it out upon wakening the errant warrior.”

Legolas furrowed his brow.  “But I did not know this!” he cried. “I would have asked you to wake me early!”

Bregolas stood, lifting Legolas with him. “The first morning it happens to all guests in a patrol, for it is their initiation.  You are now an honorary warrior of the Woodland Realm.”

A smile slowly broadened on Legolas’s face.  He turned again to face the others in camp, who were all grinning at him now.  He clapped his hands.  “I am warrior Legolas!” he crowed in delight.  He turned back to Bregolas.  “Can I have a sword now?”

A chorus of ‘no’s’ echoed across the campsite, and Legolas grinned, for he had known what the answer would be.

“Come, elfling, we saved you a little bit of breakfast,” invited Sadron. 

Legolas slid down Bregolas and turned to run to Sadron, but was tripped by the rope still harnessing his feet together.  Bregolas caught him and tossed him to Sadron.

“Oh, yes, there is the matter of who the prisoner is this morning,” said Sadron as he caught Legolas.  “I escaped while you were sleeping, and now you are my prisoner!”

Legolas clapped his hands again.  “I shall escape and catch you again!” he promised.

Bregolas watched as Sadron untied Legolas’s feet and led him off to take care of his morning needs, and then helped him dress and provided him with breakfast.  He found himself remembering the sketches Sadron had made of Legolas on the trip home, before Bregolas had joined them.  The first ones were done in Dorwinia, based on Sadron’s memory of finding the lost ones in the hills west of the Sea of Rhûn.  The first sketch was of the four of them, so tired, dirty and thin from their terrible time in the cold, starved and pursued by orcs.  Bregolas knew it was tucked away in a cupboard at home, a picture Thranduil rarely looked at, for the sorrow and fear in all of their eyes was too much for him to bear.  Another picture was his father’s favorite, of Legolas sitting in their camp near Dorwinia, his mouth stuffed full of food, both hands full and his lap as well.  That baby was now a little elf, sitting again near a campfire with warriors about him. One thing that had not changed from then to now was the love and care those warriors showered on the little elfling. A tear slipped from Bregolas’s eye as emotion welled up within him, and he felt a strong hand come to rest on his shoulder.

“Your mind dwells this morning in memory,” said Rawien softly.

Bregolas looked at the gold band on the hand that comforted him, but it served only to deepen the emotion that flooded him when he considered who wore the matching ring. Rawien would soon have his own elfling, a child who would be like a sibling or close cousin to Legolas. Bregolas’s eyes drifted back to the giggling elfling now wrestling with Sadron, who was attempting to bind him again as prisoner.  They were motioned to silence by Meren, who pointed up into the trees.  Moments later, Laerion, Sadron and Meren had carried Legolas high into the beech tree to see the nest of baby birds that Meren had heard calling to their mother.

“Seeing him among warriors reminds me of much,” admitted Bregolas. “I take for granted seeing him with Tathiel, for she is always a presence in his life.  I should not do that. Seeing him in a camp again, with warriors, reminds me of the sacrifices made for him and the ellyth and Tathiel. He is too young to appreciate those sacrifices, but we are not.”

Rawien smiled in understanding. “Tathiel knows without doubt the place she has in your family. Do not worry that you need to say words often, for the actions of your family speak clearly. The same is true with Eärundra and Tinánia.  They think of her as a beloved aunt and she is esteemed in that status by their family. It is also clear that Legolas will grow to serve as a warrior in the realm. Through his own sacrifice of service, he will show appreciation for those made for him.”

“Adar is grateful you chose to have a child at this time,” said Bregolas with a wry smile.

Rawien laughed aloud.  “So I have been told! But the deeper meaning is understood too.  Few children have been born since shadow returned. The birth of a child shows our hope for the future. I am grateful in return for the support shown to us. Tathiel’s strength wanes,” he admitted.

“We know,” replied Bregolas.  No other words were needed.  Tathiel had given much to the three children she had sustained during those two years, and most particularly to Legolas.  She now provided sustenance to the child growing within her, and Rawien ensured that she drew as much strength from him as possible.  Still, she was often weary. Bregolas knew that as much as Rawien desired a child, he loved Tathiel more. This short trip was one of the only ones he would take during her pregnancy, and only because she insisted he go, because she was concerned he would become restless from staying so near to the caverns all the time.  Bregolas laughed to himself, for he suspected that she had insisted Rawien accompany this group because she wanted to ensure there were enough people looking after her little Legolas. The circle of care was then completed, for at the palace, Thranduil himself checked in on her daily and ensured that she was waited on and well cared for.

High in the beech tree, Bregolas could see Legolas’s arms wound around Sadron’s neck, the rope now in good use securing them together as Sadron moved gracefully about the high branches.  The baby birds had been consoled while waiting for their mother to return, a squirrel had been visited, and now it appeared that Legolas was meeting the tree formally.

“The scouts are ready to continue on to meet the Northern Patrol,” Rawien interrupted his thoughts.  “I shall return by tomorrow night.”

Bregolas walked with Rawien to his horse, ensuring Elumeril’s package for Elenath was enclosed in a bag, along with other letters and packages for members of the patrol. He smiled when he saw a note being sent to Bellion from Tinánia.

“Her latest archery scores,” said Rawien.  “He always wants to know. He and Meren are two of our best archers, and he still predicts Tinánia will surpass Meren.”

“She might,” admitted Meren from the tree above them. “She is quite good and not even a novice yet!”

A whistle caused Rawien to sit at attention and a moment later he caught a bundle of elfling in his arms.  “Well, look what the squirrels are tossing out of the trees now!”

Legolas giggled.  “Sadron tossed me, not a squirrel.”

“Be good, Legolas.  Tathiel said she wants to hear how cooperative you were when you get home,” said Rawien as he hugged the elfling.

“I will,” agreed Legolas as he was tossed again, this time back to his brother.

“I think at the next summer solstice games we should have a new contest called ‘toss the elfling’.  Participants will take turns seeing how high or how far they can throw Legolas,” suggested Laerion from the tree branch where he sat with Meren and Sadron.

Legolas groaned.  “I cannot wait until I am too big for everyone to keep throwing me!”

“May that day be a long way off,” said Bregolas quietly.  “Safe trip, Rawien.”

Rawien waved as he headed out with the scouts.  Those left in the camp watched until the canopy of trees embraced him and the group disappeared from sight, but the song of the trees carried for some time the tale of the passage of their well known captain.

“Are you ready for a tracking lesson, Legolas?” asked Bregolas.

“Yes!” Legolas snapped to attention.

“We will hope to find a deer to follow, but if not we will track Sadron,” said Bregolas as the warriors above their heads disappeared into the trees. Laerion and Meren would stay ahead of them, alert to any possibility of danger, and two others would remain behind them, guarding the camp and their backs.

Legolas watched with fascination as his brother slid his quiver and bow on to his back, and then wrapped his sword belt about his hips and slipped his knife into its spot.  His blue eyes glowed with near worship as he looked upon his brother transformed into a warrior.

“Come.  We will start near the river, where the deer often come to drink, and see if we can locate their tracks,” said Bregolas, and he led Legolas out into the forest.

The trees sang as they passed, claiming this wood elf child as their own.

* * *

Garthon’s whistle from near the shore caught Glorfindel’s attention, and he moved swiftly south to join him.

“A boat!” said Garthon as he pulled his prize farther up the bank.

“An ugly boat,” commented Glorfindel as he looked on the orc barge with disgust, “but better than swimming.”

Garthon flashed him a grin and then tossed his captain’s pack onto the floor of the vessel.  After Glorfindel and Nathrion had climbed aboard, he shoved the boat into the water and leapt aboard himself.   They paddled quickly into the current, and headed south and east across the river.

“There,” said Glorfindel softly, pointing at a spot on the far shore.  The hoot of a night owl sounded and all three elves couldn’t help but grin in response.  “The orcs head north.  If we are quick, they will meet us and find themselves snared between our two parties.”

“The only direction they can head will be east, into the forest,” replied Nathrion.  “Wood men or wood elves – which do you suspect will be waiting for them?”

“We are north of the woodmen’s lands.  Wood elves perhaps, once they penetrate deep enough into the forest.”

“We are soon to find out,” replied Glorfindel as their swift strokes grounded the barge.  He jumped to shore with his pack in hand and called softly,  “Come!”

Garthon responded to the hoot of the owl, and in his mind’s eye he could see the glee on his fellow scout’s face.  Soon they would trap this remnant.

* * *

Elladan led the chase as they followed the remaining orcs to the north and east, swiftly covering the grasslands and entering into the canopy of Mirkwood.  The trees were not shadowed here, except for those cast by Ithil through the branches and leaves that had unfurled with the coming of spring.  He remembered the tales Glorfindel told him in his childhood, of how the wood elves could speak to the trees.  The few wood elves he had met had seldom spoken at all.  He had met them at Council meetings in Lothlorien and Imladris, but never in their own territory. Perhaps here they shared their words with the trees and with people, and he would see them in their true light.

He called his position to those behind him, and was pleased to hear Garthon answer him as well.  He, Glorfindel and Nathrion had crossed the river north of them, and were moving in from the west.   He grinned as he saw the clear trail before him, the fleeing orcs doing little to conceal their passage.  They had entered the trees at the western edge of the forest, and Elladan lightly touched the tree that seemed to reach out to him. “Mellon,” he assured the young birch, and then dashed past. To his surprise, he thought he heard a singing call in a voice he had never heard before!  He stopped in his tracks, his ears stretching unconsciously to hear that sound again.  Silence met him, and his heart fell slightly. He caressed an older oak. “That you would speak to me would be my desire,” he whispered.

When no sound followed, he shifted his mind consciously back to his task. “I have orcs to attend to, old one,” he said softly.  “Fare well!”

He resumed his hunt, then, his feet flying noiselessly through the mould of the leaf covered ground.  Suddenly he heard a growing crescendo of sound, like that of a symphony made up only of wood instruments. His heart leapt again, for though he did not understand their song, he knew the trees were speaking to him.  He concentrated on the stately woods, sending his thoughts to them, informing them of the coming of others who also were seeking only the good of the forest.  He raced onward, the trees seeming to guide him along one path, and then another.  Trusting in their good will, he soon found himself deep within the forest, and the sound of orcs grew near.

A beech tree seemed to hold a limb out to him, and he leaped on to the branch.  He could feel life coursing through the wood, and though he had felt this in the trees of Imladris, he had never felt such a connection to the tree itself.  He climbed high, amazed that the branches seemed to be perfectly placed for swiftly climbing feet. 

From his position high above the earth, he could see for many leagues.  Just beyond him, the orcs were again splitting into two groups.  He could not tell which group the orc captain now led, but he heard the tone of the trees change as the orcs moved onward.  He leaned against the beech, touching his thought to its lifeforce, and he heard the trees lament that a young one was nearby.

Elladan climbed swiftly down, amazed at how deep into the forest he had come so quickly.  He hooted twice, then again once.  Answers came quickly, a chirping cricket and a croaking frog.  Elrohir was continuing east into the forest and Glorfindel would follow the group heading north.  Elladan chose to continue on the path that the tree had lamented. Whatever young one was near, he would ensure no harm came to it.  His heart lightened, he flew down the path that seemed to open before him.

* * *

Glorfindel led Garthon and Nathrion northeast into the woods just beyond the Forest Gate.  Based on the direction Elladan had indicated the one group had gone, he hoped to angle in and run nearly parallel to the orcs, then intercept them as their paths crossed.  He set a steady pace, hoping to make it half way to the Forest River by morning.  The elves were lightly burdened and all were swift-footed and uninjured.  Glorfindel felt a swell of excitement grow within him, for seldom had any of Imladris’s elves ventured into the Greenwood.  The trees were truly alive here.  He could hear the murmurings and see the swaying of limbs not caused by wind, and the activity made him feel as if the forest recognized them as friends.

“The air feels charged with energy, like before a thunderstorm,” said Nathrion, awe in his voice.

“This forest feels like a great living thing, as if the trees were part of a greater whole,” added Garthon. 

“It is different in the south,” Glorfindel reminded the two younger elves. “There the trees are no longer friendly, but poisoned and darkened by shadow.  It is said that they no longer aid the wood elves, but ignore them, and even hinder them.”

“Shadow is truly an evil force, then, to turn beautiful woods such as these into something twisted and traitorous to the elves who have long cared for them.”

“Aye,” agreed Glorfindel. “That it is.”

They continued their run through the trees, the trees singing to them and guiding them to paths that even elven eyes would have had a hard time seeing in the dark. It was near dawn when Glorfindel signaled for them to halt and rest. As they sipped from their water skins and nibbled on lembas, Glorfindel heard a bird call that made him smile.

“At least fifteen leagues,” he said quietly. “Perhaps we will squeeze the orcs between some wood elves and ourselves.”

* * *

Elrohir led his small group of elves directly east into the forest.  Elladan had veered slightly off course, and Elrohir had sensed something strange and different in his brother’s demeanor, though his concerns were based on feeling and not words.  He would follow the course his brother had indicated the orc party had gone, heading in a course that would intersect the path that led eastward in from the Forest Gate.  His memory of the lay of the land suggested that the orcs might seek the Emyn-nu-Fuin, the Mountains of Mirkwood, darkened by shadow.  Even Thranduil’s people had moved north, away from the evil that lurked there and into refreshing and clean lands. Yet the trail of the orcs headed north as well, and not to grounds where they might hide in shadow.

Another call sounded, and Elrohir felt some relief to realize that Elladan was again near them, and that he had the orcs in sight.  The orcs were leagues ahead, intent on their northward course.  Elladan’s information came with an increasing sense of urgency, an urgency and excitement that Elrohir could feel in the forest around him.  They needed to intercept the orcs before they delved any deeper into the land of the wood elves.

* * *

Thranduil rose from his chair and walked from his study to the front entrance of his caverns.  He sensed Lathron near him, and together they stood facing to the northwest, Thranduil intent on the word from the forest.  The trees were buzzing with a mixture of excitement and danger. He closed his eyes, and concentrated all his thought over his land.  In an experience he was unable to describe to any, greater than even that which his father, Oropher, had ever known, he felt as if he were lifted high into the branches and harnessed all the power and energy of the trees about him.  He flew over the land, unseeing, yet not unfeeling.   He could sense his children out among the wood: Celebrinduil was south of the caverns, his fëa calm and at rest; Bregolas and Legolas were farther north, and he could tell that Bregolas was at attention and alert; and farther north again he sensed his oldest daughter, Elenath, and felt the strength of her fëa growing in harmony with those around her. The trees passed on tales of danger and pursuit, of new presences in these northern woods, of beings not known to the trees.  Here the information conflicted, some trees reporting fear and distaste of strange and dangerous creatures, and others reporting joy and excitement at the presence of creatures of light and good.

Thranduil projected his power and dominance out over the land, and the trees rejoiced at the presence of their king.  Their murmurs rose in crescendo in response.

Satisfied, yet still full of unease, Thranduil opened his eyes.  Lathron had stepped away from him slightly, his eyes full of wonder and fear.

“Adar?” he asked softly.

“Do you sense that Legolas is in danger?” Thranduil asked him abruptly.

Lathron shook his head.  “No, Adar.  Yet I remain uneasy.”

Thranduil listened again to the forest. Whatever evil had entered his land, it could and would be contained soon. He walked into the garden, beckoning Lathron to follow him.  “Come and sit watch with me.” 

The King sat in the darkness until dawn came.

* * *

 mellon.........friend

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 6: From mighty warriors to an elfling’s captives

Bregolas awoke in the predawn morning to find Sadron and Laerion standing a few feet from where he was lying with Legolas cuddled against him.  Wind rushed through the trees and the woods answered in a cacophony of responses that varied from awe and love, to anger and determination.  The air bristled with energy that felt as if thunder were about to roll and lightning about to strike, yet no storm clouds appeared on the horizon.

Sadron and Laerion both held their bows loosely in hand, caught between feelings of threat and the lack of actual danger.  In a tree high above them, a call was sounded.  Bregolas recognized Meren’s sweet treble informing them that a battle was in the offing not far to their southwest.

Bregolas rose, noting that the elves who had served as rear guard the day before had gone to investigate the unease of the forest.  He lifted his sleeping little brother into his arms, and sprang into the low branches of the friendly beech above him.  Sadron and Laerion began moving all the packs into the trees as well, and the horses nickered their response to stay near the river and quiet.

Sadron held Legolas while Bregolas strapped on his quiver and positioned his bow for easy reach.  Bregolas took the sleeping elfling back into his arms then.  He felt a momentary flare of anger that danger would dare to come this close to the home of the wood elves, a momentary flare of anger at himself for putting his little brother in this danger.  He looked at the innocent form cradled in his arms, and thought of the trust that Legolas had that Bregolas would protect him.  Though Meren’s call had indicated the battle to be small and the enemy few, he still gathered Legolas close. He would allow none other to be the final protection between his baby brother and any enemy.

* * *

Elenath moved swiftly through the trees, her bow held ready, and Aranu just several steps in front of her.  She had been on watch when she heard the distinctive sound of orcs, a sound not often heard in the northern reaches of the forest, but one not easily forgotten.  She felt the thrill of anticipated battle race through her, a strange combination of excitement and fear.   Seldom had she battled orcs, and each time had been on the edge of the forest, beyond the Forest River.  She had immediately sent the call back to camp and was not surprised when her captain had been the first to join her.  Her brother, Bregolas, said that Aranu lived for action and excitement. She knew the rest of the patrol followed closely behind them.

Elenath slowed as the sounds increased and watched in amusement as Aranu seemed to force himself to do the same.  He motioned for her to stay where she was, and then crossed to the next tree.  Elenath sensed the other elves taking up positions around her, arrows nocked, as they waited.

The first orc appeared moments later, quickly followed by five others.  Elenath released her arrow at Aranu’s call, and watched as all six orcs were felled, most with multiple arrows, before even one could draw a weapon. The forest had grown silent, and it soon became apparent that no others followed these.

Aranu dropped to the ground, signaling several others to join him.  Two orc throats were quickly slit as the elves ensured all were dead.

“That was hardly a battle,” groused Aranu. “They did not even put up a fight.”

A pyre was quickly built in a clearing and the orcs piled on top, then set to flame.  Elenath joined the others in moving upwind of the smell of burning flesh.

A sudden call came, one foreign and yet known to them. In puzzled caution, the elves moved to the trees, again, nocking their arrows in readiness.  Another call came, and Aranu again did not respond.  Suddenly, three strange elves appeared below them in the clearing, a golden haired warrior moving quickly to the burning bodies of the orcs. He grabbed a branch and poked at the engulfed bodies, as if seeking to extract one.

The warrior quickly realized the futility of his actions, and threw down the branch in disgust.  He looked up into the trees and called, “For days we have tracked them and pursued their captain, in hopes of learning what message he bore north.  Did you at least search the bodies?  Was anything found?”

Elenath was surprised at the cultured yet clearly annoyed voice.  Who was this elf to come into the Woodland Realm and speak to them thus?  To her surprise, Rawien dropped to the ground behind the golden haired one.

“Far you stray from the hidden valley, Glorfindel of Imladris,” he said.  “What interest does an orc captain hold for you that you drive him into the arms of the wood elves?”

Glorfindel turned slowly, his hands clearly visible to all, to face the elf behind him.

“Curiosity and a challenge, Rawien of Greenwood,” answered Glorfindel with a slight bow of his head.  “Word came from the Dunedain of the north that orcs approached from the Ettenmoors. We engaged them in the Misty Mountains, a larger party than anticipated. To our surprise, they crossed the Anduin and again headed north. The sons of Elrond chase another group of five south of here.”

At that word, half of the patrol immediately faded into the trees and raced south. Elenath stayed with Gaelim, for he was her usual assigned partner.

“The captain bore a message,” continued Glorfindel, “a message he was to bear north at all cost.  Our scouts overheard enough conversation to know that his mission was of the utmost priority.”

Elenath was sure that Glorfindel knew that part of the patrol had departed. Aranu had gone too, indicating that despite the many arrows still pointed at the heads of these three strange elves, they were not considered a threat.

“We did not search them, but ensured they were dead and disposed of them in flame,” replied Rawien.

“You could not know he bore information important to Shadow. At least the message can no longer be delivered,” said Glorfindel, a hint of frustration still apparent in his voice.

“And your curiosity cannot be satiated,” replied Rawien.  “Come, old friend, we will escort you to your patrol.”

Elenath watched as Rawien led the three in the direction the rest of the patrol had gone, then settled on to a comfortable branch of the tree she remained in.  She would watch until the flames burned out, then turn over the soil and ash to ensure no sparks remained. Glad for the quiet, she pulled from a pouch in her quiver the small leather bag that Elumeril had sent to her.  She loosened its ties and reached inside, pulling forth the silver ring nestled within.  For a moment she saw her father’s face reflected in the metal.  I do not think you know Gaelim, Adar, but you will like him once you have met him.  Bregolas will approve, too, and that will further convince you.  Elenath was glad that her leave was approaching, for Aranu knew of their love and was sending them home together.  Gaelim would ask her father permission to court her, and only after that permission was obtained would they exchange silver rings.  She did not need the ring in her possession now, but it made her glad to hold it close to her body in anticipation. Elumeril would keep her secret.

Pulling herself from her reverie, she returned the ring to its place and leaped to the ground to begin smothering the ashes of the dead orcs.

* * *

Elrohir led the race into the darkness and knew they were gaining ground as the noise of the orcs grew closer.   Suddenly, he saw yellow eyes before him and a long silver blade arced through the air. He leapt over the blade, feeling the bite of its steel nick the soft flesh of his abdomen, then somersaulted and rolled to his feet. In a moment he was on the orc, yanking its head back by greasy hair and slitting its throat.  

He slumped momentarily as his fellow warriors surrounded him, searching the area for others.  He pushed the orc away from him, noticing as he did so that the orc had serious wounds to his abdomen.

“He was injured and could not keep up,” said Elrohir. “He still has an arrow head in his gut.”

He wiped his dagger in the grass, then rose to his feet. He fingered his slit tunic, then felt his hands pushed away as Tarag lifted the garment to inspect the wound.

“Flesh wound,” pronounced Tarag.  “Jump higher next time.” With that he rinsed the scratch with water from his water skin, and applied the ointment they used on all superficial wounds.

Elrohir snorted and pushed the hands away as soon as a bandage had been placed over the wound.  “Thank you for the advice.  I am sure to try to follow it the next time an injured orc swings a scimitar at me from where he lies dying on the ground. Come!”

They quickly resumed pursuit.  Elrohir whispered to himself four, and knew that soon there would be none.  They would not allow a single orc to escape into the woods.  Somewhere close by, off to their right, Elrohir heard Elladan whistle, and started in surprise when the call was answered by others.  The first hoot came from their northeast and the second from almost directly north of their position.  Elladan answered them both.

“Wood elves,” whispered Meldon.

“These orcs are ours,” answered Elrohir possessively.  “We have chased them and will finish them.”

With that, the Imladris elves found a sudden burst of speed and caught sight of the four remaining orcs as they entered a small clearing in the forest.  The trees seemed to be cheering the elves on.  Elrohir nocked an arrow even as he ran, and loosed it as soon as he was in range of the first orc.  To his pleasure it fell, and he saw another drop in front of it as Tarag’s arrow flew true.  One of the orcs turned in a last stand, and released his only arrow of the short battle.  He died with a feral grin on his face and three arrows protruding from his chest.

Elrohir heard Tarag grunt and fall, and he turned back immediately, leaving Meldon and Lamath to pursue the last orc.  He heard their arrows sing and the cry of the orc as he dropped to his knees at Tarag’s side.

He could see the oily substance dripping down the shaft of the arrow and pooling around the wound in Tarag’s right chest.  The wound was deep, and he had little time to act if he was to save his fellow warrior’s life.

“Hold on, Tarag,” he said firmly, and as soon as he felt Tarag’s hands gripping his tunic firmly, he wrenched the arrow free.

Tarag could not help but cry out in agony as the barbed tip tore flesh when Elrohir pulled it out.  The wound bled freely, burning with the poison, and Elrohir let it bleed.  He emptied his water skin over the wound, diluting the blood and rinsing the poison away from the wound.   When the bleeding finally began to slow on its own, Elrohir packed herbs into the rent flesh and then bandaged and bound the wound.

Tarag had squeezed his eyes tightly shut at the pain, but now as it lessened, as the herbs numbed the wound, he began to breathe easier and opened his eyes.  Elrohir smiled at him.  “Now who is in need of advice, my friend?” he teased.

Elrohir watched as Tarag’s eyes widened in surprise as he looked beyond Elrohir, and Elrohir felt the sudden sensation of knowing there was someone behind him.  He looked up to see Meldon and Lamath holding their bows loosely, and then slowly turned around. 

Multiple arrows were pointed at him by wild looking elves.  The sun was just beginning to rise behind them, bathing them in the glow of the morning’s first light.   One of the wild elves motioned for him to stand, and he did so.  To Elrohir’s surprise, several of the elves quickly fashioned a litter and then carefully loaded Tarag on to it, whispering words of comfort as they did so.  The rest of the elves held their bows with arrows loosely nocked and pointed at the heads of Elrohir, Meldon and Lamath.  One of the wood elves motioned for them to begin to walk forward, and the elves of Imladris did so. The only sound Elrohir heard was that of Tarag laughing with those elves who carried him, and apparently, entertained him.  Confused by their reception, he followed, wondering if Elladan was likewise captured.

* * *

Elladan watched as his twin and the others were led away under guard, disbelief and then anger flooding over him.  He had just decided to climb down from his perch and follow when elves materialized on either side of him.

“Does not our common enemy make us at least allies, if not friends?” Elladan finally asked, anger in his voice as he looked down the shaft of the arrow in his face.

The elf laughed and lowered his bow.  “Yes.”

With that, the elf leapt to the next tree, and motioned for Elladan to follow him.  Elladan looked at the great distance the elf had just jumped, and then at how far down the ground was.  He could walk through the trees where the branches were close together, but these elves raced through the trees as if they were on solid ground!

“The tree will not let you fall,” the elf informed him.

Elladan touched the stately oak, and felt the whispered encouragement flow through the coarse bark.  He walked out on the branch and suddenly found another branch from the next tree in front of him.  Gathering his courage, he began to move through the trees like the wood elves escorting him, not comfortable with their speed yet, but thrilled none the less.

* * *

Elrohir followed the elves carrying Tarag, and found himself warming up to the strange elves carrying his friend.  They spoke to him and touched him often, and Elrohir knew their touch was imparting some form of comfort and healing, for already Tarag looked stronger.  The elves surrounding them had lowered their bows, and soon one fell into step at Elrohir’s side.

“Son of Elrond, what has caused you to leave the hidden valley?” the elf asked.

Elrohir blinked.  How did this elf know he was Elrond’s son? And wasn’t it obvious they were chasing orcs? He looked at the elf incredulously and saw a twinkle in the eye of the otherwise expressionless face. He took a deep breath.

“Chasing orcs that have moved south from the Ettenmoors,” he finally replied. “Their captain bore a message that caused them to flee back northward.”

“He is dead,” the elf answered.

Elrohir looked up in surprise.  “What was the message he carried?”

“I do not know,” the elf replied.  “Regardless, he will not be delivering it now.”

They walked for several hours, the pace comfortable for those carrying Tarag.  When Elrohir tried to take a turn at carrying the litter, they merely laughed at him and told him they would carry his injured friend and to rest, as he had run all night. Finally, they entered a clearing near a small stream and the wood elves set Tarag down in the shade of a large beech tree.  Suddenly, more elves dropped from the trees. At least these do not hold arrows to my head, thought Elrohir.

“Mae Govannen, Elrondion,” spoke a tall, dark haired elf as he approached Elrohir. “I am Bregolas, son of Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm.”

Elrohir laid his hand across his heart and bowed slightly to the tall elf, who repeated the action.  “Suliad, Bregolas.  I am Elrohir.”

A slight movement above Bregolas’s head caught Elrohir’s attention, and to his surprise, Bregolas reached above his head and caught an elfling in his arms.  He set the youngster on his feet, and the child looked upon Elrohir gravely from his position of safety on top of Bregolas’s feet, one hand tightly clutching the older elf’s trousers.

“Is he our prisoner?” the elfling asked.

Elrohir smiled at the child, waiting for Bregolas to explain that they were friends.

“What would you do with him as a prisoner?” asked Bregolas.

The elfling looked at Elrohir thoughtfully.  “I would take him to Ada.  Ada would know what to do with him.”

At that moment, three more elves dropped from the trees.  Elrohir saw Elladan with the two wood elves, and felt himself relax with relief at the sight of his twin.  Elladan walked to him, embracing him and then turning to greet those Elrohir had been speaking to.

* * *

Elladan looked down at the elfling before him, and immediately bent forward to greet the child.  The elfling looked at him through wide blue eyes, then turned to look at Elrohir, and then back at Elladan.  A look of utter fear crossed his face and he cried out, “Ai!” as he scrambled to hide behind the big elf.

Elladan felt his feet swept out from underneath him and then dirt and leaves filled his nose and mouth, and he gasped as a knee shoved into his upper back, pinning him securely.  He tried to roll over, but found another weight on his lower legs. He did manage to turn his head slightly, the elf attempting to flatten him allowing him to at least breathe, and saw that Elrohir was likewise occupied a few feet away.  In the ensuing silence, he heard voices.

“Legolas, what is it?” the big elf was asking, the elfling now in his arms, his face buried.

The elfling looked down at the two elves who were pinned securely to the ground, and then back at the one holding him.

“Bregolas, they are the same.”

Bregolas laughed.  “They are twins, Legolas. Twins are sibling born at the same time who sometimes look exactly alike.”

“How does their ada know which is which?”

“Why don’t you ask one of them?”

Legolas slid carefully down the elf whom Elladan had determined to be his brother. He squatted down in front of Elrohir, and the elf sitting on Elrohir’s back allowed Elrohir to raise his head up far enough to look at the elfling.

“Elrohir, how does your ada tell you from that elf?” Legolas pointed at Elladan.

Elrohir smiled wryly.  “I am smarter and better looking.”

Elladan groaned.  “Right, that is why I am having my identical face ground into the dirt and you are not.”

“Point taken,” replied Elrohir.

The little elf called Legolas tapped him impatiently on the head.  “You are not being very cooperative, Elrohir.”

“I do not know how Adar tells us apart.  He just knows.  So does Naneth.  We have never fooled Naneth,” replied Elrohir honestly.

Legolas sat back on his heels, a disapproving frown on his face.  He crossed his arms over his knees and studied the two again.

“I think you need to think of a better answer, Elladan,” laughed Tarag from his pallet.

Legolas brightened when Elladan turned his head to respond to Tarag. Before Elladan could answer, the little elf had moved to him.

“Your name is Elladan?”  When Elladan nodded, Legolas motioned to Elrohir.  “His name is Elrohir?”  Elladan nodded again.  Legolas smiled.  “Why did you not tell me you had different names?  That is how your Adar and Naneth tell you apart.”  Legolas stood and then sat down on Elrohir’s back, next to the elf who still pinned his twin to the ground.

A smile slowly crossed Legolas’s face, and he called, “Rawien!  I have caught more prisoners!”

Elladan turned his head enough to see Glorfindel following another wood elf into the clearing.  He bent his forehead to the ground, relief flowing through him that Glorfindel would explain everything and these wood elves would get off his back, and they could go home to a place where elflings were sane.

“Mae govannen, Bregolas,” greeted Glorfindel as he stepped over the twins.

“Welcome, Glorfindel,” replied Bregolas.  “We are only a day’s ride from Thranduil’s caverns. You are all welcome to stay while your injured warrior recovers.”

“We appreciate your hospitality,” answered Glorfindel warmly.  Without even a look at the twins, still pinned by wood elves and elflings on their backs, he walked off with Rawien and Bregolas.

“Bregolas!” called Legolas. Bregolas turned to look at his little brother.  “What do we do with our prisoners?”

“That is up to you!” answered Bregolas.  “Just remember you are responsible for them.”

“I have to feed you and take care of you,” said Legolas. He stood up and motioned for the elves sitting on Elladan and Elrohir to get up.

Elladan felt himself pulled to his knees by the elf that had been sitting on him, and he stretched and brushed the twigs and dirt from his tunic.  Turning, he saw Elrohir doing the same, but his twin had a slight grimace on his face, and then Elladan saw the cut in his twin’s tunic.

“Are you injured?” he asked, jumping to his feet and taking a step towards Elrohir.  The wood elf let him go, but stayed at his side.

“It is already tended to and healing,” replied Elrohir, brushing him off.

“Stand up,” demanded Elladan.  When Elrohir did, he pushed his brother’s tunic up and looked at the now dirt covered bandage wrapped about his abdomen.  Tinges of blood stained through. He turned to where the other Imladris elves sat together.  “Garthon, please bring Elrohir’s pack and healer’s kit.”

To Elladan’s surprise, a she-elf rose and brought the pack near.  She spread out a blanket on the ground, and motioned for Elrohir to lie down.  Kneeling down next to him, she pushed up his tunic and then cut off the dirty and stained bandage.

“The scimitar that did this was poisoned,” she said calmly.  “It is but a flesh wound and yet it bleeds still. You should not have been lying on your abdomen.”

Elrohir looked at her in disbelief. “I do not recall that I had a choice in the matter.”

“I will see that he is properly cared for, Meren,” said Legolas as he knelt next to her.  “He is my prisoner and I am responsible for him.”

Meren looked at the elfling gravely. “I will help you.  Elrohir needs to rest.  Do not let Sadron sit on him anymore.”

Legolas nodded his head in agreement, and then held the herbs and bandages for Meren as she tended to Elrohir.  Elladan sat near his twin, but was not allowed to help at all.  Meren had Legolas running to do her bidding, finding a clean tunic for Elrohir to wear, bringing water for him to drink and even helping carry a container of water with Sadron, which was used to wash Elrohir. 

“When did you last eat?” Meren asked Elrohir.

Elrohir had nearly drifted off under her gentle touch, and Elladan answered for him.  “Sometime yesterday.”

“Legolas, bring plates for Elrohir and Elladan.”

The elfling jumped obediently to his feet again and ran off to the newly built campfire, where Laerion was preparing food for the elves who had spent the night in battle.  He walked slowly and carefully, bringing Elrohir a plate and then making a second trip for Elladan.

Meren began to sing, and several other of the wood elves joined in her song.  Elladan soon realized the trees were harmonizing with them. He suddenly felt weariness overcome him, and barely realized that the elfling Legolas was laying out another blanket for him to lie on.  He let Meren push him down and then pulled Elrohir close, and drifted off into sleep.

* * *

Elrohir awoke several hours later, and tentatively moved.  He was glad the pain and burning in his abdomen had diminished, and he did feel refreshed.  He scooted away from Elladan, but when he sat up he felt a strange tugging on his feet.  He nearly gasped in surprise, and then fell back to the ground in exasperation.  The elfling was sitting at their feet, which he had tied together.  He had not noticed that Elrohir had awakened, but lay on his belly playing with acorns that were arranged in circles and lines.

“What is it, Elrohir?” whispered Elladan.

“We are apparently still prisoners of the elfling,” answered Elrohir.

“They are awake!” cried Legolas as he leapt to his feet.  “Bregolas, we can go now!”

Legolas abandoned his ropes to race to his brother, and Elladan swiftly untied his own feet and then Elrohir’s. 

“Let me see the wound,” said Meren, appearing soundlessly behind them.  She quickly examined Elrohir, and then pronounced, “You shall ride.”

A short time later, camp was broken and the group began the slow trip back to the caverns. Elrohir found himself mounted on Sadron’s horse, and Tarag rode in front of Meren.  Legolas was on his pony, but everyone else walked, the horses trailing along leisurely behind them.

They stopped to rest and eat again, and finally approached the caverns at dusk.  It was a sight Elrohir had never before seen, for it was not a cave as he might have imagined it.  Light shone out from various openings in the cavern walls, and many entrances and balconies seemed to lead into the cavern or smaller ones nearby. The grounds leading up to the caverns were lit with lanterns, and merry elves danced and sang on the grassy expanse before the entrance to the palace. The trees here swayed and sang with the elves, even more so than they had in the forest.  Elrohir felt that crackling energy again as they drew near, and again he looked to the skies for signs of an imminent thunderstorm.  He dismounted as elves came forth to aid Tarag, who was whisked away by wood elf healers who disappeared as quickly as they had come. Bregolas and the elfling Legolas led the way, with Rawien and Glorfindel flanking them, and the rest of the elves of Imladris following.  As they approached the doors, the guards stepped aside and the doors opened as of their own volition.  Fascinated and excited, they walked forward to meet the elven king of the Woodland Realm.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter. 

Chapter 7: In the Halls of the Wood Elf King

Elladan entered the large Hall in step with his twin, his eyes drawn to the rustic beauty of the large cavern.  Signs of spring were everywhere, both outdoors and indoors.  He liked how the wood elves brought nature indoors with them, and the way the caverns and their homes about the caverns blended in with the landscape.  His eyes were drawn to the end of the Hall, where the King of the Woodland Realm was seated. He was a tall and powerful elf, his golden head crowned with a wreath of woodland flowers.  Elladan immediately sensed that the great energy he had felt in the forest was harnessed through this person. He could not help but draw a comparison to his own father, for Elrond also wielded a great power. However, Elrond’s strength suddenly seemed more refined and directed, and Elladan decided the difference was perhaps that Thranduil used the forces of nature to enhance his own.

“Ada!”

Elladan’s musings were cut short by the call of the elfling as he raced up the center of the Hall to the carven stone chair where the King was seated.  The elfling realized the impropriety of his behavior even before the King had cast a disapproving glance upon him, and the child dropped to his knees without slowing, and slid across the polished stone in what was probably the raciest bow ever seen in the Hall.  Legolas slid to a stop with his head bowed, but was clearly peeking up at his father, for he leapt to his feet the moment the king nodded to him to rise. As Thranduil held out his arms, Legolas dove at him and was caught securely in a strong grip. Standing on his father’s thigh, he wrapped one arm about Thranduil’s neck and looked out at the audience before him.

“Ada, I have prisoners!  They are twins and look the same,” said Legolas proudly as he pointed at Elladan and Elrohir.  “They were in a battle with orcs.”

Elladan was pleased that Thranduil seemed fairly undisturbed by Legolas’s news, for that meant he was already aware of what was happening in his realm.

“If I had a sword, Ada, I could have helped fight the orcs,” Legolas informed his father, a sly smile on his face as he looked at the warriors still watching him.

“No swords, Legolas,” replied Thranduil automatically.

“Elrohir was wounded, Ada, and I helped Meren take care of him. An orc stabbed at him. Ada, where will my prisoners stay?”

“Why are they prisoners?” asked the king, his attention fully on his young son.  When Legolas looked at him in confusion, he continued, “For someone to be held prisoner, he must have committed some offense against the Realm.”

Legolas slid down to sit in his father’s lap, chewing his lower lip as he considered his father’s words. “Elrohir was not cooperative, Ada,” he finally answered.

“Which one is Elrohir?”

Legolas pointed at a dark haired elf before him.

“Are you sure?”

Legolas nodded.  “That is the tunic I found for him.”

“How do you know he did not switch tunics with his twin?”

Legolas was silent again for a few moments, thinking hard, and then he pointed again at Elrohir. “He is injured and has a bandage on his stomach.”

Thranduil beckoned his twin forward, and Elladan watched as Elrohir stepped forward, his face expressionless. “Lift your tunic,” ordered the king.

Elrohir lifted his tunic and showed the bandage wrapped about his abdomen.  Thranduil looked at Legolas.  “Are you sure now that that is Elrohir?”

Legolas suddenly grinned and pointed at Elladan. “Lift your tunic, Elladan.”

Elladan found his anger rising again, but stepped forward and lifted his tunic as directed. He watched as Legolas’s face clouded as he saw that Elladan also had a bandage, although it was different in size and placement from Elrohir’s.  Elrohir had placed a bandage over the wound to his shoulder, and then secured it by wrapping the linen over his shoulder and around his abdomen.

“Ada, they tricked me!” he cried angrily.

“Are you sure?”

“They both have bandages now!”

“Do you know that Elladan did not have a bandage on earlier?”

Legolas folded his arms over his chest and glared at the twins.  “No,” he admitted tersely. “They are very uncooperative.”

The elves around him laughed, and Elladan turned and glowered at them.  He was tired, Elrohir was tired, and he did not wish to argue with an elfling any longer.

“They should go to the dungeons,” said Legolas decisively.

Elladan turned back around abruptly, unable to believe what he had just heard.  The dungeons?  “They are your responsibility. You will have to see to their care,” said the king as he set his son on the floor.  Legolas marched forward to stand in front of Elrohir, his arms crossed over his chest as he glared at the elf.  “You have been uncooperative and tried to trick me.  You shall go to the dungeons.” With that, Legolas grabbed the sleeve of Elrohir’s tunic and began tugging on it to make Elrohir follow him.

Elladan turned from that scene back to the king, and found that Glorfindel and Rawien had stepped forward with Bregolas, and the three were relating the tale of the orc hunt.   He turned back to see Elrohir moving reluctantly with Legolas, two wood elves now flanking him. Without further thought, Elladan turned to follow his twin.

“You cannot take Elrohir to the dungeons,” he said to the wood elves standing on either side of Elrohir. 

“You can come, too,” said Legolas, not unkindly, his good humor apparently having returned.  He began the walk down to the cellars, a journey he had made on only a few occasions, for he did not like the dark.  One of the wood elves lit a lantern, but it cast little light.  The adult wood elves trailed behind them, allowing Legolas to lead his captives. The darkness grew around them, and the sound of metal hitting metal sounded from deep in the cavern. Legolas stopped abruptly at that sound, and Elladan nearly tripped over his twin as Elrohir did also.

Legolas turned to face them, and Elladan saw the fear in his eyes. The elfling ran back up the hallway a few steps, tripping over Elladan’ feet and as Elladan caught him he could feel the child’s rapidly beating heart and the near sob for a breath. Compassion overcame him, and he gathered Legolas close.

“I have you, Legolas. You are not harmed,” he said softly as he hugged the little body to his chest and stroked the soft hair. He began to walk quickly back up the long passage, the guards following silently, and soon the torches and lanterns that hung from the walls of these higher passages shone their light on the little elf.

Elladan tried to push Legolas slightly away from him, so the child could see the light and that he was safe, but he found his braid wound tightly in the elfling’s fist.  He tried to gently pry the small fingers loose, but Legolas just buried his face in Elladan’s neck and held on tighter.  A dark haired elf whom Elladan had seen earlier standing near the king appeared before them, his hand covering Legolas’s back as he leaned close to the child.

“Legolas,” whispered the elf softly.

Legolas responded immediately to that voice, abandoning his hold on Elladan and flinging himself into the well known comforting arms held out to him.

“Lathron! There is a monster in the dungeons. I heard it,” he said tearfully.

Elladan watched as the elf cuddled Legolas close, rocking him gently in his arms. “There are no monsters in the cellars, Legolas.  Some of the elves preparing for tomorrow’s celebration were likely obtaining wine for the feast,” answered Lathron logically.

Elladan cast a glance at his twin, now leaning tiredly against the wall but with a good natured smile back on his face.  Lathron apparently noticed as well, for he asked Legolas, “What shall we do with your prisoners?”

“I do not want to be responsible for them in the dungeons,” admitted Legolas. He suddenly brightened, and turned to Elladan. “You can stay in my room!”

Elladan drew in a deep breath, deciding the time for diplomacy was at hand. “Legolas, Elrohir and I are very tired.  We wish to rest.  Perhaps we can play with you tomorrow?”

Legolas grinned and clapped his hands. “Yes!  I will show you my favorite tree and where the uncooperative squirrel lives and my carved animals! I am not allowed to track Tathiel anymore, because I startle her baby, but we can track outside and I can catch you, and you can be the prisoner and escape, and then catch me!”

Elladan felt a smile tugging on the corners of his mouth at the child’s excitement.  He slid an arm about his brother’s shoulders, pulling Elrohir upright and then saw Lathron looking at them empathetically while shaking his head.  He cocked his head at the elf and raised a quizzical brow.

“Both of you have been very good about playing with Legolas in his games, but truly you had no need to do so and should not have when you were both so tired and Elrohir still recovering,” said Lathron kindly, his rebuke gentle. “Guest quarters and baths have been prepared for you.  Come, Legolas and I will show you to your room.  Lord Glorfindel said you would prefer to eat quietly in your room and retire early. In the morning, I will escort you to the healing rooms to see your injured warrior. Camnesta, our chief healer, said Tarag is resting comfortably.  He will watch him through the night.”

As Lathron had been speaking, he had led them through the halls to their quarters.  Elladan had barely paid attention to the direction they had gone, finding the winding halls of the cavern confusing and Lathron’s voice entirely too soothing. 

“Lord Glorfindel is staying in the room next door. He is meeting with the king right now, but said to tell you he would stop by to see you later.”

Elladan looked at the high ceilings of the room they had entered, the walls and ceiling painted to look as if one slept in a bed of soft grasses amidst woodland flowers, a canopy of leaves rising to the sun above.  A small table was set with goblets of wine and a tray of fruit, cheese and breads. In an antechamber to the side, a large bathing pool carved from the rock was filled with warm water.  Clean clothing in the style of the wood elves was placed on a bench near the door, along with fluffy towels and sleeping tunics. 

Elrohir sank into a comfortable chair, his eyes closing as he sighed with pleasure.  Elladan smiled down at his twin, glad to see Elrohir comfortable, and found he had to hold his tongue when he saw Legolas squirm down from his brother’s arms and move to stand quietly at Elrohir’s side. Small fingers touched Elrohir’s hand, and Elrohir opened his eyes.

Legolas leaned over the arm of the chair to kiss Elrohir on the cheek and hug him. “Good night, Elrohir.  I will see you tomorrow,” said the elfling softly, and then glowed when Elrohir hugged him back

Elladan felt all his frustration over the day slide away at the wood elves’ now generous and caring treatment of his twin.  He felt his hand grasped by small fingers, and scooped Legolas up in his arms. “Good night, Legolas,” he said, kissing him on the head.  “Beware the morning, for I may make you my prisoner.”

To his surprise, the small face lit with absolute joy and Legolas hugged him with wild abandon before Lathron pulled him loose.  Bowing slightly, Lathron carried Legolas from the room, but Elladan could hear them in the hallway for a few moments before the voice faded away.

“Elladan is going to play prisoner with me tomorrow, Lathron!  Sadron always gets away, but I think Elladan will play right!”

“I think Sadron was playing right, elfling,” answered Lathron with a laugh.  “Elladan and Elrohir were very patient with you today, letting you win, but I would beware tomorrow.  Your new friends will be all rested and ready to trap you. . ..”

Elladan flopped down on the bed, shaking with laughter.  He rolled over, nearly falling off the bed, and then stood, stripping off his dirty clothes and bandages as he walked to the bathing chamber.   Elrohir had one eye partially open, watching him warily.

“Fear not, brother, I am not as crazy as the wood elfling,” laughed Elladan.  “It was all a game to them.”  Elladan sank into the warm water and dunked his head under the water.  “The child was scared upon seeing twins and his cry made the warriors throw us to the ground and grind our noses into the dirt.” Elladan lathered his hair as he spoke, and then slipped below the surface to rinse it out. “But why would that make us doubt that they were playing?  I am sure the arrows that were pointed at our heads were only play, too.” His voice trailed off as he relaxed in the sudsy water. “I knew they were only playing. . ..”

Elrohir snorted. He staggered to the bathing chamber and sank into the water, fully clothed.  “Sure you did.  Never a doubt in your mind.”  He closed his eyes and sighed again, and Elladan laughed. 

“You, of course, knew this,” he said, and nudged Elrohir to lift his arms.  He stripped off the sopping tunic and removed the sagging bandages from Elrohir’s middle.  “Being only an elfling yourself, you relate well to them.” He pushed Elrohir’s head back into the water to wet his hair and then washed it with soaproot. Elrohir grinned up at him.

“Am too an elfling,” he replied.

“Glad you have finally accepted what Glorfindel has spent a score of centuries telling you,” said Elladan, gently cuffing Elrohir.  “Finish your bath so you can go to bed.  You look like something an orc would drag home.” With that, he climbed from the large tub to dry and dress.

Elrohir stripped off the remainder of his clothing, his lower jaw working as if he were speaking.  Finally a yawn slipped from him, followed by, “Well, then the orc would drag you home, too, twin.” He dragged himself from the bath and pulled on a night tunic, and then fell on to the sleeping couch, his eyes already closed.

“Poor Elrohir,” laughed Elladan softly as he drew a light blanket up over his brother. “When that is the best reply you can make to a jest, I know you truly are tired.”

Elladan ate a light meal, then crawled on to a couch and was soon fast asleep himself.

* * *

Glorfindel opened the door to the guest room assigned to the twins and saw them stretched out on sleeping couches.  Elrohir lay on his side, curled slightly and Glorfindel supposed the still healing gash on his abdomen made other positions uncomfortable. Elladan was sprawled out on his belly, arms and legs hanging off the side of the couch. Glorfindel smiled and leaned against the stone wall of the door entrance, for in his mind he didn’t see fully grown, accomplished adult warriors, he saw elflings the size of Legolas, asleep in their beds after a day filled with mischief and curious play.  He recalled how they, too, had begged for their first swords, and how they had even slept for a short while with the sheathed weapons that first night after receiving them, before Elrond had slipped them from small hands and tucked them away.  They, too, had been given a new ‘rule’, about swords staying in their trunks while they slept, and he laughed quietly at how they had remembered and observed the rule.  Like Legolas, they had learned fast.  Like Legolas, they had been treasured and taught real life lessons by the adults around them.  Perhaps someday Legolas would be the object lesson for a small child, and know how Elladan and Elrohir had felt this day!

Glorfindel laughed less quietly as he recalled their looks of confusion at how the wood elves had indulged their small prince and willingly used the twins in Legolas’s play.  He had wondered at what point one of them would say ‘enough!’ and end the play, and had been surprised it had lasted as long as it did.

Elrohir would already have forgiven the wood elves and forgotten by morning, for that was his nature.  Elladan would still be slightly miffed over the treatment of his beloved brother, and would be looking to exact some sweet revenge.  Glorfindel had been on the receiving end of Elladan’s revenge many times, for Elrohir was a delight to tease and Glorfindel did so often.  A slow smile spread across his face as he considered what humor the wood elves might have at Elladan’s expense should he tease their little princeling.   He allowed his face to soften as he looked over the sleeping elves, for they were special to him, as like to sons as he would ever have. Sleep well, elflings, he said silently. May you discover new treasures and delights in the magic of this realm on the morrow.

* * *

Legolas poked his head up from the blankets and turned over, trying to see if Lathron was awake. His brother lay on his back, so it was hard to see his face. Legolas got up on his knees and bent over Lathron. Dark green eyes focused on his as Lathron smiled, and Legolas nearly jumped back in surprise.

“You are awake,” he said happily.  He plopped himself down on Lathron’s chest, so that their faces were nearly touching. “Can we go see if Elladan and Elrohir are awake?”

“No,” answered Lathron firmly.  “You are not to bother them this morning.  They can sleep as long as they wish, then they will go to see Camnesta, and then Adar wishes to see them.”

“Can Elladan play with me after that?”

“Only if he wishes to,” replied Lathron.  He kissed Legolas on the forehead, and Legolas let himself be rolled back on to the bed so his brother could stand up.

Legolas sat quietly on the bed, watching as Lathron dressed and brushed and braided his hair.  He really wanted to see the twins, but it was hard to get around Lathron.

“Come, Legolas, let us find you some clothes and then have breakfast.” Lathron held out his hand to him, and Legolas slipped from the bed and took it. Somehow, he would make himself useful and find a reason for someone to send him to their room.

* * *

Thranduil watched the fear recede from Tathiel’s eyes as Bregolas added his reassurances to Rawien’s that Legolas had never been in danger.  She had been asleep when Legolas had returned home, a day early from his trip, and when she had awakened to find Rawien next to her in bed, she had slipped into a robe and gone to Legolas’s room.  Not finding him there, she had returned nearly frantic.

“Lathron took him to his room,” Rawien had told her through his yawn, “where he could keep a close watch on the elfling.”

Those words had led her to believe the child was traumatized or injured, and Rawien had to further amend his words.  “Elves from Imladris returned with us, and Legolas claimed the sons of Elrond as his prisoners.  In order to let them rest without an elfling watching over them, Lathron claimed Legolas for the night.”

Rawien, however, had not been with Legolas when the actual battle occurred. Bregolas had been cornered the moment he walked into the dining room to explain what he had done to protect the elfling. Thranduil had nearly bit through his lip attempting not to laugh at the scene, but he could not hide the mirth in his eyes and had to look away as Tathiel faced off against Bregolas, hands on her hips with her large belly sticking out in front of her, demanding to know everything that happened. To his son’s credit, Bregolas had been calm and taken no offense at being backed into the wall by an irate pregnant elf.

“I took him into the tree with me, and we stayed there until the battle was over.  Between the elves of Imladris and our warriors, we greatly outnumbered the orcs.  They were dispatched while still leagues from our camp,” said Bregolas.

“Did he wake up?  Did he know they were near?” demanded Tathiel.

“No, he slept through it all.  When he awoke we were just waiting for the others to rejoin us.  Then he met the twins, claimed them for his own, and will likely be following them about today,” finished Bregolas.

Tathiel relaxed, resting one hand on her belly and stepping back to allow Bregolas to pass by her and sit down.  Thranduil hid his smile with a napkin as he saw Bregolas dismissed, and as their eyes met he saw dancing mirth in his son’s eyes as well.  He wondered if Bregolas remembered many years earlier being similarly questioned, and in that case chastised, by his mother when he had allowed Celebrinduil to do something that an elfling his age should not be doing. 

Fortunately, Lathron and Legolas chose that moment to appear. Legolas’s face lit up as soon as he saw Tathiel, and he raced to her.

“Tathiel! I am home!” exclaimed Legolas as he buried his face in her side. He stroked her belly as she kissed his head. “Hello baby elfling!  Were you cooperative while I was gone?”

“The baby was very good, just because you asked her to be,” replied Tathiel.  “Did you enjoy your trip?  Were you cooperative?”

“Yes!’ answered Legolas excitedly. “There were orcs and then Elladan and Elrohir came and they were my prisoners.” A sudden sly smile covered his face, and he turned his most innocent gaze upon Tathiel. “I will take you to meet them, Tathiel.  They are twins and look alike and I can tell you which is which.”

Thranduil coughed lightly to hide his smile as Bregolas grimaced at Lathron, and knew that Lathron had won that bet. He wondered why Bregolas ever bet against him, for Lathron was never wrong in predicting Legolas’s behavior.

“Legolas, you are not to bother the twins this morning.  Not for any reason,” warned Lathron.

Legolas’s face fell as his plan failed.  He seemed oblivious to the fact that all the adults were trying not to smile, for they had known he would try to find legitimate reason to go to the twins’ room. The bets were not on if he would try, merely when and how. Legolas’s forehead furrowed in intense concentration as he climbed up into his chair, clearly attempting to formulate another plan that would involve his getting to see the twins, but without ‘bothering’ them.

Thranduil noticed Elumeril speaking to Rawien then, and recalled that she had sent a package with him for her sister. He waited until she was done speaking and had sat down before asking her, “Elumeril, did Elenath like whatever it was you sent her?”

To his surprise, Elumeril’s face flushed red and she looked at her plate rather than him as she answered. “Yes, Ada, I am sure she did.”

All eyes turned to Elumeril then, and her color deepened when she realized that everyone was watching her. 

“Elumeril, are you well?  What did you send her?” asked Thranduil, his brow furrowing as he wondered what Elumeril could send that Elenath would not like or that would cause this embarrassment.  He looked from his daughter to Rawien, who sat to her left, and noted that of everyone, he was the only one not watching the child, nor did he appear curious.  Thranduil studied his captain for a moment, and decided he knew whatever it was Elumeril had sent.

“I am well, Ada.  I just sent Elenath something from her room that she asked for.  It was hers, Ada,” answered Elumeril evasively.

Thranduil let the subject drop but kept his gaze on Rawien. When the captain’s eyes finally met his, the look in them was neutral, yet somehow gentle.  His mind wandered as he considered what his daughter might be up to that she would involve her sister, and perhaps her head captain.

“Ada.” Legolas’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “Lathron said you wanted to see the twins this morning.  I can take them a message from you, letting them know to come see you and where to find you.  They might not know the way.”

Laughter filled the room, with smiles on all faces except Legolas’s.  The earnest look on his face as he waited for his father’s answer was entirely too endearing and Thranduil wondered how he would ever manage to discipline this child. He smiled at his youngest son.

“No, Legolas.”

* * *

Elrohir awoke feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.  He stood and stretched, then noticed the tray of breakfast foods on the table.  His clothing had been picked up from where he had dropped it, and was cleaned and neatly folded on the chair.  The rumbling of his stomach reminded him it had been long since he had eaten, and he quickly dressed before diving into the food.  After satiating his initial hunger, he plucked a grape from a bowl and whipped it at Elladan’s head.  The resounding wet ‘thwap’ as it hit his brother on the cheek was a welcome sound, and the annoyed expression on his twin’s face a bonus.

“Get up or I am leaving you nothing to eat,” he pronounced.  When Elladan merely groaned and turned over, pulling the blankets up over his head, he added, “and I will wake Glorfindel up without your help.”

“He will flatten you, elfling,” reminded Elladan.

“Perhaps,” replied Elrohir with a grin.  “But he deserves something for doing nothing to aid us when those wood elves flattened us into the dirt.”

“I will get up just to watch this,” decided Elladan.

He also dressed and ate; then the two moved stealthily to the door of the room next to their own.  Elrohir led the way, an air of anticipation about him.  He pushed open the door silently, and could make out a form in a large bed ahead of him.  He crept forward, and was just nearing the bed when he felt the rug beneath his feet move. He leapt lightly into the air, to avoid falling, but something knocked his legs forward and he landed hard on his backside on the stone floor.  The jarring pain knocked his breath from him, and before he could react, he was flipped on to his stomach and held down by a large foot in the middle of his back.

He gasped for air, grateful when his lungs finally expanded. With a slight groan he turned his head to the side and closed his eyes in resignation when he saw the golden hair hanging down in front of his face and felt warm breath on his ear

“You are a predictable elfling,” whispered Glorfindel.

The sound of Elladan laughing behind him did not help his bruised backside or his bruised ego. The foot planted between his shoulder blades departed, and he carefully sat up. When he finally dared to open his eyes, he looked into the grinning faces of his twin and Glorfindel.

“Good morning, Elrohir,” said Glorfindel brightly as he held a hand out to Elrohir.  “Did you sleep well?”

Elrohir glared for a moment at them both, but accepted the hand up and found himself folded into an embrace. “I expected you to fall when I pulled the rug, not jump and then fall so hard,” said Glorfindel, in a pseudo apology.

“I fully intended to bury your face into the floor,” grumbled Elrohir, but he accepted the comforting embrace and his usual smile returned to his face.  He flopped on to Glorfindel’s bed, landing in the mass of pillows he had thought was Glorfindel, as the golden elf returned to his breakfast. “You were not very helpful yesterday, either.”

“You scared their little prince,” answered Glorfindel logically.  “When I entered the camp everyone was smiling, so there was little point in intervening.”

“I do not recall smiling,” growled Elladan.  “But, then, my face was ground into the dirt, making most facial expressions difficult.”

Glorfindel only laughed.  “Legolas adores you. Everyone here adores him. By simple mathematical principle, you are now adored by everyone here.  It was truly a great diplomatic move on both of your parts to indulge the child.”

Elrohir grinned then. “I believe Elladan made a date to play with him again today.  Truly, brother, this may be the simplest diplomatic mission you have ever been part of.  Glorfindel must speak to the king and his councilors, but you have only to play with an elfling.”

Elladan arched a brow at him. “And what part do you intend to play?”

Elrohir doubled over, as if in pain. “I am clearly still recovering and must spend my days being pampered and waited upon.”

“Ah,” a voice interrupted them from the doorway. “Our little Legolas is most helpful in the tending of wounds and providing aid to the injured.  He would enjoy being your constant companion as you recovered.”

Elrohir looked at the smiling face of the dark haired elf who had just entered the room and could not decide if he was serious or jesting.

“I am Camnesta, chief healer to the king.  Tarag has spent the night in my care and is doing well this morning.  I have come to escort you to him, but I think I shall have a look at you, Elrohir, to ensure your wounds are healing well.”

“I am quite well,” protested Elrohir, but the elf pushed him back on the bed and Elrohir knew immediately that it was likely even the king of the realm did not argue with this healer. He could feel the power in the gentle hands. He immediately thought of his father and the healing power harnessed within him. Camnesta’s power was similar, yet was different in ways Elrohir could not explain. His tunic was pushed up and the wound examined, and he could feel a tingling sensation where those fingers touched him.

“You will come with me to the healing rooms to be treated,” announced Camnesta. “That flesh wound should be healed and yet still it weeps. I wish to see what poison antidotes you use.” He pulled Elrohir’s tunic down and turned a paternal glare on him. “You must cease this rough play and not be thrown to the floor until that wound is fully healed.”

Elrohir nearly rebelled under the chastisement. He turned his glare on Glorfindel, who merely laughed at him.  Glorfindel would tell him he started the rough play. Taking the hand Camnesta held out to him, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet and obediently followed the healer from the room, Elladan’s and Glorfindel’s laughter fading behind him.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 8: Challenges

Elrohir entered the healing rooms to see Tarag stretched out on a sleeping couch while a very pretty female wood elf tended him.  The injured warrior was clearly enjoying her ministrations, his eyes never leaving her face as she removed his bandages and checked his wound. She turned slightly, flashing Camnesta a smile and motioning for him to come examine their patient.

Camnesta touched Elrohir’s elbow, encouraging him to come look as well.  Elrohir clasped hands with Tarag as he bent near to inspect the wound.  Immediately his concerns were aroused, for the wound had not yet healed over. He lightly touched the intact skin near the rent flesh.

“The wound is slow to close,” agreed Camnesta, though Elrohir had not spoken his thoughts.  He looked at Elrohir gravely. “As is your own wound.” He nodded for the she-elf to continue dressing and covering the wound, and then led Elrohir across to a separate treatment area.

“Sit here and remove your tunic,” he instructed Elrohir.

Elrohir unfastened the ties of his tunic and pulled it over his head.  Camnesta was standing behind him, and Elrohir heard him make a slight noise of disapproval as he moved closer to him. Moments later he felt the tingling sensation of Camnesta’s touch, as the healer seemed to be tracing his fingers over some pattern in Elrohir’s skin.  To his surprise, Elrohir realized the areas Camnesta was touching were tender.

“Stand up, please, and remove the rest of your clothing,” said Camnesta.

Elrohir did as instructed, forcing himself to withhold his questions while Camnesta examined the rest of his skin.  He sat again when Camnesta motioned for him to do so, and allowed the healer to look closely at his eyes and in his mouth.

“What happened to your back?” asked Camnesta.

Elrohir had to think before answering. “In the woods yesterday, an elf sat on my back.  This morning Glorfindel knocked my feet out from under me and I landed on my back. Nothing more. Why?”

“You are bruised,” answered the healer. “Something in the orc poison has thinned your blood and Tarag’s.  Tarag is not bruised as you are, but he has not been thrown around either.”

“My father may have seen something like this before,” said Elrohir slowly, as he remembered back to all his father had taught him from his studies of poisons and antidotes.

“In Lindon,” answered Camnesta.  “I have heard the story.  Spoiled sweet clover got in the food supply and caused a similar effect.  If this is the same substance, these effects should not last long, but you both must take care to avoid injury until you heal. Escapades with elflings are out of the question.” He smiled at Elrohir.  “Your father is a renowned healer, Elrohir.  I will send correspondence home with you regarding these effects from poisoned scimitars and arrows.  Perhaps your father can discover an antidote.”

Elrohir felt warmth and pride spread through him at the high regard this skilled healer held for his father.  “The animals who ate fresh greens seemed to overcome the effects better than those fed grains.  I do not know if the same effect would occur in elves, but fresh greens in your meals for a few days will not harm you. Lie back and let me dress your wound.”

Elrond did as instructed, finding he trusted and respected this wood elf healer immensely.  Skilled, warm hands dressed and bound the weeping gash on his abdomen, and then he dressed.

“The king wishes to speak with you, but if you wish to return here afterward, I would like to compare healing methods and learn what you use in your warrior antidote kits.  Shadow has returned and I fear that as evil grows, so will the challenges we face in healing. Tarag says you have great skill.”

Elrohir smiled warmly at the elf. “My skill is far less than that of you or my father, but I would like to learn from you all I can and will share what my father has taught me.”

“Return to me, then, after you see the king,” said Camnesta.  He paused, and then added, “And do not let anyone knock you down or beat on you, either.”

* * *

Elrohir found Glorfindel and Elladan sitting with Tarag, but felt no regret at the three of them leaving the injured warrior, for the female elf was hovering nearby, ready to sit at his side again.  One of the king’s guards led them through the winding tunnels to the Hall of the king, and they stepped forward when the herald announced their presence. 

Thranduil rose from his carven chair, and stepped down to greet them. The three bowed anyway, offering him the respect due his position as King even as he descended to their level to show their equality.

“King Thranduil,” Glorfindel greeted him,  “thank you for your hospitality.”

“I hope you found your accommodations suitable,” said Thranduil, mirth in his voice as he looked upon Elrond’s sons.

Elrohir glanced sideways at Elladan and knew his brother was contemplating a jesting answer.  “The dungeons are quite elegant,” said Elladan cheekily.

Thranduil laughed heartily.  “I hear my son did not make it very far down the corridor. He still believes there are monsters in the dark cellars.”

“Legolas is a charming child,” said Elladan honestly. “And our rooms were very comfortable.”

“You were both very kind to play with him yesterday. Have you seen him this morning?” asked Thranduil.  When they all responded they had not, he smiled. “Lathron must have him tied to a tree, then. He was quite set this morning on finding you.  I am sure he has quite the day planned for you.” Elrohir noted that the king seemed to be speaking to Elladan, instead of them both, when Thranduil turned to him. “You must take care of yourself until you heal, Elrohir.” He smiled slyly. “I would not want Elrond to think I beat his son if he hears of your bruised back.”

Elrohir was amazed at how quickly that word had reached the King.  Surely the wood elves must use birds to whisper messages in the king’s ear for news to travel so fast! He smiled in return. “Yes, my lord.”

He saw concern in the eyes of both Elladan and Glorfindel, for they were not yet aware of what Camnesta had found.  He had thought he would tell them after they met with the king.  They spoke with Thranduil a short while longer, made plans to join him for a light luncheon at midday, and heard his plans for a feast that night.  The king then excused himself to return to his duties.

Glorfindel immediately moved behind Elrohir and lifted his tunic. Elrohir heard Glorfindel’s sudden intake of breath, and then felt Elladan’s hands pulling the waist of his trousers back to see the extent of his bruising.

“It really does not hurt and will heal in a few days.  It is an effect of the orc poison,” he reassured them as he turned around and tugged his clothing from their hands.  To his surprise, the expressions that met his as he turned were grief and anger.

“Glorfindel, we did not know,” he said firmly. “I should not have been trying to sneak up on you.”

“I am sorry, Elrohir,” said Glorfindel, his voice full of remorse. “Never would I intentionally hurt you.”

“I know. The wood elves did not know either.  Poisoned blades are a hazard of war.  We can blame the orcs and we can blame shadow, but we will not blame each other or our hosts.” Elrohir’s last words were directed at Elladan, but even with that directive it was several moments before his twin’s anger began to dissipate.

Elrohir took both of Elladan’s hands in his and squeezed them gently. “Do not be angry, Elladan.  I am not and I do not give you permission to be angry on my behalf.” Elrohir smiled to himself at the look of near shock on Elladan’s face at his words.  He knew Elladan was very protective of him, that he always had been.  He had just revoked a longstanding unspoken permission from his twin to feel or act on his behalf.

“Go and play with Legolas, and then join the warriors at the training fields.  I will see you at lunch.”

“What are you going to do this morning?” asked Elladan in a tight voice.

“I am going to speak to Camnesta about healing techniques and warrior aid kits,” answered Elrohir firmly. He pushed his brother gently. “Go.”

Elladan turned to walk away, then came back and enfolded Elrohir in the gentlest of embraces, barely touching him. Without a word, he then turned and walked away.

Elrohir faced Glorfindel and was not surprised at the depth of pain in the eyes of his friend and mentor. He stepped to him and kissed him lightly on each cheek.

“Forgive me, Elrohir?” asked Glorfindel hoarsely.

“Yes and No,” smiled Elrohir. “Yes, because you think you have done something in need of forgiveness, and so I grant it freely.  No, because there is nothing to forgive.”

“Silly elfling,” replied Glorfindel, and Elrohir was surprised to see him wipe a tear from his eye.  “When did you grow so wise?”

“I had good teachers,” answered Elrohir softly.  “I will see you at lunch.”

Elrohir felt those blue eyes watch him until he was gone from Glorfindel’s sight.

* * *

Legolas skipped from stone to stone on the garden path, humming and singing to himself as he played.  He jumped up on to the bench, then jumped over the back and landed in a patch of soft grass.  He somersaulted twice and then swung from a low branch of the beech tree before running back to the path.  He raced back to the palace, but did not see anyone coming, and so skipped back to his area of play.  On the bench lay a small sack filled with his favorite river stones.  Some of these had been chipped and polished into small balls, and he dumped them out on the grass near the path.  He knelt on the ground and began organizing them by shape and size, then placing them into proper position for a game. 

Intent on his play, he did not hear anyone come up the path behind him.  Suddenly, a shadow covered him and his stones, and as he turned to see who was there, a light blanket was tossed over him and he was picked up and tossed over someone’s shoulder.  His scream of delight was answered quickly.

“I warned you, elfling, and I never cast idle threats,” came the voice of one of the twins.  “You are my prisoner today!”

Legolas giggled and twisted and turned, finally managing to poke his head out from under the blanket.  He had just caught a glimpse of dark hair when he was turned over and around, and found himself held securely in the lap of the elf who now sat on the bench. A feather in hand, the twin lightly touched his face and neck, tickling him, as he spoke.

“Are you ticklish, Legolas?” The feather touched his nose and then his neck, and he giggled uncontrollably.

“Yes! Yes!” he cried, squirming away from the torturous feather.

“Hmm….then I think I shall tie you up and tickle you mercilessly,” teased the elf. His fingers joined the feather in their work and Legolas laughed until his sides hurt.  “I shall not stop unless you correctly guess who I am - on the first try.”

“Elladan!” cried Legolas immediately.

The fingers and feathers quickly departed, leaving only a gasping elfling fighting to regain his breath. He sagged against Elladan’s chest, relieved.

“How did you know I was Elladan?”

Legolas giggled.  “Because Camnesta said Elrohir could not play today.  He is still hurt and I am too much for him.”

Elladan rolled his eyes at him.  “I must say I am impressed with the communications system of the Woodland Realm.  Well, prisoner elfling, I can torture you some more, or perhaps you would like to show me around the grounds?”

Legolas chewed on his lip as he thought of his reply.  He wanted to show Elladan everything! But, he wasn’t allowed out of the garden. Just as he was contemplating how he might leave the garden without getting in trouble, Sadron dropped from the tree above them.

“You seem to be caught, elfling,” said Sadron merrily.  “Do you wish me to help you escape?”

Legolas shook his head and laughed.  “No.”  His face fell suddenly, for though he could not leave the garden, Sadron could. He did not wish for Sadron to show Elladan around.  Perhaps if Sadron went with them as he showed Elladan around, he would not get in trouble.  His thoughts were still racing when Sadron spoke again.

“Legolas, your ada has said you may leave the garden today in my care.  Would you like to show Elladan the stables and the warrior training grounds?”

“Yes!” cried Legolas.  He squirmed from Elladan’s arms to stand on the bench next to him and then tugged on Elladan’s sleeve.  “If Sadron comes with us, I will not get in trouble!”

Elladan laughed and stood, and took Legolas’s hand.  Legolas jumped to the ground, knelt to sweep his stones quickly back into their bag, and then took Elladan’s hand again. He did not notice the look that passed between his friend Sadron or his new friend Elladan.

* * *

Despite Elrohir’s admonitions, Elladan had nearly flattened Sadron when the elf appeared in the garden.  He had restrained himself only because Legolas was present. A little voice spoke inside his head, telling him that he should restrain himself because Elrohir had told him he could not be angry on his behalf, but he brushed those words away.   Seeing Sadron had roused his anger again and it did not matter if Elrohir agreed with him or not.

“Legolas, I need to speak to Elladan for a moment.  I think Cúron would like a treat,” said Sadron as they neared the stables. “I will call for you when we are done.”

Legolas looked at them with some confusion, but when the stablemaster called his name he willingly ran inside to visit his pony.

Sadron led Elladan to a quiet area away from the stable hands who were tending horses in the corrals.

“I was told this morning that your brother is still ill from the poison on the orc blade.  I am sorry, Elladan.”

Elladan studied the elf before him, contemplating his words and the intent behind them, but Sadron seemed genuinely concerned.  Before he could answer, the elf smiled and asked, “Would you like to knock my feet out from under me and grind my face in the dirt?”

“Yes,” answered Elladan truthfully, and found a smile tugging at his lips despite his attempts to remain angry.  Sadron held out his hands in surrender, giving Elladan permission to do so. He finally said reluctantly, “Were I to do that, I would have to answer to Elrohir and I prefer to avoid his wrath.”

Sadron was silent, but his expression beckoned for Elladan to continue.

“In truth,” admitted Elladan, “I am most angry at myself.  I know my twin as I know my own heartbeat, and yet I did not know he was ill.  You and your companion would have found your noses in the dirt had I known your knee was bruising Elrohir’s flesh that day you held us down.  I shared a room with him and did not see the bruises that first night.  I allowed him to provoke Glorfindel, knowing that he would end up on his face on the floor, and laughed to see it happen.” He paused as he looked into the compassionate eyes of the wood elf.  “Elrohir is very forgiving, and he sees no cause to be angry with anyone but the orcs.”

“Do you find this to be a weakness of Elrohir’s?” asked Sadron

“No,” answered Elladan sharply. “Elrohir is not weak; he is strong.”

“Then your brother is fortunate to have someone care for him so much,” answered Sadron wisely. He smiled. “The cure for your ailment, my friend, is a good sparring match on the green.  I am sure the wood elves can teach you much.”

Elladan’s eyes flashed in anticipation. Perhaps he would have a legitimate way to flatten the elf! “They may try after they have recovered from the thrashing the elves of Imladris will first give them.”

“A contest!” said Sadron gleefully. “Let us find our elfling and then our captains, for there is much to arrange!”

* * *

Glorfindel glanced at Rawien as the two listened to the ideas being presented by Elladan and Sadron.  Unable to stand still, Legolas was grinning and hopping from Elladan to Sadron.

“An archery contest,” suggested Sadron.

“Swordplay,” added Elladan.

Glorfindel watched Legolas open his mouth, but before the child could say anything, both Rawien and Sadron said, “No, Legolas.”

Legolas did not lose his grin, but instead whispered conspiratorially to Elladan. “Someday they will say ‘yes’ and then I will get my own sword.”

“A tracking competition, with teams,” said Sadron slyly.

Elladan’s eyes flashed. “How would you guarantee that the wood elves would not use the forest against the Imladris elves?”

Sadron laughed.  “I cannot control the forest!”      

“Mixed teams,” suggested Rawien.  “Garthon and Elladan are your primary scouts?” When Glorfindel nodded, he continued. “They would each lead a team of a mix of wood elves and Imladris elves.”

Elladan’s eyes sparkled. “Only if Sadron is on the opposite team.”

Sadron laughed. “I agree!”

Glorfindel nodded, his mind racing through the potential benefits and pitfalls of such contests between warriors.  He could feel the excitement emanating from Elladan, and knew this fierce twin was still looking to exact some revenge on the wood elves. Sadron looked excited about the challenge, though, and the physical outlet of competition would be a fine release. More than likely, the warriors of the two realms would learn something from each other, and friendship and trust would grow in competitions where they worked together.  Tarag and Elrohir would not be able to travel for several days yet, and this would keep the warriors occupied.

Glorfindel turned again to Rawien and smiled.  “Let the games begin.”

They clasped arms in agreement and then felt small hands grabbing on to theirs as Legolas swung from them as if they were tree limbs.  “Yes!” he cried in excitement. “Please, Rawien, can I help?”

Rawien swung Legolas in the air and caught him in his arms.  “Yes, elfling, I think we will have some special jobs just for you.  You may start by leading Elladan back to the palace for lunch.”

Legolas grabbed Elladan’s hand as soon as Rawien set him on his feet and tugged him in the direction of the palace.

“Sadron, you may go spread the word and begin recruiting participants for each contest,” delegated Rawien.  He smiled suddenly. “A competition of ‘toss the elfling’ will never be approved by my wife.”

Sadron laughed.  “I would not cross Tathiel right now. She is as dangerous as a mother bear with cubs.”

As Sadron disappeared into the woods, Glorfindel turned to Rawien. “Come, it is time for lunch. Legolas should have everyone in an uproar by the time we join them.”

* * *

Tying the laces of his trousers, Elrohir moved to stand behind Camnesta. He looked at the sketch the healer had drawn, meticulously colored in shades of yellow, purple, brown, blue and black.

“I think this will be for my adar’s eyes only,” said Elrohir.  When Camnesta looked at him in surprise, he continued, “It would upset my mother, and my brother and Glorfindel have seen the real thing and need not be reminded of it.  It is very well done.”

Camnesta pulled out the other sketches, one of the gash on Elrohir’s abdomen and the other of the wound to Tarag.  “We will do a series over several days, showing the healing progression.  Perhaps it is for naught, but one never knows.”

Elrohir turned to pull his tunic over his head, and found himself face to face with a pregnant she elf.  “Who did that to you?” she demanded.

Elrohir pulled the tunic down as he answered, “It was an accident.”

Camnesta laughed.  “Poisoning with spoiled sweet clover, Tathiel.  He has not been beaten.”

“That is an old tale,” said Tathiel as she looked over the sketches.  “You look as if someone threw you to the ground, then rolled you over and stuck a foot in your back.  This spot looks like the sole of a boot.”

Elrohir grimaced, unsure of what to say, when Camnesta said, “Bruises do take on interesting shapes.  Have you come to escort Elrohir to lunch?”

“Yes,” answered Tathiel, easily distracted as the baby kicked and rolled within her. Elrohir had to restrain himself from touching her belly, but she seemed to notice and took his hand and placed it on her belly. “Feel that kick,” she said, moving his hand as the baby moved.

“I used to love sitting by my naneth when she was pregnant with my sister.  She would speak to the babe and encourage us to do the same. I would feel the baby move and sing to her.”

To his surprise, Tathiel’s eyes filled with tears. “Legolas does that.  He talks to the baby and hugs my belly and tells me he is hugging the baby elfling.”

Elrohir smiled and held his arm out to her, and she led him to the king’s private dining room. They met Elladan and Legolas in the hall outside the dining room, and Elrohir laughed as the elfling flew into Tathiel’s arms.

“Tathiel!  Baby elfling!” he cried as he flung his arms about her belly.  “There is going to be a warrior competition, Tathiel!  With archery and swords and tracking, and Rawien says I can help!”

Elrohir met his brother’s eyes, and for one of the rare occasions in their life he had difficulty reading his brother’s expression. Elladan was guarding his thoughts and emotions, and Elrohir felt bewildered at the wall his twin had put up before him. Why was Elladan upset with him?

“Come, Elladan, we have to tell my ada about the competition,” said Legolas as he again took Elladan’s hand and tugged him into the dining room.

* * *

Lathron watched as Legolas skidded into the room, immediately rushing to their father.  He climbed into Thranduil’s lap, talking so fast that that their father had to cover the small mouth for a moment to stop the child and make him start over in a more coherent fashion. Lathron thought Legolas was more excited about their guests and the warrior competition than he had been about the pony and going tracking.  In the mind of the child, perhaps, it was all related.

All is not well with the sons of Elrond, he noted. The twins had been led to their seats by Tathiel and were involved in polite discussions with those sitting near to them, but Lathron could not help but notice the way that each would glance at the other.  Elrohir looks for reassurance and Elladan is withholding that from him.  Perhaps they have argued.   Voices at the door caught his attention and he saw Rawien and Glorfindel enter the room. Rawien introduced Glorfindel to Tathiel, and Lathron found himself further drawn to the golden haired warrior as he knelt beside the pregnant elf and kissed her hand. He congratulated her upon her child, and Tathiel beamed under his attention.  When all were seated, Lathron could not help but smile to notice that Elrohir was between his twin and Glorfindel. He had heard that Elrohir was suffering from a poison that caused wounds not to heal and the skin to bruise. It pleased Lathron to see that these elves took care of their own.

For they are not so different from us, though they do not seem to understand their surroundings as they might. They are graceful and elegant, and Glorfindel shines with the light of Valinor.  All are attracted to him as moths to the flame.  They grace their environment, whereas we are part of our land.

The arrival of Urithral, Ethiwen, Tinánia and Eärundra completed the lunch. The ellyth quickly moved to sit in spots reserved for them by Elumeril, and Lathron grinned as Elumeril looked at him and then quickly away.  He would not compromise her secret, but as he had taken care of obtaining the silver ring for Elenath, he rather suspected he knew what Elumeril had sent to their sister. 

“Lathron,” said Legolas suddenly. “You have a sword and bow and knives.  Will you play in the warrior games?”

Lathron smiled at Legolas and reached to take him from their adar’s lap and set the elfling in his own place. “I would rather watch everyone else, Legolas.” Legolas’s face screwed up in confusion as he contemplated Lathron’s answer, and Lathron knew that Legolas could not comprehend that anyone would not wish to be a warrior.

“You can keep Elrohir company,” decided Legolas. He flashed a smile to Elrohir across the table, his sympathy obvious for the twin who could not participate.

Elrohir’s eyes turned to Lathron, and Lathron smiled at him as well.  Elrohir’s face softened slightly at the friendly gesture, and Lathron could feel Elrohir’s frustration and sadness at the rift with his brother.  Elladan again had a fierce expression in his eyes at the reminder of his brother’s injury.  Lathron was immediately drawn back to his younger days, when his own fierce brother Bregolas had also reacted that way when Lathron suffered injury. Like Elrohir, Lathron was well able to protect himself.  He suspected that like him, Elrohir usually loved his brother and the relationship with that brother too much to push away the protective sibling.  Apparently this time Elrohir had, however, and now there was a distance between them when normally there was not.  You will work it out, Elrohir, he thought encouragingly.

“Elrohir and I will cheer on the teams and keep you out of mischief,” agreed Lathron, grinning as Legolas’s face went from approving to a scowl at the mention of mischief.

“I do not get into mischief!” he defended himself.  As everyone around him laughed in disagreement, he ducked his head a little and amended, “Well, not very often.”

As soon as the meal was finished, Legolas raced back to Elladan.  “Come, Elladan!” he cried in excitement. “We have to get ready for the games!”

Elladan allowed himself to be led away, but not before locking eyes one last time with his twin. His face betrayed no emotion, but his eyes spoke volumes. Lathron looked away rather than witness that intimate moment between the twins. Then Elladan and Legolas were gone, and from the corner of his eye Lathron saw Glorfindel wrap Elrohir in a gentle, fatherly embrace.  “Give him time, elfling.  He loves you more than his own life and feels he did not protect you, and do not remind me you do not need protecting.  It is how Elladan shows his love.”

Soon all had departed, preparations for the feast that evening and the games the following day lending excitement to the air as everyone went about their tasks with joy.

* * * * *

Author’s Note:  Spoiled sweet clover leads to the formation of a substance that the drug warfarin is based on.  Warfarin is an anti-coagulant, or blood thinner, that was initially used as a rat poison.  It is not often fatal in human poisonings, and the effects intrigued researchers. They studied warfarin extensively and then obtained approval for use as a drug in humans.  It thins the blood, helping to prevent blood clots.  It is not used as a rat poison any longer, as the rats have grown resistant.  The earlier orc poison, used in a previous chapter, was based on the substance found in deadly nightshade.  It causes effects such as dilated pupils, slowed heart rate, dizziness, fever and upset stomach.  It can also cause hallucinations and delusions and poisonings can be fatal, depending on the concentration of the poison used.  As with all poisons, as Paracelsus said ‘Everything is a poison, nothing is a poison. Dose alone makes the poison’

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 9: Win, Lose, Draw

In the darkness, Elrohir lay curled on his side on a sleeping couch, his mind reviewing the events of the day. He could still hear music and laughter coming from the Great Hall, where the feasting and dancing continued.  The food had been delicious, the music beautiful, the Hall decorated gaily with flowers and the king had welcomed them publicly and warmly. Yet, Elrohir had not entirely enjoyed the night. Elladan had been distant from him and spent most of the evening speaking with the other warriors who would participate in the competition the next day.  Elladan and Garthon were to lead tracking parties on a hunt where they would have to overcome certain obstacles, recover lost elves, find various tokens and attempt to capture a wood-elf scout who would seek to evade them and return to a designated safe area near the training grounds.  Elladan and his team were planning their strategy and schemes for winning the competition.

In all the long years of his existence, Elrohir could not remember being excluded from his brother’s life.  They had been apart at times, on separate missions, or one injured while the other was not, but never had they been together in the same place, yet apart.  The dull ache in his heart was proof of the rarity and painfulness of the experience.

A soft sigh escaped him as he thought back to his words earlier that day. He had told Elladan he could not be angry on his behalf. It had seemed the right thing to say, given Elladan’s anger at Elrohir’s illness.  Mostly he had wished to avoid having Elladan angry with Glorfindel or their hosts. But in his wish to free Elladan from needing to be angry on his behalf, he had damaged his relationship with his twin. His heart heavy, he finally drifted into restless sleep.

* * *

“How long do you plan to make Elrohir suffer?”

Elladan turned abruptly at the words spoken behind him.  Glorfindel stepped into the light cast by the lanterns hanging from the stone walls and walked to within a step of him, his arms folded casually across his chest.  Elladan turned away to face the darkness of the hall ahead of him, a sigh escaping him as his shoulders slumped slightly.

“That Elrohir should suffer was not my intention,” he finally answered. “But as he reminded me, I am not responsible for him.”

“He did not wish for you to be angry on his behalf, or for you to seek retribution for him.  While you are not responsible for him and never have been, you have not been so careless with his feelings since you were an elfling small enough for me to tuck under one arm.”

Glorfindel’s words struck Elladan like a blow to the chest, for he recalled the long-ago incident where Glorfindel had done just that. He had been wrong then, and he knew he was wrong now. 

“Why are you angry at him, Elladan?”

“I am not angry at him,” responded Elladan hotly. He turned to face Glorfindel, and felt his flash of anger recede at the calm face that met his.  He closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment. “I am a little angry at him. He has been wronged and he does not care. I am angry because I am more concerned for him than he is for himself.”

Glorfindel was silent for a long moment, and then asked, “Do you think Elrohir cares less for you than you do for him?”

Elladan shook his head. “No.”

“Twins you may be, Elladan, but you are very different,” said Glorfindel gently. “You are the fierce one, loyal and strong and courageous. You exude those qualities and none are left wondering what is important to you or how you feel. Those qualities exist in Elrohir too, but they appear differently.  His love is gentler and more forgiving.”

“He is as strong as mithril beneath that exterior, though,” argued Elladan.

Glorfindel laughed and wrapped his arms around Elladan.  “Loyal Elladan, you are defending him even to me!”

“He is my brother,” said Elladan simply.

“I caused more bruising on Elrohir’s back than the wood elves did.  Do you wish to fight me also?” asked Glorfindel seriously.

“No, that was my fault for letting him do something when I knew you would flatten him for it.” Even as he spoke, Elladan heard the hypocrisy of his words. Had he and Glorfindel not just agreed that he was not responsible for his twin? He sighed. “So why am I not angry with you, as I am with the wood elves?”  He thought for a moment, his question rhetorical and Glorfindel wisely silent.  “They do not love Elrohir like you do.”

Glorfindel smiled, and Elladan recognized that smile as that of his old tutor when he would properly translate a phrase into Quenya or succeeded on the training grounds.  “They meant no harm to Elrohir, any more than they meant harm to you.  They protected their princeling and humored themselves at your expense, but that is part of who they are. I promise you they will play hard tomorrow and they will expect the same from you.  Should you flatten Sadron, they will laugh. Should they again flatten you, they will laugh harder.  Enjoy the games the way the wood elves play them – just don’t scare their little prince.”

Elladan smiled in spite of himself, for he had just heard his captain give him permission to play by rules that had tossed him into the dirt and nearly sent him to the dungeons. “Just remember to do this for yourself,” Glorfindel added, “and not from some misguided thought to avenge Elrohir.  His injuries are from the orcs, not elves.”

“I must go speak to him,” said Elladan suddenly. “I have made him miserable.”

Glorfindel grinned.  “I should not say this, but the wonderful thing is that you know with Elrohir that he will forgive you.  Instantly.”

Elladan looked at their friend and captain in mock surprise.  “So you are admitting taking advantage of his forgiving nature? You tease him knowing full well he will forgive you?”

Glorfindel cuffed him gently. “Of course!  But I also tease him because he enjoys being teased. I believe it is a trait he inherited from your mother, for neither you nor your father particularly like it.  Your mother, on the other hand, loves it and gives as good as she gets.”

Glorfindel squeezed his shoulder in parting as he stopped at his own room, and Elladan continued to the next one.  Elladan entered silently to see his twin sleeping, curled on his side with his arms both folded against his chest.  He studied the face that was so like his own, but that covered up a fëa and heart so very different.  He had never thought of it as Glorfindel said, but Elrohir did like to be affectionately teased. And he always forgave, and seemingly forgot any transgressions against him.  And I am right too, for this quality does not make him weak, it makes him strong.

Elladan changed from his borrowed finery into his sleep tunic, but instead of going to his own sleeping couch, he pulled back the covers next to Elrohir, and lay down beside him.  Wrapping his arms about his brother, he was saddened to feel the tension in his twin’s muscles. But as he continued to hold and comfort his sleeping brother, he rejoiced to feel Elrohir settle into his arms and relax.  A smile on his face, Elladan drifted into sleep.

* * *

Elrohir woke to a soft blowing on his face. His eyes gradually focused on an elfling with blond hair leaning on the edge of the couch, so close to Elrohir that their noses were nearly touching. A broad smile appeared on the elfling’s face.

“Elrohir!  You have to get up.  Lathron and I need your help,” whispered Legolas none too softly.

Elrohir felt warm and comfortable, and realized he was wrapped in his brother’s arms.  A smile to match Legolas’s spread across his face as he shifted slightly so he could see Elladan.  Whatever had been bothering Elladan had passed, and he had his twin and best friend back.  Even without words spoken, he heard the apology conveyed by the arms that held him close.

“Do not wake Elladan,” directed Legolas. “We are going to help hide tokens and set up obstacles, and they cannot know what we are doing.”

Elrohir extricated himself from Elladan’s arms, then washed and dressed under Legolas’s impatient eye.  Finally ready, he cast one last thankful glance at his twin, and then took Legolas’s offered hand and followed him from the room. Legolas stopped outside the door, glancing back inside.  “You forgot your sword and bow and arrows.”

Elrohir paused, confused, but returned inside to strap on his sword belt and place his quiver and bow on his back.  He was not a participant, but evidently the child had been instructed to see that he brought the items with him.

“Lathron says I am to bring you to the training fields.  I cannot go there alone, but if you are with me then I can,” explained Legolas as he skipped along next to Elrohir.  “We will have breakfast with the warriors and then get to work!”

Lathron was waiting for them, as promised, along with Rawien and Glorfindel, who would judge the event.  Elrohir was surprised to notice that Lathron, who also was not participating, also was armed with sword, bow and knives.  He motioned to the weapons and asked, “Are we going far from the grounds?”

Lathron smiled rather sadly. “No, but we do not go unarmed anywhere except the patrolled areas near the homes and palace. Orcs and spiders seldom come with many leagues of the stronghold, but it is not unheard of.  Even the elflings carry daggers when they play on the forest edge.”

Elrohir felt his respect grow, along with a matching sadness, that life could be so uncertain in the woodland realm that all would be armed.  But, Dol Guldur was again occupied, orcs roamed the southern woods and spiders ventured closer and closer.  He felt a sudden gratitude for the safety of Imladris and realized he took that safety for granted.

Breakfast was set out at a table next to one occupied by Rawien and Glorfindel.  They had maps and a variety of items laid out, and were discussing where the items should be placed.  Elrohir recognized the helpers as Ethiwen and Tinánia, whom he had met at lunch, Lathron and Legolas, Galithon, one of the King’s guards, whom he had sat next to at the feast, and Meren, who had tended him in the woods.  They ate as they listened to the captains review the competition.

“There are warriors already out setting up the obstacles,” said Rawien.  “We will hide the tokens and show you where you are to await your ‘rescue’.  You must remain in pairs for safety reasons. We will begin the morning with an archery competition, followed by a swords contest.  A light lunch will be held and then you will take up your positions.  A horn will announce the start of the tracking.”

Across the table from him, Lathron sat with Legolas in his lap, one arm firmly around the little one’s middle to keep him in place.  Legolas was bouncing and straining to see, yet Lathron appeared undisturbed by the bundle of energy in his arms.  He calmly ate, talking with those around him.  Elrohir had to admit that Legolas, while unable to sit still, was otherwise quite good.  He was quiet and eating, despite all the movement.

Soon all were on their feet, tokens in hand, and Elrohir picked up his share. He was turning to follow Lathron when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Glorfindel smiled at him, and Elrohir leaned into the arm that wrapped gently about his shoulders.

“Let me see your back,” said Glorfindel.  He stepped behind Elrohir, lifting his tunic to inspect the discolored skin.  Already the bruises were beginning to fade. “You are healing.”

“Camnesta thought within just a few days the bruises would be gone,” agreed Elrohir.

“Did you speak to Elladan last evening?”

Elrohir shook his head.  “No, but whatever was bothering him seems to have passed.”

Glorfindel sighed. “I am sure he will apologize today, Elrohir.”

“I do not need an apology; I only needed my brother back,” insisted Elrohir.

“He needs to apologize, Elrohir. He took his frustration out on you and the guilt of that will weigh upon him if you forgive him without him asking for and admitting his need for that forgiveness.”

“I need to let him apologize because doing so helps him?”

“Yes,” answered Glorfindel with a smile.

“Then I will let him apologize,” answered Elrohir slowly. “However, that does crimp my plans to use his guilt to my advantage.”

Glorfindel began to laugh, the sound rising in volume as he looked at the gentler of the twins.  Elrohir winked at him and moved off to join Lathron and Legolas.  Of course all I wanted was my brother back, but do those two think me so innocent that I would not make Elladan do all my camp chores on the way home in payment?  He grinned to himself.  All was right in the world and he would not be washing any dishes or collecting any firewood on the return journey.

* * *

Elladan was listening to Bregolas explain the competitions and rules to the competitors when he saw those helping set up the tracking event return from their work.  Elrohir and Lathron each had Legolas by a hand, and the elfling was skipping along and then allowing them to swing him forward when he planted his feet and quit walking.  He met his twin’s gaze and allowed all of his emotions to be evident in the bond he shared with his brother.  He felt the forgiveness offered and his heart sang with joy now that their relationship was again right.

“All competitors in the archery competition, you may begin your warm up now,” finished Bregolas.

A cheer arose from the gathered crowd and a horn was sounded announcing the beginning of the first competition. Elladan watched as Garthon and Nathrion moved with a whole cadre of wood elves to the field, and his competitive spirit felt a surge of disappointment that Elrohir was unable to participate. Nathrion was quite good, but he had yet to beat Elrohir in a competition.

The contest consisted of each warrior shooting arrows in rapid succession at a series of fixed and then moving targets.  The fixed targets were at varying distances and heights, and the moving targets the warriors would have to watch for.  To Elladan’s surprise, the first contestant was not a warrior, but a child he had seen at lunch the previous day.

He watched as the young elf moved into position.  She was momentarily distracted by Legolas, who was jumping up and down and clapping for her.  She waved to him, and then Lathron moved the child out of her peripheral vision with what Elladan thought must be clear admonishments to be silent. Several of the warriors spent some time explaining to the elleth the position of the targets and then launched a sample moving target so she could see how that would work.  Elladan noted that one of the warriors was Meren, the she-elf who had tended Elrohir in the wood several days earlier.

“That is Tinánia.” Elladan didn’t take his eyes from the child, but turned slightly to see Bregolas standing near him. “She is not even old enough yet to be a novice, but is quite skilled with a bow. It pleases the warriors to include her today and let everyone see how proficient she has become.”

Rawien called for Tinánia to start, and Elladan watched as she loosed arrow after arrow in quick succession, hitting all of the stationary targets.  The moving targets quickly followed and she fared less well, but still managed to hit nearly half.  She finished, and the crowd cheered for her.  A large warrior lifted her high in the air and sat her on his shoulder and marched her around the perimeter while another retrieved her arrows for her.

“She is quite good,” admitted Elladan.  “Do you train all of your children so young?”

Bregolas shook his head, but all he said was, “Tinánia is special.” He waited until she had left the field and then beckoned to her.   He held out his arms to her and she dashed to hug him.  “You are becoming so good I will have to be sure to always announce my presence around you!”

Tinánia laughed with the prince and then ran off to join her family.  “Hello, Sadron!” she called.

Sadron waved at her as he joined Bregolas and Elladan.  “Watch out for that one, Elladan.  She is skilled with that bow and nearly skewered the prince with an arrow once.”

“Ah, it was a flesh wound,” laughed Bregolas. “Tease her and I will allow her to use you for target practice.”

“I dare not cross her mother or Tathiel. They would serve me for dinner,” admitted Sadron.  He whispered to Elladan, “Are Imladris mothers as protective of their children as our mothers are?”

Elladan did not know what the incident was of which they spoke, but a sudden vision of Celebrían in full mother mode came to his mind and he answered, “My mother can reduce the mightiest warriors to their knees if one stands between her and one of her children.”

The participants were now warmed up and moving through the trial at good speed.  Nathrion showed well, and was in the lead when Elladan saw Meren step into position.

“That is Bellion behind Meren,” whispered Sadron.  “No one can beat him, although Meren has come close.” As Sadron spoke, Meren began to fire, and Elladan held his breath as she took the lead, every target hit dead center and every moving target knocked from the sky.

Bellion cheered for her, then moved into position himself.  At Rawien’s command, he began firing, grabbing arrows so quickly that the motions blurred.  He also hit every target with precision, and the crowd fell silent as they waited for the Rawien to announce which elf had won. 

“For the first time in many centuries, we have a new winner in an archery contest,” announced Rawien.  “Meren has finally beat Bellion, though it was by just the width of a feather quill.”

Elladan was silent as he watched the wood elves cheer Meren.  She bowed gracefully, and then Bellion grabbed her in a bear hug.  There was much laughter as Bellion seemed genuinely glad to have been beaten by this particular competitor, and then Elladan saw Elrohir moving to congratulate Meren as well.

“What are you thinking of so seriously, my friend?” asked Sadron.

“I am trying to picture my sister with a bow, beating any of the Imladris warriors in a contest,” admitted Elladan, his voice betraying how likely he thought such a scenario. “Do you have many female warriors?”

“No,” answered Bregolas.  “We actively train any female who wishes to be trained, but if they marry or have children most do not serve in the defense of the realm.  They are able to, though, should the need arise.  As you can see, they are as skilled as our males.”

Elladan was silent.  Arwen had been trained by their father and Glorfindel, and she could handle the weapons should she ever have to defend herself.  He had never considered that she would fight, though, or go to war.

“Our females defend the home territory. The need arose during the Last Alliance, when the wood elves lost so many warriors.  Our females filled in wherever there was need at home, and at times when Shadow has threatened us they have fought.  Meren, Elunell and Ethiwen all have recent battle experience, and now so too does my sister, Elenath, who is with a patrol in the north. Tinánia will enter novice ranks when she comes of age, and we currently have one elleth among the novices.  Several hundred more of our female elves have completed warrior training throughout this age and could serve if needed.”

The shock Elladan was feeling at this news must have shown on his face, for Bregolas laughed softly.  “I wish there was no need, now or in the future, for our females to fight, but they are willing and competent, and we are proud to have them stand next to us.”

Elladan wondered how he would react if he were beaten by a she-elf at swordplay.  He could see Elrohir standing with Meren, both examining her bow, and he had to admit to himself that Elrohir would take such a thing far better than he would. I suppose if an elleth could fight with a sword like Meren handles the bow, I would not mind. The little voice inside laughed.  You do not like to finish second to anyone and to be bested by a female would be a vicious blow to your ego.

Fortunately, Rawien called for those in the sparring matches to prepare and Elladan was able to push all those thoughts aside.  “Sadron,” he said suddenly, “are there are any females participating in the sparring?”

Sadron laughed and clapped him on the shoulder.  “No, my friend. Ethiwen is quite good, but is not participating today.  She is an instructor, for the most part now, and does not compete.” Elladan sighed slightly in relief. 

As he warmed up, he was reminded of a scene that had happened centuries earlier.  It was a dangerous time, and Elrond had worked with both Arwen and Celebrían, to ensure if danger came near Imladris they would be able to defend themselves.  Elladan and Elrohir had led the defense of Imladris while Glorfindel had led a force against Angmar.  He remembered Elrohir sparring with Arwen and their mother, and admitting they were stronger than he had imagined.  His strength was greater than theirs, but Elrohir had said that was only because he practiced more. Elladan had thought Elrohir was merely being generous in his praise, but now he wondered if Elrohir had been being honest.  The twins had watched Arwen and Celebrían spar together once, their movements so graceful it had seemed more a dance than a fight. Suddenly Elladan was glad that they could fight, and even more so, he was glad they had never had need to.  The thought of evil marring their fair skin in any way was enough to make his blood boil.

A smile of pleasure crossed Elladan’s face as he looked at the roster to see who he was paired with for the first round.  Laerion.  The elf who had sat on his back and ground his nose into the dirt.  He glanced around, looking for his competitor, and a smiling Laerion stepped forward to him. Immediately, Elladan shifted into warrior mode, assessing the way the elf moved and how he carried himself.

“Mae govannen, Elladan,” said Laerion.  “We are in the first position, to the right of that oak. Are you ready?”

Elladan grinned. “I am.” 

The call to begin came moments after the two were in position, and Elladan reacted quickly, thrusting aggressively at the grim-faced elf before him. Laerion parried the thrust and attacked all in one return motion.  Elladan was distantly aware of a crowd gathering, but all of his thought was bent towards the opponent before him.  While Laerion was very competent with a sword, Elladan noted a weakness in his method of blocking then thrusting, always from the right.  He tested his theory several times, and then thrust particularly hard as he stepped forward.  As Laerion parried the blow and attacked, Elladan stepped back and then swung his sword in a cutting motion from the left.  Laerion managed the block, but was thrown off balance and Elladan pounced, knocking the elf’s feet out from under him and lightly touching the tip of his sword to Laerion’s chest as the elf landed hard on his back.

The sounds of the crowd cheering gradually invaded Elladan’s consciousness as he stood over Laerion. He drew in a great breath, realizing he was both sweating and breathing heavily from the competition, and withdrew his sword and held a hand out to the elf on the ground.  Laerion accepted the hand and allowed Elladan to pull him to his feet.

Laerion groaned as he stood, then bowed slightly to Elladan.  “Good match, my friend,” he gasped as he drew in a full breath.  Elladan saw the elf look to the sideline and then flush slightly.  “You have found my flaw and now my captains shall spend their days training it out of me.  I guarantee you I will come to know this patch of ground well in the next weeks.”

Elladan laughed genuinely, remembering how Glorfindel had done the same to him in his younger days and then remedially as needed. He had loved the sword best and every hour of practice had honed the skills he prized.

The winners of the first matches were allowed a period of rest, and then paired for the second round.  Elladan felt his blood rush with excitement as he won each match and found himself advanced to the final round. At the announcement of the final contestants, he stepped forward and found himself facing the elf he would fight in the final bout, and a mixture of anger and frustration flared in him.

The elf was Thranduil’s firstborn and heir, Bregolas.  Elladan seethed.  If merely scaring the littlest prince with his looks was enough to be flattened and nearly thrown in the dungeon, what would happen if he nicked or beat the crown prince?  He walked to where Glorfindel and Elrohir sat, wiping his face with a cloth as he went. 

“I hope you have a good explanation prepared for Adar and Naneth why you are bringing home my dead body from Mirkwood,” he grumbled.

Glorfindel laughed as he handed him a cup of water to drink, while Elrohir slipped an arm about his shoulders and squeezed him reassuringly.

“Remember there are options other than winning or losing,” Glorfindel reminded him.  He grinned at Elladan’s quizzical expression and then turned and pushed him gently out on to the field.

* * *

Bregolas groaned as he looked upon his final competitor.  He turned to where Lathron and Legolas were watching him, Legolas bouncing into his arms as he walked to them.

“Bregolas, you are going to be the winner!” exclaimed Legolas, adoration in his eyes.  “No one can beat you!”

Bregolas rolled his eyes at Lathron.  “When was the last kinslaying?” he asked plaintively. “I will not give the match, yet who knows who may descend on me if I beat the son of Elrond and grandson of Celeborn and Galadriel.”

Lathron laughed.  “Figure out some solution that involves neither winning nor losing,” he suggested, then extracted Legolas from Bregolas’s arms and pushed his older brother on to the field.

* * *

Glorfindel leaned against the stately oak, watching Elladan and Bregolas duel.  He believed that, given time, Elladan would win the match. Several times he had seen Elladan bypass an opportunity to win the match, and once Bregolas had done the same.  They would eventually wear each other down and one of them would be forced to take the win.

“Elladan is a superb swordsman.”

Glorfindel shifted slightly so he could see the speaker in his peripheral vision while keeping his eyes on the match.  He nodded slightly in acknowledgment of the other’s words, and the elf continued, “Bregolas’s greatest strength is with the bow, as we prefer to fight primarily from the trees. He is adept with the sword, but eventually Elladan will win.”

“Elladan tends to be slightly hotheaded. I am glad he sees there are things more important here than winning,” replied Glorfindel with a slight smile.

“Bregolas is waiting,” replied Thranduil casually.

No sooner had Thranduil spoken than both dueling elves stepped slightly towards the other and their swords clanged in one final meeting. For a moment there was silence, then the crowd began laughing and cheering as the two lowered their swords and bowed to each other.   Thranduil and Glorfindel watched as their protégé’s were surrounded and congratulated, for all saw the political gain of the sons of their lords dueling to a draw. 

Glorfindel’s eyes were drawn to one small figure who apparently did not think so.  Legolas began walking slowly to his father, his feet dragging and his head drooping. He buried his head into Thranduil’s robe, and Thranduil reached down to scoop up his youngest child.

“Why are you unhappy, Legolas?” asked Thranduil softly.

“I wanted Bregolas to win,” replied Legolas sorrowfully. “No one can beat my brother, Ada, no one.”

“No one did, little one,” replied Glorfindel with a merry laugh.  He grinned as the small head popped up from Thranduil’s shoulder. “Bregolas did not lose.  Today he and Elladan both won.”

“Lathron says we have to be nice to our guests, so I suppose it is acceptable for Elladan to win too,” replied Legolas, his small brow furrowing as he considered his words.

Glorfindel and Thranduil burst into laughter at the same moment, causing Legolas to smile and perk up, for it was obvious he enjoyed making his father laugh.

“Elladan will be glad you find it acceptable for him to win too,” said Glorfindel gleefully.  “And Legolas, when you are grown up, you must come visit Imladris. I assure you that Elladan and Elrohir would love to show you as good a time in their home as you have shown them in yours.”

Thranduil laughed until tears streamed from his face at that, and Legolas joined him, already clapping his hands in anticipation of one day going to visit his friends at their home.

“May the Valar protect all who are nearby,” laughed Thranduil.  His eyes glittered dangerously then, as he turned on Glorfindel. “Though you will find my sons are not easily bested by anyone.”

“Indeed they are not,” replied Glorfindel agreeably. His eyes strayed to the twins he thought of as his own sons.  Nor are ours.

Legolas wiggled down from Thranduil’s arms and raced back to his brother as he saw the contestants moving off towards the picnic set up on the lawn.  He maneuvered his way between Bregolas and Elladan, and taking each by the hand, skipped along with them as they went to wash and prepare for lunch before the afternoon competition began.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 10: Warriors at play

Elrohir accepted a plate of fresh fruit, cheese and bread from a young elleth helping serve at the picnic, and then followed Elladan to a quiet spot under the trees near the sparring field.  He had just sat down in the grass when Elladan spoke.

“Please forgive my anger at you, Elrohir.  I was unkind and unfair to you.”

Elrohir met his brother’s gaze solidly, as if reading into his very heart.  “What did I do to anger you, Elladan?” he asked. “Was it what I said, that you could not be angry on my behalf?”

Elladan shook his head. “It is nothing you said or did, muindor. You were injured and not angry with those who caused it. I was angry with them for hurting you and with you for accepting it.  Not very rational on my part, I am sorry to admit.”

“I could not ask for a better brother, Elladan,” answered Elrohir honestly. “I like that you have always looked out for me, and Arwen, even if we did not always think we needed it. I hope you know that we care about you just as much, even if we do not show it in the same way.”

In response, Elladan gripped his hand, but did not reply, and Elrohir could see the depth of emotion in his brother’s eyes.

“Being in Lorien with Daearadar and Daernaneth is different than being at home in Imladris, but both of those places are so much different than being here, Elrohir. Thranduil’s realm holds off shadow that threatens to come ever closer, and even here near to their stronghold they are always on guard.  We are fortunate, Elrohir, more fortunate than I at times realize.”

Elrohir squeezed his twin’s hand back. “Does this mean you forgive the wood elves for throwing us into the dirt?” he asked teasingly.

A sudden grin crossed Elladan’s face.  “Forgive them, yes, but if the opportunity presents to toss Sadron in the dirt, I will do so.”

Elrohir laughed, for this was the Elladan he loved: sensitive and grateful for their life, but passionate about all things competitive.  A horn sounded, calling all of the elves who were non-competitive participants in the hunt to come to the field.  “I must go get lost with a couple of Thranduil’s sons.   Enjoy this, Elladan, but do not hurt Sadron,” he admonished good naturedly.

Elladan flashed him a grin as he walked away, and Elrohir knew the afternoon would be interesting.

* * *

The afternoon’s hunt was a race as well as an event.  Each team would be told only part of what they were expected to accomplish before beginning; the rest they would need to learn from clues and those they were to rescue.  Imladris elves would head both groups, and Rawien had assured them that the capabilities of the wood elves in both groups were similar.  Elladan and Garthon would each captain a group of four other warriors. The groups would be competing to see which team could accomplish all the tasks set before them and retrieve a single, final token placed at the finish line.  If both teams accomplished all their tasks, then the first one to the finish line would win.

Elladan stood with his team gathered close about him as he waited for the signal to start.  He had Nathrion with him, and from the wood elves Laerion, Bellion and Faron.  Bellion and Faron were two of the strongest elves he had ever seen. Across the field he saw Garthon salute him jauntily as he strode off with Meldon, and the wood elves Lachthoniel, Sadron and Feredir.  Sadron flashed him a grin that spoke of challenge and Elladan hoped they would have an opportunity to meet before the finish line.

Rawien handed him a sealed scroll, and then led the group to their starting point at the edge of the training ground. Elladan fingered the scroll’s edges, anticipation to start coursing through him as he wondered at its contents.

“The scroll contains important information about the task set before you,” Rawien informed them. “However, it cannot be opened until the appropriate time.” He smiled at the quizzical looks on the faces all around him. “The challenge begins with a clue:

‘One leaf in a tree
Is worth a king’s ransom
Seek the buzzing bee
For the hive will pay handsome’

“You may begin!”

Elladan looked quickly at the wood elves, hoping one of them would immediately understand the clue Rawien had given them. “Do you have honey bees?” he asked Bellion.

The elf was already in motion. “In a grove to the east,” he called merrily. 

Elladan fell in behind Bellion, following the path that led to the wood elves’ hives of honey bees. In spite of the well worn trail, Elladan found himself slipping into the position of scout. He was rewarded only a few minutes into the chase at the sight of a small silver colored bag hanging from a tree branch. He carefully plucked it from the tree and opened it to reveal a small collection of colored stones. 

“Do these have significance to you?” he asked Faron, who had stopped at his side.

“Not to me,” answered Faron, “but perhaps their meaning will become clear later.”

Elladan slipped the bag into his pocket, and the small group resumed their course. No other tokens were encountered before they entered a sunny grove. Elladan heard the buzz of bees and saw several hives in the trees. The grove was silent, and Elladan motioned for his team to spread out, seeking the answer to the clue they were given.

“Seek the buzzing bee, for the hive will pay handsome,” repeated Nathrion. “The bees are buzzing, I wonder what treasures might be hidden within the hive?”

“Let us not forget that one leaf is worth a king’s ransom,” said Laerion.  He grinned suddenly.  “I know of one little leaf that is worth a king’s ransom.”

All of the team turned to look at him, and Bellion began to laugh.  “Aye, so do I.  In which tree do you suppose we will find a small green leaf?”

Elladan and Nathrion watched with confusion as the three wood elves leapt into the trees, and Elladan quickly lost sight of them as they moved from branch to branch.  A child’s giggle caught his attention and Elladan looked up to see Legolas smiling down at him.  The elfling began to make a buzzing noise as he stood on the tree limb and Elladan realized the child was about to jump.  He caught the bundle of buzzing elfling a moment later, and the wood elves landed silently around them.

“Legolas! You are indeed worth a king’s ransom,” laughed Elladan.

Legolas quit buzzing and grinned at him, then crossed both arms over his chest and demanded, “Where are my rocks?”

Elladan pulled the silver bag from his pocket, but held it just out of reach of the fingers grasping for it. “Wait, elfling!  What do we get for finding you and returning your stones to you?”

Another giggle escaped the child and he squirmed down from Elladan’s arms.  He searched his pockets, finally pulling forth from one of them a small, carved eagle. He seemed hesitant to give it up to Elladan, though, his face suddenly doubtful and he pulled the carving back close to himself.

A whistle caught Elladan’s attention, and he turned to see Garthon and his team enter the clearing. He was about to claim they had found Legolas first, when the wood elves of Garthon’s group descended on him. 

“That is Elladan!” called Garthon.  “Find Elrohir, the other of the pair, half of the whole!” He grinned at Elladan and winked, and Elladan knew the rhyme they had been given was about him and his twin. “Elrohir looks less mean and is already beaten up.”

Sadron clapped him on the back, rather too heartily, and then leapt into the trees to seek his twin.  Elladan growled low in his throat, looking from Legolas, whom he must convince to give up the token, to the trees where his injured brother was awaiting capture by Sadron, who had already pounced on him once.

More laughter sounded from the trees above him, and he saw Sadron carefully descending with Elrohir over his shoulder.  Elrohir was laughing at his ‘rescue,’ for another wood elf ‘forced’ Lathron to jump down first, with an admonishment to ‘jump clear of that root, my lord,’ and then held him at guard while Elrohir was brought down gently.

“Legolas,” said Elladan as he knelt down to the child’s level, “is this eagle your toy?” Legolas nodded at him, still grasping the carving tightly to him while his eyes showed a growing outrage at his brother being guarded. He smiled slyly. “If I go rescue Lathron from the clutches of Feredir, may I then borrow your eagle for just a little while? I promise to return him to you.”

Legolas nodded again, still clutching the toy and his eyes growing wider as Feredir continued to hold Lathron’s arms behind his back. Taking advantage of everyone’s eyes being focused on the other elves, Elladan let loose with a war cry as he dove at Feredir’s knees. He brought the elf down, landing on top of him, and Feredir was wise enough to let go of his prince before sprawling on the ground.

“You were upsetting Legolas,” Elladan informed him.  He rolled off Feredir and they both sat up as Legolas flew to Lathron. Elladan did not hear what Lathron whispered in the child’s ear, as laughter all around them drowned him out, but a moment later Legolas slid to the ground and walked to Elladan, holding out his carved eagle.

‘Find him his mate
And she will give you a map’

Legolas paused, thinking, saying words to himself, then continued,

‘Then you will win
Because you have directions!’

“Close enough!” proclaimed Lathron as he scooped up his little brother.  He turned slightly to watch Elrohir as he gave the next clue to Garthon’s team, and then gave Elladan a slight push. “Go! The map and scroll go together!”

“Do not lose him,” Legolas admonished him as Elladan took the eagle.

“He is safe with me!” called Elladan as his team left the grove.

Faron led the group from the grove, whispering in Elladan’s ear, “There is an eagle’s eyrie half a league from here. We call him the sentry and I am sure there are eaglets in the nest. The mother will not appreciate us going anywhere near her young.”

Elladan trotted along next to Faron, his eyes scanning the trees and ground for any additional clues. “Perhaps she will come to us, with the right gift.”

* * *

Elrohir laughed until tears ran down his face, finally collapsing on the ground next to Lathron and a nearly worn out from giggling Legolas.

“That look on Elladan’s face when Sadron came to ‘rescue’ you,” laughed Lathron. “He was going to eat Sadron alive if he so much as mussed a hair on your head!”

Elrohir pulled Legolas to him. “And you did not like Feredir capturing your brother, did you?”

Legolas’s eyes flashed for a moment, and he muttered, “He should not have done that.”

Lathron looked at the elfling, concern in his eyes. “Legolas, this was part of the game. Did you forget that I was to be captured so they could rescue Elrohir?”

“You did not fight them,” murmured Legolas, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“No, I did not,” replied Lathron softly. “This is just a game, Legolas.  If these had really been enemies, I would have fought them and Elrohir would have too. But these were friends, playing a game.”

“But you did like it when Elladan knocked Feredir to the ground, away from your brother?” Elrohir tipped up Legolas’s face so he could see the child’s eyes, and was rewarded with a grin.

“I liked that part very much,” agreed Legolas. He crawled over Elrohir’s lap to Lathron. “When I am grown up, I will protect you, Lathron.”

Lathron hugged the elfling close.  “Thank you, Legolas. May I protect you until then, though?”

Legolas giggled. “Yes.” He looked up at the cry of an eagle overhead, and saw it swooping down into the trees.  “Look!” he cried.  “The eagle has the scroll in her claw!”

The three watched as the eagle descended into the canopy of trees, followed a moment later by her mate.  Only a short time passed before she appeared above them again, prey now replacing the scroll in her claws, and they watched in awe as she flew back towards her nest with the gift in hand.  The male eagle appeared moments later, his keen eye fixed on them as he soared and then dipped into the grove.  He called loudly and then released something from his claw.  Elrohir caught the token in the air.

“It is your eagle!” he told Legolas.

Legolas took the carving, his fingers wrapping tightly about it as he tipped his head back to watch the eagle fly away.  His eyes were as big as saucers and his mouth opened in a perfect ‘O’ as the eagle disappeared from sight.

“Well, that gives Elladan’s team an advantage,” said Lathron. “One of their obstacles was to cross the river and climb to the eyrie to trade the token for the scroll.”

“Elladan has climbed to the peaks where the eagles nest near Imladris,” said Elrohir.  “Adar feared when we were small that he would take flight with them before remembering he was but an elfling, without wings.  Our naneth always said the eagles would catch him and carry him with them.”

“Your naneth sounds wonderful,” said Lathron.

“She is,” answered Elrohir as thoughts of his mother filled his heart. He knew their long, unexpected absence was surely causing her to worry, and he could picture her on the balcony, looking to the east in hopes of seeing them come home. He looked at Lathron, then, and was struck by the depth of pain he saw in the elf’s eyes and the way he pulled the elfling close.  Lathron had told him Narawen, their mother, died the day Legolas was born.  To Elrohir’s eyes, the child was well nurtured and loved in his naneth’s absence, but the pain in Lathron was palpable.  Leaning back against the tree, Elrohir wrapped an arm about Lathron’s shoulders and stroked the dark hair, even as Lathron did the same to the golden head resting against his shoulder.

“Tathiel is going to be a naneth,” said Legolas unexpectedly. He looked at Elrohir conspiratorially. “There is a baby elfling in her stomach.”

Elrohir watched as the pain in Lathron’s eyes eased a little as he laughed at Legolas’s words.

“Indeed she is. And Tathiel has said you can be a big brother to her baby. Do you hope for an elleth or an ellon, Legolas? A baby sister or baby brother?”

Legolas seemed to ponder the question intently, then asked Elrohir, “Do you have sisters or other brothers?”

“I have a sister, Arwen, who is younger than Elladan and me,” answered Elrohir.

Legolas leaned back against Lathron’s chest as he counted on his fingers, “I have Bregolas brother, Lathron brother, ‘Duil brother, Elenath sister and ‘Meril sister. I have Tinánia and Eärundra.  Everyone is bigger than me, though.” He fell quiet again as he pondered all of this, then turned to Lathron, “Do you like having little brothers or little sisters more?”

Lathron smiled indulgently. “I like having both, Legolas.”

“Oh,” mused Legolas. “Well, then I will like either one too.  Tathiel can have an elleth or an ellon and I will like the elfling either way.”

Lathron laughed again then, and snuggled the elfling closer to him.  Legolas yawned and let himself be cuddled, and to Elrohir’s eyes, Lathron’s arms were clearly a favorite place for the child to be.  He could not help but see himself and Elladan as children, in Glorfindel’s arms, holding on to the golden haired warrior with the same love Legolas held for his grown brother.

“Shall we return to the training fields?” asked Lathron as he set Legolas on his feet.  “We want to see which team crosses the finish line first.”

Legolas’s eyes widened with excitement and anticipation, and he grabbed Elrohir’s hand as if to pull him to his feet.  “Come, Elrohir! Let us go see if your brother wins!”

* * *

Elladan heard the groans around him as the elves looked up the nearly sheer face of the cliffs before them.  He stepped back to survey the obstacle as well as his team. Nathrion was still soaked from learning to traverse a rope bridge with the speed of a wood elf.  A grinning Laerion had fished the Imladris warrior from the Forest River, but his smile had faded when the two competing teams collided again while rescuing more lost wood elves.  Garthon had knocked Laerion from the air as the wood elf leapt from one tree to another, and although it had been an unfortunate accident, Laerion was still limping slightly.  Elladan could not help but grin slightly at Laerion; he was unsure if Garthon’s actions had really been accidental!

Bellion and Faron were still intent on the competition.  Bellion had told him that the scout they were to try to capture was Meren, and he seemed strangely obsessed with finding her.

“It is because she beat him this morning in the archery contest,” said Faron knowingly.

“It is not,” replied Bellion absently as his gaze settled on the treeline before them.

“It is.”

“Not,” finished Bellion.  “Now be quiet and figure out how to scale this cliff.  What are we looking for again?”

“Silver rings, perhaps?” answered Faron as he moved his hands across the smooth rock surface.

Bellion spun to face him.  “What did you say?”

Faron grinned.  “Silver rings we can wedge into the rock fissures, then loop rope through so we may climb.”

Elladan stepped lightly between the two giants before they could begin a spontaneous contest in unarmed combat. “A jeweled dagger,” he reminded them without needing to consult the scrolls tucked into his tunic.  His gaze drifted to the cliff face again.  “It should sparkle and shine in the sun.” He paused, then added, “Too bad none of you wood elves can speak to the squirrels.”

Faron began to laugh, then leapt lightly into the trees. A few moments later they heard a chattering in the tree and then silence. Bellion began searching his pockets and then motioned to Elladan to do the same.

“What are we doing?” asked Elladan as he realized he did not know what he was looking for.

“The squirrel will insist on a trade,” answered Laerion from behind them. 

Elladan felt Laerion’s fingers in his hair and jerked away, only to find himself grabbed and held tightly by Bellion.  He struggled against the elf, but Bellion laughed as if he were but an elfling.

“They are perfect!” he agreed.  “Good choice, Laerion.”

Elladan felt Laerion tug the star clasps from his hair, and struggled to free himself.  He raised his arms up between himself and Bellion and shoved against the elf’s chest.  Abruptly, Bellion released him and he sprawled in the dirt on his backside.  Elladan looked up to see Laerion disappearing into the tree.

Dusting himself off, Elladan caught sight of Nathrion lying on a rock, drying himself and his clothing in the sunshine. “Nice of you to come to my aid,” he reprimanded the elf, scowling.

“Given a choice, the squirrel would surely choose your hair clasps over anything else,” yawned Nathrion lazily.

Chattering above their heads interrupted the argument, and Bellion wisely grabbed the two Imladris elves by the arms and pulled them away from the cliff.  A moment later the squirrel nudged the sheathed dagger over the cliff edge, and Bellion caught the jeweled handle.  Chattering furiously, the squirrel raced back to his tree. They heard his excited chatter rise in pitch as he claimed his trade and then the area fell silent.  Laerion and Faron dropped silently back to the forest floor.

Faron laid his hand on Elladan’s shoulder.  “My captain, you have made that squirrel very happy.  He should be able to trade those hair clasps, if he is ever in need, for a lifetime’s supply of acorns.”

Elladan was about to answer when he felt fingers roaming through his hair again.  The three wood elves again pinned him, laughing, as Faron tied back his hair with leather thongs where the clasps had been.  “We would not want your beauty hidden,” teased Laerion. “A beautiful wood elf might be waiting at the finish line to claim the prince of Imladris.”

“That would be his twin,” laughed Nathrion, ducking as Elladan swung at him.

Bellion darted suddenly into the trees, waving for the others to follow.

“He has spotted her!” whispered Faron with glee.  He grinned slyly.  “Hmm, do you think she might not be so hard to catch, if we leave him as the only pursuer?”

Elladan laughed. “She did appear to enjoy being caught by him after she beat him earlier.”

Bellion turned and flashed them a smile as he flew through the trees ahead of them, but when the four fell back to continue the token hunt, he did not seem the least dismayed to pursue his quarry alone.

* * *

Elladan sprinted to the finish line, the rest of his team on his heels, and Bellion with Meren slung over one shoulder.  She had beat on his back half-heartedly at being carried thus, but when he swatted her bottom she squealed and then cased squirming. Elladan shook his head at the antics, knowing if he were to return to the woodland realm in the future, the two would be bouncing an elfling in their laps in front of a little cottage they called home.  He smiled, happy for them.

The sound of the crowd cheering invaded his consciousness, and he saw the final flag tied to the top of a pole. In his mind he was already making a final leap high into the air and grasping the banner in his fingers as he plummeted back to the earth.  His feet flew along the grassy field, long strides carrying him ever closer to the final prize.

He saw Sadron out of the corner of his eye, racing through the trees. The wood elf was equally intent on the prize, and appeared not to have seen Elladan racing for the same spot.  Determination rose within him.  He would not lose to Sadron and he would take down the elf.  He was nearing the pole when he saw Sadron leap from the tree above him, sailing over his head to a smaller tree near the pole.  Elladan leapt from the ground as if the grass had risen up to throw him into the air. His fingers grasped the banner first, and he tugged it down even as he collided with Sadron in mid-air.

To Elladan’s everlasting joy, he landed on top of the wood elf, plastering Sadron’s face into the dirt below them.

“Hrrmmpphhh,” sputtered Sadron once Elladan had rolled off his back, spitting dirt and grass back on to the ground.  The cheering of the crowd drowned out all other sound, and then their teammates were surrounding them and picking them up.

“Elrohir, your brother won!  Your brother won!” squealed Legolas, clapping his hands and then spinning around in front of Elrohir.

“Bellion!  Do the rest of us get to kiss the scout too?” asked Faron, his hands tickling at Meren’s sides as she laughed into Bellion’s kiss and tried to skirt away from the obnoxious warrior.

Glorfindel and Rawien were tallying up tokens and accounting for scouts and lost elves.  Rawien laughed as he untied Galithon from the bonds in which Garthon’s team had tied him. “It may have been only a game, Galithon, but you are his captain. I would begin planning retaliation now,” he suggested to the amused older elf as Galithon looked imperiously down upon the smug Lacthoniel.

“Remind me how it was that I ended up being a scout for this event?” inquired Galithon as he turned his gaze to Rawien.

“You lost the bet, my friend,” laughed Rawien. “Do not blame me!”

Elladan accepted congratulations from his teammates, and then turned to help Sadron.  He brushed the dirt and leaves from the elf’s tunic and hair.

“Well done, Elladan,” said Sadron as he straightened his clothing. “I let you win, you know.”

“Sure you did,” replied Elladan, laughing.

“I suppose you are happy now that you have flattened me.”

“Very,” answered Elladan agreeably.

Sadron grinned at him, and then Elladan felt the familiar presence of his twin.  Elrohir wrapped his arms around him and rested his chin on his twin’s shoulder.  Elladan felt Elrohir’s fingers running through his hair, but their presence was welcome, and he leaned into the touch.  Moments later he felt his braids redone and secured firmly, and when he reached to touch them he felt the familiar star clasps.  Where each twin usually wore four, now each had two, and for reasons unexplainable to him, Elladan felt emotion well up in him.  Elrohir’s thumb brushed away a tear that spilled from his eye, and then his twin smiled and pushed him forward gently.

“Your team is waiting for you.”

* * *

Thranduil strode to the small platform that had been set up at the side of the training field.  He stood here each year when they introduced new novices and warriors, and occasionally for special events such as today. As he walked to the middle of the small stage, his people cheered and clapped and then bowed before him.  He quickly raised his hands, bringing them to their feet again before him.

“In celebration of our visitors from Imladris, competitions in archery, sparring and tracking have been held today.  The woodland realm honors all those who won their competitions.  Legolas?”

Legolas flew on to the stage as Tathiel released him, jumping into Thranduil’s arms amidst the cheers from the crowd.  Thranduil smiled at his son, the child looking every inch the little prince that he was.  Tathiel had dressed him in his spring finery, braided his hair in the style of the House of Oropher, and carefully placed a small circlet upon his head. He laughed and smiled at all the people standing before them, waving at those he knew. Thranduil set him on a stool near the table almost reluctantly, for he enjoyed having an elfling to hold as he moved among his people.

Thranduil called forward the winners for each competition and congratulated them personally. Each bowed before him, and Legolas handed him wreaths of woodland flowers, which Thranduil placed on each head.  He kissed Meren on each cheek, whispering words in her ear that made her blush and laugh like a young maiden again.  Elladan and Bregolas he crowned together, and he looked with pride on the two dark heads, sons of lords and kings.  Sons that would stand together, if need be, to fight darkness once again.

Bregolas moved to stand at his side, then, and the rest of Elladan’s team came forward.  With much laughter they were crowned in woodland wreaths, proclaiming their victory. Thranduil noted Bellion, Faron and Laerion jostling Elladan between them, pulling surreptitiously on his braids and trying to knock him off balance. Elladan slapped away the fingers that kept trying to steal his hair clasps,  getting in a few good swats of his own. The quiet elf of Imladris, Nathrion, seemed content to laugh from the sidelines until Laerion pulled him into the group for a bow to the crowd.

“You are all incorrigible,” said Thranduil in a voice meant only for the ears of the misbehaving elves before him.  Laughing, he herded them off the stage. He lifted a delighted Legolas on top of his shoulders, and then with a final wave to the crowd he wandered off into the mass of elves to celebrate with them.

* * * * *

Thank you to daw the minstrel for beta reading this chapter

Chapter 11: Going Home

The family sitting room of the king opened on to its own terraced patio, one of the many openings from the great caverns that made up the palace and stronghold of the woodland realm.  On this warm spring night, the family was seated just inside the door, and Elrohir enjoyed watching the king with his family.

As the hour grew late, Legolas had slowed down from being in constant motion to lying on the floor and finally to crawling into his father’s lap. Thranduil had risen to take him to bed, but tired eyes had focused half-heartedly and a small voice had begged to be allowed to stay up just a little longer.

“I just want to listen, Ada,” he had said sleepily.

“You must allow him to visit Imladris,” teased Glorfindel, “for never have I had such a fine audience.” He resumed singing softly then, long fingers strumming slowly on the borrowed harp.

The king smiled indulgently at his elfling. “He appreciates the music, I am sure, but I think he also wishes to listen to what might be said.  He has enjoyed having visitors.”

“Checkmate,” announced Lathron.

Elrohir quickly looked at the chessboard, for he had not seen that move coming.  A slow grin spread over his face as he watched the look on Elladan’s face change from surprise to disbelief to scowling acceptance. Elladan sank in his chair, resting his head on the chessboard as a groan escaped him.

“I seldom lose at chess, my friend, and not in several centuries have I lost more than once in an evening,” groaned Elladan.

Glorfindel’s music suddenly stopped and he snorted indelicately.  “If you do not lose more than once in an evening, it is because you pick your partners carefully.”

Elladan blushed slightly, but he glared at Glorfindel.  “Only Adar still beats me.”

“And Erestor,” added Elrohir helpfully.

“Your daernaneth,” Glorfindel reminded him.

Elrohir heard the low growl coming from his brother, and he laughed as he tugged on his twin’s braid.  “You do routinely beat me, and Glorfindel, and Daeradar, and Arwen, and Naneth. We all avoid playing you more than once an evening.”

Elladan gave him a withering look, which only made Elrohir grin more. 

“Would you care to play again?” asked Lathron lightly.

“No, twice humiliated is enough for one night,” replied Elladan with mock sullenness.

“My brother always wins,” murmured Legolas as he yawned.

“Which brother?” asked Elladan, a glimmer in his eyes.

Legolas opened one eye wide to look at Elladan, lifting his face from where it was pillowed against Thranduil’s chest. He seemed to be thinking deeply as he twisted a lock of his father’s hair absently around his fist. He finally sighed. “All of them,” he answered, his eyes drifting half closed again as he relaxed back into his father’s arms.

“Do not forget that,” said Bregolas absently.

Elrohir noted that while the oldest prince could not help but bait Elladan, his mind was clearly not on the conversation or the chess game.  He sat to the side and slightly behind a pretty young elf named Nathlhê, where she worked at Elumeril’s loom. The hour had long since passed when she should have left for her own home after tutoring the child, but Bregolas had asked her questions about her own work and invited her to stay and show him how she created the beautiful designs that had so impressed them all.  It was clear to everyone, including the visitors to the woodland realm, that Bregolas’s interest lay more in the weaver and less in the weaving.

Elrohir noted the gleam in his twin’s eye and could feel Elladan’s desire to tease the prince.  Before Elladan could open his mouth, he elbowed him less than gently in the side.  Elladan jerked away from him at the same time as he lifted his foot in surprise, and Elrohir laughed aloud as he realized Lathron had squashed his brother’s foot.   The indignant look on Elladan’s face caused Lathron to laugh too, and many eyes in the room drifted to them.

“Tease Bregolas all you want, but do not include Nathlhê,” warned Lathron in a barely audible voice.  A grin spread across his face. “Clearly Bregolas is infatuated by her, but it is Elumeril’s wrath you would face if you embarrassed her beloved teacher.”

Elladan and Elrohir both looked at the young elleth sitting curled up at her father’s side, both of her arms wrapped around his elbow and her face resting against him, just inches from Legolas’s face.  Elrohir decided she appeared harmless, but memories of Arwen at the same age, enraged over something he had long since forgotten, came to mind. 

“Thranduil appears more likely to skin us alive than Adar was when we teased Arwen,” whispered Elladan, remembering the same incident.

Even as Elladan spoke, the king’s eyes drifted to them, flashing brightly as they passed over the twins, and Elrohir could feel the energy in the air about them. He shivered slightly, again amazed by the raw magical power he sensed emanating from the elven king. Thranduil gave him the barest of smiles, then effortlessly rose, a sleeping child on each arm.

“Too big to be carried, Ada,” murmured Elumeril, but she made no move to be put down.

“My elflings need to be put to bed, but when I return, Elladan, I will challenge you in the next game,” said Thranduil, his eyes now gleaming. “I hope you do not mind losing thrice in one night.”

Elrohir had to admit to being extremely proud of his brother when Elladan sat up straight, meeting the king’s eyes fearlessly.  “My lord, you honor me with your challenge.  I hope you do not mind losing to one of Elrond’s progeny.”

Thranduil laughed.  “You are far more arrogant and cocky than Elrond ever was.  Must be your grandmother’s influence.”

Elladan grinned. “I shall pass your sentiment along to the Lady Galadriel at our next visit.”

Thranduil laughed again as he left the room, and Elrohir decided he did like the king of the woodland realm.  Thranduil was a study in contrasts: between his power, as strong as metal forged in the fires of Mordor, and the tenderness in how he held his children, as fragile as tender shoots of new growth on a spring flower.

With a slight sigh, Elrohir moved to the outside patio and looked up at the clear view of the stars.  Eärendil had just begun his night’s journey, and Elrohir took joy and comfort that no matter where in Middle-earth he was, the constancy of that star reminded him he was still within reach of those he loved.  He remembered being barely older than little Legolas when his father had told them the story of the father he did not remember, and how Elrond had held him and Elladan as they waved to their grandfather as he flew Vingilot through the night sky.  As a familiar golden presence moved to stand next to him, he was reminded of Glorfindel telling them of meeting with a grown up Eärendil as he pledged his sword and his life to the keeping of Eärendil’s own son. Elrohir was struck by how intertwined the lives of all these elves had become, and how he was related even to these wood elves and their king through his own Sindar blood.

The Imladris elves would leave for home in the morning. Elrohir felt the same bittersweet feeling he always felt when leaving friends to return to his cherished home.  He had spent time at the Havens, with Círdan, and with his grandparents in Lothlorien, and in both places he had felt at home.  The forest of Mirkwood, the home of the woodland king and his wood elves, had been, in the end, no less welcoming and he found he would miss these new friends that he had spent only scant days among.  Yet, this had not been a planned visit, but a war party that had strayed far a field, and at home his parents and sister and others of their house would be waiting for their return, hoping they were unharmed. He did not doubt that other captains of Imladris were seeking their whereabouts and that they would be met long before they descended the High Pass into the hidden valley of their home.

“You are ready to return home,” stated Glorfindel softly.

“I am,” answered Elrohir, leaning into the warmth of Glorfindel’s shoulder as they stood side by side. “A longer planned visit would be welcome, but Adar and Naneth worry when we are gone longer than expected.”

“Athranen will meet us at the Anduin,” predicted Glorfindel.  He smiled into the darkness. “Tarag looked quite well when I saw him.  The wound to his chest was healed and nearly gone, but he seems as if he would be content to stay here much longer, if needed.”

“He seems to be in love,” agreed Elrohir.  “I would not be surprised if they plan to see each other again.” He was silent for a long moment, then asked, “Glorfindel, do you regret not having married and raised your own children?”

Glorfindel was quiet for so long that Elrohir feared he had crossed a boundary in their friendship by asking so personal a question.  He opened his mouth to apologize, but Glorfindel shook his head and motioned for Elrohir to allow him to speak.

“Do you?” asked Glorfindel instead.

Elrohir turned slightly to face Glorfindel, confused. His eyes narrowed and his brow furrowed as he pondered the question.  Suddenly he understood why it had taken Glorfindel so long to answer. “I could only truly answer ‘yes’ if I had loved a maiden and lost her before being able to bond with her.”

Glorfindel smiled at him. “Like you, I had to think about what you were really asking me, Elrohir. To regret means to wish I had done something differently than what I have done.  I have not yet met a maiden I wished to bind myself to for all eternity, and thus I cannot regret not having done so.  Do I wish I had experienced bonding and becoming a father? That is altogether another question. It would depend on what I would have had to give up to do that instead.”

“What do you mean?”

“When the Valar gave me the opportunity to return to Middle-earth, it was to serve your father. If they had offered me the option of staying in Valinor, where I would meet a maiden, fall in love and raise children with her; or returning to Middle-earth, I still would have chosen to return to Middle-earth.  If you were to ask me if I would have regretted that choice, had I been given it, I would say no.”

“I had not realized how complex the question was, or how difficult to answer,” murmured Elrohir. “I see Thranduil with his children, and how excited they all are for Rawien and Tathiel on the upcoming birth of their child, and I wondered if you regretted not having children.”

“Have you noticed in the king’s house all the people who care for Legolas?” asked Glorfindel.

“Yes,” laughed Elrohir. “He seems to be a child of the realm rather than one father and mother.”

“I do have children,” replied Glorfindel. “Just as Legolas belongs to many within these walls, you and your siblings belonged to me and Erestor and others within Imladris.”

Elrohir let his mind wander back to the years of his childhood, and thought of all the elves in Imladris who had taught him, looked after him and loved him. Unconsciously, he leaned into Glorfindel. “I am ready to go home.”

* * *

Elladan studied the chessboard intently, hoping by sheer will he could force one of Thranduil’s pieces to fall off the board. He saw only two potential moves for himself, and neither could lead to victory, only defeat.  This game had now gone on for hours.  Bregolas had walked Nathlhê home and then returned to watch, only to grow bored with the long periods of inactivity.  He had gone to bed soon thereafter, followed by Lathron and Elrohir. Glorfindel lounged carelessly on the couch, his attention not anywhere in the room, but off in some waking dream.  Elladan sighed inwardly.  He did not want to lose to the wood elf king!

He chanced to look up at the king, to find Thranuil’s eyes boring through him as if he were transparent, and he quickly looked away.  He could feel those eyes resting on him, feel the amusement radiating from Thranduil at his expense, and he groaned silently.  Just make the move and end it! he berated himself. The longer you wait, the more amused he becomes.

Glorfindel’s yawning and rising interrupted his thoughts.  The tall warrior stretched and folded a throw over the end of the couch, then straightened the cushions and pillows.

“Not about to give in, are you Elladan?” teased Glorfindel as he walked toward them.  Suddenly, his foot came down upon a stray marble left behind from Legolas’s games, and, caught off his guard, he slipped on the toy and crashed into the table, knocking the chessboard over and scattering the pieces across the floor.

“Glorfindel!” said Elladan, jumping up even as pawns and knights landed in his lap.  “Are you injured?”

Glorfindel rolled slightly to sit upright, and picked up the glass marble.  “Such a little thing, and so slippery!  Nay, Elladan, only my pride is injured.”

Elladan was gathering up the scattered chess figures, and as he rose to place a handful on the table, he noticed that Thranduil’s and Glorfindel’s eyes had met and both had grins on their faces.  They seemed oblivious to his presence, so he continued retrieving the pieces, setting up the chessboard for a future game.

“And they say the Vanyar are so noble,” scoffed Thranduil, but the grin never left his face.  “I suppose some would consider that so.  On your feet, captain!”  With that, Thranduil stood and reached to pull Glorfindel to his feet. “Put your overgrown elfling to bed.”

Glorfindel laughed and bowed to the king, then pushed Elladan gently from the room.  As they left, Elladan heard the king hiss, “I won!”

Elladan knew the king had won, that he would have had to make the move that ended his chances.  He turned and bowed cheekily, but before he could speak he felt Glorfindel clap a hand over his mouth and push him down the hall.

“Good night, Thranduil,” said Glorfindel.

“Good night, Glorfindel,” laughed the king.

* * *

Thranduil walked briskly down the stairs of the palace caverns to the elves gathered on the greens.  The Imladris elves were again dressed in their patrol attire, now mended and cleaned, and their packs were filled with enough food to see them home. Glorfindel stepped forward as Thranduil approached, bowing slightly.

“Good morning, my lord,” Glorfindel greeted him. “We appreciate the provisions you have provided, and the hospitality you have shown us.”

“You are most welcome,” responded Thranduil warmly. He looked over the assembled elves, winking at Elladan, who managed to blush faintly. Legolas sat atop Elrohir’s shoulders, tugging on the ebony braids and laughing as Elrohir took him around to say goodbye to everyone. Thranduil saw Bregolas approaching from the stables, a long line of horses following, along with four other mounted warriors from the woodland realm.  “Bregolas will escort you to the Anduin.”

The elves parted as Bregolas led the horses through the small crowd, and Thranduil took pleasure in seeing the smiles of the Imladris warriors as the realization dawned on them that they would not need to walk home.  They had arrived exhausted from running over the many miles they had chased the orcs, some injured, and Thranduil would see that they returned to Elrond in far better condition than when they arrived. He beckoned Elrond’s sons to approach him.

“Elladan, you owe me a rematch, one held without Glorfindel in attendance,” Thranduil informed him.

“Yes, my lord,” agreed Elladan amiably. “Thank you for the care you showed us all, especially Tarag and Elrohir. My adar will be most appreciative.”

“Elrohir, you are welcome to take almost anything from my kingdom that you desire, but this one must stay with me,” said Thranduil as he held out his arms to Legolas.

Legolas giggled and wrapped his arms around Elrohir’s head, teasing his father, but then kissed the top of the dark head.  “Good bye, Elrohir. I am glad you came to visit us.”

Elrohir pulled the elfling from his shoulders and hugged him tightly. “Good bye, elfling. Come visit Imladris some day and we will treat you to an adventure.” Elrohir handed Legolas to the king and followed Thranduil as he stepped forward to speak to the rest of their group.

“Return home safely with the protection and guidance of the Valar. May your paths be safe and your travels merciful,” he blessed them.

With that, the warriors mounted their horses, the Imladris elves flanked by their escort of Bregolas and his patrol.

Thranduil watched with Lathron and Legolas until the warriors were out of sight, and all of those who had come to see them off began to disperse. He finally set Legolas down, now that he knew there was no chance of losing the elfling amidst the warriors and horses. Legolas took his hand and one of Lathron’s and skipped along between them.

“What do you have planned for today, Legolas?” asked Lathron as they walked towards the caverns.

Legolas kicked at a rock and then stopped, causing Thranduil and Lathron to stop with him. “I do not have any idea what to do!” he finally said.  “Tracking and camping and ponies and orcs and visitors – it has been so exciting!”

“I know someone who could use your help this morning,” came a voice from behind them. Legolas turned to look at Rawien, who continued, “Tathiel is making sweet seed cakes this morning, with extra honey.”

“Yes!” cried Legolas.  “May I go, Ada? I like it when Tathiel has cravings.”

Thranduil laughed. “You may go, Legolas.  Remember to announce your arrival in your indoor voice and no pouncing on Tathiel.”

Legolas grinned at his father, then at Rawien.  “I will only pounce on Rawien,” he promised, and then he let go of Thranduil’s hand, racing inside past the guards, whom he greeted by name, as he flew past.

“Elenath will be home in three days,” Lathron reminded his father.

Thranduil looked north, closing his eyes as he focused on his bond with his oldest daughter. “She comes home with news, I think,” he replied, looking closely at Lathron to gauge his reaction.

Lathron’s face remained neutral, but as he caught his father’s eyes upon him, his expression softened. “I think you are right,” he agreed.

Thranduil led Lathron inside, to the Great Hall where other advisors were waiting.  He had received one report out of Lathron’s hearing in the early morning hours, a report about a young warrior named Gaelim who had captured the heart of his Elenath.  The report was favorable, but he would withhold any judgment until he had met the elf himself.  Gaelim would know before he left a private audience with the king how valuable a gift Thranduil felt Elenath had given him, and Thranduil would ensure he was worthy of it.

* * *

Elrohir knew exactly when he would be able to see Imladris as they passed over the mountains and began their descent into the valley.  As expected, as they moved beyond a rock outcropping he saw smoke rising from one of the spires that disguised a chimney, and a moment later he could glimpse the house itself. The party seemed to speed up slightly in anticipation of being welcomed home.

Glorfindel had been right; Athranen had met them at the Anduin with extra horses and supplies, including litters and an array of medicines, in case they had injured. They had said goodbye to their wood elf escort and crossed the river to join their Imladris escort, and Elladan had joked that they would have to be late more often.  Athranen had laughed, but his eyes had been seeking Elrohir. “Your adar believed you ill or injured,” he had said.

“I am well now,” Elrohir had reassured him.

Elrohir felt peace come over him as they came within the protected valley, and as they rode their horses up to the house and he saw his mother start down the steps to meet them, his heart rejoiced that he was home.  He dismounted quickly, and drew Celebrían into his arms a moment later. 

“Welcome home, Elrohir,” she greeted him, kissing him on each cheek, tears glistening in her eyes. “I have missed you so.”

“I have missed you and home,” answered Elrohir as he brushed away her tears.

Celebrían released him to Arwen’s arms, as she moved to greet Elladan and then Glorfindel. As he hugged his sister, Elrohir was certain that Celebrían was interrogating Glorfindel, and he smiled. His mother could indeed cut down the mightiest of warriors who stood between her and her children.

Elrond stood a short distance away, watching the warriors being greeted by family and friends. Elrohir knew those keen eyes were surveying all of them, and was unsurprised when he saw his father direct one of the healers who worked with him to intercept Tarag.  He walked toward his father, into arms that stretched out to meet him.

Words of love were whispered in his ear, but the powerful arms that embraced him did more than welcome him home.  He felt the healing touch of his father as those hands started with his face, moved down to his shoulders, ran down his arms to his hands, and then reached around to pull him close.

“You were injured,” said Elrond softly.

“I am well now, Adar,” he replied.

Elrohir had never been more aware of the power of his father than he was at that moment. He had known when he had entered the land protected by his father’s power, for it felt as if time slowed and his heart became at peace within those borders.  Accustomed since birth to the touch of his father, Elrohir was intimately familiar with the calm and healing that came with it, but today he dwelled on it, considered it, whereas normally he took it for granted.  As he looked into his father’s eyes, he suddenly realized what price such power cost him. For days he had known only that his son was injured in some way, and yet he had had to wait at home for news.

“I would not have waited at home if you needed me,” said Elrond quietly, and Elrohir nearly jumped from his father’s arms in surprise at his father knowing his thoughts. Elrond smoothed back his hair, and Elrohir felt a tingling sensation where he touched him. “Your wonder is very close to the surface of your mind.”

Suddenly a healer appeared at Elrond’s side. “I wish to examine you and Tarag.  Wait for me in the healing rooms,” instructed Elrond.

Elrohir sighed and laughed as he was led away.  Apparently he was not well until his father said he was well.  Erestor went to take his pack from him, as he always did, but Elrohir tugged it back.  His father’s chief advisor still tended to oversee Elrond’s children as if they were elflings. He opened the pack, withdrawing a sheath of papers wrapped in oilcloth. He might as well show his father Camnesta’s drawings and get it over with. One paper slipped free, landing on the ground near Erestor’s feet.  Erestor picked it up, looking from it to Elrohir, as worry filled his eyes.

Elrohir grimaced as he took the page from Erestor’s hands.  Of course, it was the first picture, where he looked as if he had been beaten and tortured. The look on Erestor’s face told him that was what the advisor was thinking had happened.

“Orc poison made me bruise. I am well now,” he said, wishing that look to leave Erestor’s face.

“Do not let your mother see that,” instructed Erestor firmly.  “Otherwise, you will never leave the boundaries of Imladris again.”

Elrohir nodded as he tucked the page back where it belonged.  He felt his pack again being tugged from his hands and looked up to see Erestor again demanding he release it.

“It is a small enough thing to let me see to the packs of you and your brother and Glorfindel when you return from patrol,” argued Erestor. 

Elrohir had never imagined that Erestor liked doing this for them. He released the strap and shook his head.  All of these introspective thoughts were making his head hurt. Suddenly he felt Erestor’s arms around him, hugging him close for a moment.

“I am glad when you come home, elfling.” When Elrohir’s eyes opened in surprise at the use of Glorfindel’s nickname for him, Erestor smiled. “Besides, if I don’t take your packs, they end up forgotten on the floor, ripening by the minute.  Go and wait for your father.”

* * *

Elrohir and Elrond were the last to arrive in the family sitting room, where everyone had gathered to hear their story. Elrond had thoroughly examined Tarag and Elrohir, studying the pictures as he went.  Tarag had joked with Elrond, demanding that a pretty she elf come sit with him if he were to be forced to lie on a bed for much longer, and Elrond had finally sent him on his way. Elrohir was less fortunate, for his father had decided to test his healing ability and his blood consistency, and thus he had been poked and prodded for some time after Tarag escaped.

Laughter met their ears as they entered the room, and Elrohir could hear Elladan telling about some of the wood elves they had met.  Elrohir sat between his mother and Arwen, and a sudden vision of Thranduil sitting with Legolas and Elumeril came to mind. What had been a sweet vision in his memory suddenly seemed terribly lonely as he realized that those elflings were motherless. He felt tears spring to his eyes, unbidden, at the thought of what life would have been like had he not had his mother during his childhood.

“Whatever is the matter?” asked Arwen gently as she pulled him close.

Elrohir realized all eyes were upon him.  He drew in a deep breath, and then relaxed against Arwen’s comforting presence.

“I do not know why, but meeting and spending time with Thranduil and his wood elves has left a great impression on me,” he admitted.  “But what has caused this well of emotion was a memory of sitting with Thranduil’s family our last night in their realm. Thranduil sat with his youngest daughter, a child perhaps a decade or so yet from adulthood, and his youngest son, an elfling of nine summers. Elumeril curled at his side and Legolas sprawled out on his chest – it was a lovely scene.” Elrohir turned to his mother, reached for her hand and bringing it to his lips. “But that lovely scene was missing a mother. I am glad I have a mother to come home to.”

Then they began their story, of chasing the orcs out of the mountains, of Elladan being shot in the trees by the orc scout, of following the enemy up the Anduin and crossing into the forest.  Of the meeting with the wood elves, and how the orcs had died at their hands without the elves learning of what mission they were on.  Of meeting little Legolas and being thrown to the ground, and then almost into the dungeons, only to learn it was a game.

“Glorfindel!” scolded Arwen. “How could you let them treat my brothers so?”

Glorfindel blushed under her attack, catching the pillow she threw at him in mock anger. “It was fun to watch,” he admitted, laughing. “Although I did think they were playing along about the dungeons.”

They spoke of the games and competitions they had played, Elladan telling most of that story, until everyone in the room had laughed until their sides hurt.  Elrohir remained quiet through most of that part of the story, for none surpassed Elladan in telling a funny tale.

“But I realized how fortunate we are, and how much I take our life here for granted,” said Elladan soberly as the laughter ended.  “Shadow creeps ever closer, and no one strays far from the palace caverns unarmed. Thranduil wields a mighty power, but it does not keep all evil things away. And they do still suffer from the loss of their mother and queen.”

Elrohir felt Arwen’s hands pulling him into a more comfortable position, and realized he had nearly drifted into dreams while listening to everyone talk. Arwen slipped a pillow beneath his head on her lap, and Elrohir allowed himself to relax back into her comforting embrace.  He was glad to be home.

The End.

Author’s Note:  Glorfindel never did find out what message the orcs were carrying north, but the year is TA 2469. The Tale of Years says in circa 2480 that orcs began to make secret strongholds in the Misty Mountains so as to bar all the passes into Eriador.  In this story, I wrote it with the idea that the orc captain bore a copy of the plans for this campaign to block the Misty Mountains, north from Dol Guldur to the dens of orcs occupying the north lands.  The plans were not delivered this time, but we know that eventually the plans did succeed.  Of course, only a few years later, in 2509, Celebrían is waylaid by orcs in the Redhorn pass on her way to Lothlorien and receives a poisoned wound.  Shadow thus touches Imladris, and Celebrían sails the following year. 

This story was meant to be bittersweet. How many of us look upon someone grieving after terrible loss and ever thinks that we are next?

Thank you for reading, and especially to all those who commented.  Your support is much appreciated.