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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.  I got the idea of writing flashbacks from her too, so I thank her for that also.

AN:  The Legolas part of this story is set in 2590 TA.  In my interpretation of the Tolkien universe, that would make Legolas 110, or a young adult in Elf years.  I have given him relatives who will be familiar to readers of my other stories.  In this one, his nephew, Sinnarn, is about 67, meaning he has come of age only recently, again in Elf terms.

Part of this story also deals with Legolas’s oldest brother, Ithilden (Sinnarn’s father), when he was younger, and that part is set in the year 1981 TA, the year after the Balrog first resurfaced in Moria.

I have tried to write this so that readers who are completely unfamiliar with my OCs will still be able to sort them out with relative ease. Please let me know if I have not succeeded.

I am also playing around with the time lines in two different stories here, so I hope that doesn’t get confusing either.

Having probably driven away most readers by now, I say, enjoy the story!

*******

1.  Hunting Dragons

Every nerve alert, Legolas stared off into the night sky, trying to see if the creature was circling around for another attack, but it was his ears, not his eyes that told him that the dragon was coming again, for the roar of its wings rose like the sound of a storm in winter.  He crouched behind the rock, his arrow nocked and ready and hoped that Sinnarn and Amdir had done as he told them and taken shelter farther away from the cave to wait for the dragon to pass overhead rather than run out into the open to take their shots.

“Wait until it is overhead,” he had told them. “And then shoot and move immediately.  You do not want it to turn and breathe fire at you.”  They had both nodded, and the pallor of their faces had told him they recognized their danger, but he did not have much faith that either one of them would stay behind a rock if the dragon flew anywhere other than directly over their heads.  Amdir in particular could be startlingly undisciplined, but Legolas knew that his nephew too would have a difficult time resisting what he would see as a chance for some excitement.  Legolas thought he had sent them into good positions for a shot assuming that the dragon continued the same circling pattern it had been using, but he had no experience with dragons and therefore was not at all sure that it would.

His own heartbeat quickened now and his breath came in shorter gasps as the roar of the dragon grew and his hair blew around his face in the wind created by its wings.  He craned his neck, and suddenly, off to his left, he saw it, a black shape blotting out the stars.  To his dismay, it was coming from an angle he had not expected.  Sinnarn and Amdir would have no chance of hitting it before it reached the cave.  He was going to have to do this on his own, he thought grimly, for there was no one else with any hope of success.

His fingers tightened on his bowstring, and he had to struggle with an impulse to jump from his hiding place and begin loosing arrows, but he would have no chance of killing it or at least driving it off if it saw him, so he forced himself to wait until the creature sailed directly over his head.  With an immense sense of release, he leapt to his feet and drew and fired into the dragon’s unprotected underbelly quickly enough that he had time to draw and fire again as the creature tore past overhead.

It gave a terrifying cry and then something thick and black rained down onto Legolas’s shoulder.  Startled, he had jumped out of the way before it dawned on him what it was.  Blood! he thought exultantly. I hit it.

He spun to watch the dragon’s course and saw it wobble slightly.  He felt a spurt of exhilaration, but then, to his dismay, it steadied itself and continued its course. Then, with a guttural roar, it opened its mouth, and, to Legolas’s horror, raked the entrance to the cave with breath of fire.  The brush and trees covering the entrance burst into flame as the dragon wheeled and turned to approach again.  It is coming back, Legolas thought, trying not to panic.  He scrambled from his position to a different one behind a pile of large rocks that was now in the beast’s path.

The noise rose to a crescendo as the dragon sailed overhead and then hurled a tongue of flame toward the cave mouth.  “No!” he cried.  Someone screamed and someone else gave a loud wail.  His stomach turned and his heart froze in horror at the sound.

And then, suddenly, more arrows flew toward the dragon, coming from his right.  He had time to wonder how Sinnarn and Amdir had managed to get to that spot and then to realize that there were far too many arrows for them to have come from only two warriors, when in the course of its turn, the dragon’s tail swept through the rocks over his head and knocked them down upon him.

Too late, he leapt and tried to twist out of the way.  A rock struck him in the side, driving him to the ground and a larger rock landed on his left leg, sending an explosion of pain through his body.  Then something struck him just behind the left ear and he saw a blinding flash of light and then darkness.

Somewhere someone shrieked in pain and terror.  Someone is hurt, he thought distantly.  “Over here,” shouted a person whose voice he thought he should recognize.  “He is over here.”  The weight on his leg shifted and he tried to cry out, but his breath was coming only in excruciating gasps.

“Legolas!” cried Eilian’s voice, and he opened his eyes to see his brother’s frightened face bending over him.

“Be careful,” someone said sharply. “His ribs are broken and they are tearing at his lungs.” 

“How are the others?” Eilian asked.

“Beliond and Sinnarn are both burned,” the other speaker answered, catching Legolas’s attention.  Then Eilian tried to lift him, and this time, he did cry aloud and then he dove again into the darkness, seeking its obliteration.

The darkness faded and he found himself lying in a sling, with the smell of horse in his nostrils.  Bewildered, he groped for an explanation and suddenly realized that he was in a litter suspended between two horses.  Hot needles of agony stabbed at his leg with every step the horses took.  He moaned and then went away again.

“In here,” commanded Thranduil, with fear in his voice. “Put him in here.”

I wonder what Adar is afraid of? Legolas thought without much concern.  Whatever it was, he was sure that Thranduil would be able to manage it.  His father was comfortingly indomitable.   He let awareness slip away, but then someone touched his leg with what felt like a white hot iron, and he tried to raise himself up so that he could grab their hands and stop them, but someone else was holding him down and keeping him immobile.

“Lie still, iôn-nín,” his father said soothingly.  “The healer will soon be finished, and then you will feel better.”

Legolas doubted that.  He was unable to remember what being free from pain felt like, so he found it hard to believe he could ever be that way again.  But he knew that arguing with Thranduil was nearly always pointless, so he bit his lip and smothered his moan.

Another voice spoke.  “If he is conscious, my lord, he should drink this.  It will numb his discomfort while I finish with his leg and work on his ribs.”  His father lifted his shoulders slightly, making him gasp, and then held a cup to his lips.  He took one sip and then tried to draw away from the foul tasting liquid that was being poured into his mouth.

“Drink it, Legolas,” Thranduil ordered firmly, in the voice he used when disobedience was not to be tolerated.  Legolas braced himself and swallowed as much as he could.  His father lowered him to the bed again, and he lay, listening dully to the voices around him.  A door opened and closed.

“How is he?” Ithilden asked urgently.

“We are not sure yet,” Thranduil said, his voice tight. “How is Sinnarn?”

“His hands are burned, but they have already begun to heal,” Ithilden replied.  Legolas wondered vaguely how his nephew had burned his hands, but he had neither the time nor the breath to ask before darkness washed over him again.

He floated for a while with his pain still present but at a distance.  Then the pain drew nearer and his father was once again ordering him to drink and then it was Ithilden who held the cup and then he realized in surprise that it was dark because his eyes were shut.  I must have been hurt, he thought.  With what seemed like far too great an effort, he pried his eyelids open and, for a moment, stared in confusion at the ceiling that stood where he had expected to see the sky through the interlaced branches of the forest.

Then he remembered.  He was home.  He was hurt, but he was home.  He turned his head to see Thranduil sitting beside him, reading.  As if he felt Legolas’s eyes upon him, Thranduil looked up and smiled at him.  “Welcome back, iôn-nín,” he said gently.  “How do you feel?”

Legolas considered this question for a moment.  “My leg hurts,” he finally said, moving his left leg experimentally.  It seemed to be splinted from the knee down and it ached abominably.

“It is broken,” Thranduil told him.  “You have two broken ribs and were struck on the head as well, but the healers have finally decided that it will all mend eventually.  Would you like a drink of water?”

Legolas suddenly realized that he was very thirsty and drank eagerly when Thranduil lifted his head a little and held a cup to his lips.  Then his father eased him down again, and he lay for a minute thinking about what Thranduil had said.  He realized that he was unsure of how he had been injured.  Frowning, he tried to pull the scattered pieces of his memory together.  Suddenly, in his mind’s eye, he saw flames.  “There was a dragon,” he said in surprise.

“Yes,” Thranduil acknowledged, his voice bitter.  “There was.  The Dwarves swarming into Erebor would have spared us a great deal of trouble if they had simply told us why they were coming back instead of making such a mystery of it, but then they have never been particularly interested in saving us difficulty.”

Legolas felt his stomach tighten at the mention of the Dwarves, but he found that he could not quite remember why.  “What is all this about the Dwarves, Adar?” he asked.

Thranduil frowned.  “I do not want to tire you.”

Legolas felt a sudden desperate need to know about the Dwarves.  “Please tell me,” he begged.

Thranduil regarded him closely and then sighed.  “I had a report,” he began, and Legolas listened carefully, trying to work out what it was about the mention of Dwarves that was so disturbing.

~ * ~ * ~

One month earlier

“There are hundreds of them there, my lord, and more are arriving every day.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow inquiringly.  “Hundreds, you say?  But why?  What has caused the Dwarves to leave the Grey Mountains and come back to Erebor?”

“I do not know, my lord,” his spy admitted.  “I could gain no information from them.  All I can tell you is that they seemed frightened.”

Thranduil felt a moment’s chill.  Say what you would about the Dwarves, they did not frighten easily.  If they were alarmed enough to leave the rich resources of the Grey Mountains, then something very dangerous was happening there.  “Is Dáin still their leader?” he asked.

“No, my lord.  They now follow his son, Thrór.”

Thranduil pondered that fact too.  Dwarves lived long by mortal standards.  He would not have thought that Dáin was old enough to have met a natural death yet.  “And the Men of Dale?” he asked after a moment.  “How are they reacting to the return of the Dwarves?”

“They could not be more pleased,” said the spy in some disgust.  “They clearly plan on profiting by trading with them.”

Thranduil grimaced.  His people too did business with the Men who lived east of the forest.  He did not relish having Dwarves thrown into the mix and possibly breeding hostility toward the Elves.  “Have you anything else to tell me?” he asked.

“No, my lord, but I will continue watching them and finding out what I can.”

Thranduil nodded, dismissed him, and summoned one of his attendants.  “Send for Lord Ithilden,” he ordered and then sat back to wait for the arrival of his oldest son.  The king ordinarily handled the politics of the Woodland Realm, while Ithilden commanded its troops.  Thranduil had decided that whatever was wrong in the Grey Mountains was too serious to wait for his spy to uncover it in Erebor.  This matter needed to be placed in his son’s capable hands.  There was a quick rap on the door of his office, and then Ithilden came striding into the room.

As often happened when Thranduil sent for his oldest son, he felt a surge of satisfaction at Ithilden’s arrival.  Even his son’s broad-shouldered, self-assured appearance spoke of his competence, and Thranduil knew he was fortunate to have Ithilden by his side in his efforts to protect the Woodland Realm from the perils that increasingly threatened it.  His son approached, put his hand over his heart in formal salute, and then took the chair that Thranduil indicated.

As thoroughly as he could, Thranduil laid out the situation that the spy had described, although he did not say how he came by his information and Ithilden did not ask. His son certainly knew that Thranduil used spies, but both of them regarded the practice as part of Thranduil’s business, not Ithilden’s.  There was a moment’s silence, and then Ithilden spoke with his usual crisp efficiency.  “Assuming you do not object, Adar, I will ask the northern Border Patrol to investigate whatever is happening in the mountains.”

Thranduil nodded, regretting for only a fleeting second that Ithilden’s son, Sinnarn, and his own youngest son, Legolas, were both in that border patrol.  His grandson and son were capable warriors, even if they were young, he reminded himself firmly, and even if Sinnarn did tend to be a bit too adventuresome sometimes.   He suddenly realized that Ithilden was hesitating, as if he had something else to say.  “Is something the matter?” he asked.

Ithilden grimaced.  “Not really.  I am in the process of appointing a new captain for that patrol, though.  You may recall that Galan asked to be transferred to the Home Guard so that he could spend more time with his family.”  He paused and then said, “I was considering sending Eilian.  It is time for him to be moved out of the Southern Patrol for a while.  I have been hesitating only because he would have both Legolas and Sinnarn under his command in the north, and I am uncertain about his ability to direct them in dangerous situations without becoming overprotective.”

Thranduil considered this complication.  His middle son, Eilian, was currently at home on leave, but he had been serving as captain of the realm’s Southern Patrol, which hunted orcs and spiders in the dangerous reaches of his kingdom near the mountains of Mirkwood and sometimes as far south as the Old Forest Road.  It served close enough to Dol Guldur that the shadow growing there tended to affect its warriors strongly, and Ithilden moved them elsewhere on a regular basis.  Eilian loved the excitement of the south and was usually reluctant to be posted elsewhere, but in the past, he had suffered bouts of despair from serving for too long in the darkest reaches of shadow, and Ithilden consequently insisted that he accept another assignment every other year.

“No one is better at scouting than Eilian is,” Thranduil finally said slowly.  “In some ways, he is the best possible captain for this mission.”

Ithilden nodded.  “I know.”

“Send for him and let us get this settled now,” Thranduil said decisively.  “He would undoubtedly have had Legolas and Sinnarn under his command at some point. It might as well be now.”

Ithilden went to the door, spoke to the guard, and then returned to his chair.  He smiled a little wryly.  “I must admit that I take a certain pleasure in saddling Eilian with Sinnarn.  My son is a bit too much like Eilian for my liking sometimes.  He craves excitement just as Eilian used to and sometimes still does for that matter.  I have always rather blamed Eilian for that.  I only hope he can discipline Sinnarn to the same extent that he has managed to discipline himself.”

Thranduil frowned. “I am afraid that Eilian’s self-discipline does not extend very far at times,” he said forbiddingly. Thranduil knew for a fact that, at present, the maiden Eilian wanted to bond with was refusing all contact with him, a situation that was usually a sign that Eilian had somehow misbehaved.  “But so far as I know, his impulsiveness has never interfered with his ability to command.”

“I agree,” said Ithilden.

There was a knock at the door and Eilian entered.  He saluted both of them, dropped into the chair next to Ithilden, and said, “You wanted me, Adar?”

Thranduil looked at Ithilden.  “Do you wish to make the appointment before I explain the mission?” he asked, and suddenly Eilian looked apprehensive.  Thranduil braced himself for an argument between his two older sons.  Not that Ithilden would argue much. Even with his own brother, Ithilden was unlikely to stand for any questioning of his orders.

“It is time for you to take another posting, Eilian,” Ithilden told him.  “I am appointing you as the new captain of the northern Border Patrol, and Adar has a special mission that needs to be undertaken right away.”

Thranduil suppressed a smile of admiration at the way Ithilden dangled the bait of a special mission in front of his brother to distract him from whatever dismay he might feel at being removed from the tumultuous south and sent to the usually tame northern Border Patrol.  Ithilden was really an exceptionally good troop commander.  Thranduil watched as a series of emotions flitted across Eilian’s lean face: unhappiness, curiosity, resignation, and then surprise.

“Legolas is in that patrol,” he finally said, “and Sinnarn too. You are putting me in command of them?”

Ithilden nodded.  “I need a good captain there and, besides that, you could not avoid having them under you forever.”

Eilian drew a deep breath. “What is the mission?” he asked, looking at his father, and Thranduil smiled approvingly at how well his impulsive second son seemed to be mastering his own desires and doubts in the face of his commander’s orders and the needs of the realm.  As he had with Ithilden, he told Eilian about the need to discover what was disturbing the Dwarves in the Grey Mountains.

When he had finished, Eilian was frowning.  “If the Dwarves are frightened, then you can be sure there is something very nasty there.  That Border Patrol has many young warriors in it because it is supposed to be an easy posting where they can learn what they need to in order to survive in more dangerous places.  I cannot say I am happy at the idea of leading them on this mission.”

“You need only scout out what is happening,” Ithilden told him.

“Scouting missions can turn into battles in the blink of an eye,” Eilian declared flatly.  He looked levelly at his brother.  “This is Legolas and Sinnarn we are talking about, Ithilden.”

“I know that,” Ithilden said a little sharply.  He stopped for a second as if to get better control of himself.  “We cannot protect them forever,” he said, sounding sad.  “They are warriors.”

Eilian looked at Thranduil, as if seeking support from him, but Thranduil had already steeled himself to send his two older sons into battle and had seen the youngest one get his first wound.  He had no choice and neither did Ithilden or Eilian.  “They will have to go,” he said gently.  “I will feel better with you there to lead them, Eilian.”

Eilian grimaced.  “When do I leave?” he asked.

“As soon as possible,” Thranduil told him and he rose.

“With your leave, Adar, I will go and start making arrangements.”

“Do so,” Thranduil waved him from the room.

~ * ~ * ~

Legolas lay still for a moment, trying to concentrate on what his father was telling him but knowing that he was losing the battle to his desire for sleep.  He tried to remember some of what he had heard while swimming in and out of consciousness.  “Is Sinnarn hurt, Adar?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” said Thranduil, “his hands were burned, but the injuries were not serious.  He will be back on duty tomorrow.”

“And Beliond?”

“Sleep now,” Thranduil said, without answering his question.

Legolas could feel his eyes losing their focus, and he knew he was going to sleep again for a while.  “I am sorry,” he murmured.

“Sorry for what, iôn-nín?”

“Sorry I did not protect them,” Legolas murmured and sank into the darkness again.

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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter. 

*******

2.  A New Lieutenant

His leg hurt and something was on it that kept him from moving it.  A rock!  Yes, that was it.  A rock had fallen on his leg.  He had to get loose. He had to get to the cave, but he could not breathe. The fire was searing his lungs.  No, that was not right.  He was not in the cave, but he needed to get there.  He had to help them! He tried to reach toward his leg to push the rock away, but his lungs burned again.

“Leave the splint alone!” said Ithilden’s voice sharply, and strong hands grasped his wrists.

He had not known that Ithilden was on this mission and was relieved to realize he was here. Ithilden would take care of things, just as he always did. But why was he holding Legolas down? Surely he could see that they needed to get to the cave right away.  Legolas struggled to free his wrists, but the grip on them tightened.

“Wake up,” Ithilden commanded.  “You are dreaming again.”

Legolas’s eyes suddenly snapped into focus to find his oldest brother bending over him, with a firm hold on his wrists.  Just behind Ithilden, Legolas could see Sinnarn, looking alarmed.  Legolas looked from one to the other and suddenly realized that he was in his own bed. With his heart still pounding wildly, he collapsed back against the pillow and Ithilden released him.

Ithilden stood looking at him for a minute and then turned to Sinnarn.  “You need to go now. You have things you are supposed to be doing.  You may see him this evening.”

“Yes, Adar,” said Sinnarn meekly.

Legolas recognized the submissive tone.  Sinnarn was in some kind of trouble and was trying to keep from annoying Ithilden further.  He moved his left leg restlessly.  It was throbbing painfully.  The door opened, and he turned his head to see his nephew leave the room.  Ithilden settled into a chair next to his bed.  “What has Sinnarn done now?” he asked and realized only when he heard the croak in his voice that he was thirsty.

“Just what you know,” Ithilden said.  Legolas frowned and looked at the ceiling. What could Ithilden be talking about?  He seemed to think that Legolas already knew what Sinnarn had done, so Legolas concluded that whatever it was had happened when he and Sinnarn had been on patrol together, but he could not think of any such occurrence.

Ithilden stood and reached for a cup of water on the table next to the bed.  “You sound as if you could use this,” he said and helped Legolas to raise his head enough to drink.  “Are you hungry?” he asked, easing him back onto the pillow.  “I can send for food.”

Legolas thought for a moment.  “Perhaps,” he said doubtfully.  In truth, he felt too weak to crave for anything much, and the pain in his leg left little room for other physical sensations.  Ithilden went out into the hallway for a moment and then came back in and sat down again.

“Food is on its way,” he said and then smiled. “Adar will be sorry he missed your being awake.  Since you were brought home, his advisors have had to make do with me, but he finally had to meet with them this morning.  He will undoubtedly be back as soon as he can.”   He hesitated.  “He is worried because you do not seem to be sleeping well.”  He paused again.  “Do you want to talk about your dream?” he asked gently.

Legolas frowned at him, puzzled.  Had he been dreaming?  He could not remember.  “No,” he said cautiously.  “Adar is just doing what he always does.  You know that he fusses endlessly when one of us is hurt.”  Ithilden looked disappointed, but he did not press the matter.

Suddenly, Legolas remembered the conversation he had had with his father.  “Sinnarn was injured!” he cried.

Ithilden nodded but then hastened to reassure him.  “His burns have already healed.”

“I am sorry he was hurt,” Legolas told him.  “I feel as if it was my fault.”  At the moment, he could not quite remember what had happened with the dragon, but he did not want to admit that to his brother.  If Ithilden, or even worse, Thranduil, thought he was having memory problems, they would not let him out of bed much less back out on patrol.  Legolas did not relish the thought of being confined to his chamber.

“Based on what Eilian says, I think you could have used better judgment at the start,” said Ithilden, looking serious, “but you certainly should not blame yourself for what Sinnarn and Amdir did. My son can usually make quite enough trouble on his own, and when he is with Amdir, problems are almost bound to occur.  Of course, as your captain, Eilian will eventually decide if your offense is serious enough to require disciplining.” 

Legolas looked away at that piece of news.  Eilian might actually have to discipline him?  In his years as a warrior, Legolas had occasionally managed to annoy his captain enough to merit a sharp word or extra time doing clean up, but he had never been subjected to formal discipline.  What had he done?  In growing alarm, he realized that he could not recall anything at all about the mission he had just been on.

There was a knock on the door and a servant brought in a tray with a bowl of soup and some fruit.  Ithilden took it, put it on the table, and then helped Legolas to sit up.  Pain suddenly stabbed him in the side, surprising him enough that he gasped.  He held completely still for a moment, and it abated.

Ithilden eased him back against the headboard.  “Can you feed yourself?” he asked doubtfully.  “Or would you like me to help you?”

“I can do it,” Legolas scowled, and his brother moved the tray onto his lap.  He stared at the fruit for a moment and then decided that the soup might be easier to get down.  With determination, he grasped the spoon and began, a little shakily, to feed himself.  As he did so, he searched his mind, thinking about the snatches of conversation that he could recall.  He put the spoon down.  “What about Beliond?” he asked.

Ithilden made a face.  “He is still in the infirmary,” he admitted reluctantly.  “The healers have finally decided that he will recover, but in his case, it is going to take a little more time.  His arms were burned rather badly.”

Legolas was appalled by the news.  Beliond was the experienced warrior whom Thranduil had selected to serve as Legolas’s body guard when he first became a warrior.  Thranduil had appointed such guards for each of his sons, although Ithilden had reassigned his, a warrior named Nithron, as soon as he became troop commander and had the power to do so.  Then when Sinnarn had become a warrior, Thranduil and Ithilden had apparently agreed between them that Nithron would guard Thranduil’s grandson.  Legolas had fought with Beliond by his side for a number of years now and had developed much respect and no little affection for him.  News of Beliond’s injuries distressed him deeply, and again he felt a stab of guilt whose source he did not fully understand.

Ithilden was eying his face closely, and he shifted uncomfortably.  Ithilden was shrewd and had commanded warriors for many years.  It was very difficult to fool him.  Legolas lowered his eyes to the tray of food, willed his brother to talk about something else, and was pleasantly surprised when the Valar seemed to grant his wish.

“Did I ever tell you about how I first came to know Beliond?” Ithilden asked, leaning back in his chair.  Legolas shook his head.  “Your keeper was captain of the Southern Patrol when I was first assigned there,” Ithilden told him, rousing Legolas’s curiosity.  “And then, as now, the Dwarves were on the move.”  Despite all the time they had spent together, Beliond seldom talked about himself and Legolas knew little of his history. “I was about your age,” Ithilden added, smiling to himself.

“And Adar allowed you to be posted south?” Legolas asked in surprise.   For years, Legolas had wanted to go to the south and fight under Eilian’s command there, but his father and brothers had all made it clear that he would have to have a great deal more experience before they would allow it.  He was sometimes bothered by the fact that Eilian had joined the Southern Patrol when he was younger than Legolas was now.  Indeed by the time he was Legolas’s age, he had been the patrol’s captain.  Occasionally, Legolas wondered if he had somehow shown himself to be less capable than Eilian, but he had dismissed the thought, deciding that Eilian was simply very well suited to the unpredictable hunting the south required.  But if Ithilden too had been sent there young, perhaps there was something to his suspicion.  Of course, at the moment, he did feel somehow incompetent.  He simply did not know why.

Ithilden looked at him sharply.  “Things were not as bad there then as they are now,” he assured Legolas, “and even with that I think that Adar and Naneth had quite a disagreement when Adar decided to send me there, although I do not think he made the decision lightly.  He was commanding the troops himself then, you know.”

“I did not know that,” Legolas said. “Tell me about it.”  He was always eager for tales of the life of his family before he was born and particularly for those about his mother, who had been killed when he was small.

“If you eat, and then drink all of your medicine, I will,” Ithilden responded, and Legolas obediently lifted a spoonful of soup to his lips.

~*~*~

About 600 years before

Made wary by the tense voices of his parents within, Ithilden paused with his hand raised to knock on the slightly open door of his father’s office.   With a start, he realized that his mother and father were arguing, something they almost never did.

“He is too young,” Lorellin asserted heatedly.  “You ask too much of him!”

“I ask a great deal, it is true, but no more than he is capable of doing,” Thranduil said defensively.  “Moreover, you and I talked about this.  We agreed that, given who he is, he needs to get a wide view of all of the realm’s military operations, and also some experience of command.”

“But not yet!” Lorellin cried.  “He is already too serious.  It breaks my heart to see him with such heavy responsibility so soon.  Is he to have no youth at all?”

“I would leave him free from care if I could, Lorellin.  You know that I would.  But I have no choice.  I need his help.  Moreover, I trust him to stand up to whatever I ask of him. Ithilden is strong.  Surely you can see that.”

Shocked, Ithilden stood frozen in place.  They were talking about him, arguing about him.  What in Arda was this about?  Suddenly realizing that he was eavesdropping, he drew a deep breath and knocked on the door. There was a second’s silence and then his father called, “Come in.”

He walked self-consciously into the office, aware from the heat in his face that he was slightly flushed.  From where they stood near Thranduil’s desk, both of his parents turned to look at him.  “Good afternoon, Naneth. The guard said you wanted to see me, Adar,” he said, knowing that he sounded stiff.

Lorellin made a small sound and turned away, presumably so that Ithilden would not see the distress on her face.  Thranduil sighed.  “Yes, I did, iôn-nín.”  He caught his wife by the shoulders and kissed her brow.  “It will be all right, my love,” he murmured.  She leaned against him for a moment, and Ithilden felt as if he were intruding on a private scene.

Lorellin turned toward Ithilden.  “You heard us,” she declared flatly, and he nodded, heat rising into his face again at the idea that he had been listening at the door.  She drew near to smooth his tunic over his chest.  “Never doubt that I have every bit as much faith in you as your adar does, Ithilden.  My fear is not that you will fail to live up to our expectations, but that you will expect too much from yourself and leave no room in your life for play or for joy.  You are a Wood-elf, not simply the son of their king.”

Ithilden bent to kiss her cheek.  “I will be fine, Naneth.  I know that you think I am too serious, but I am happy the way I am.”  She raised one eyebrow, and he protested, “Truly, I am.”  She smiled a little sadly and then left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

With his face impassive, Thranduil sat behind his desk and motioned Ithilden into the chair in front of it.  “I have an assignment for you, Ithilden.”

Ithilden sat down and prepared to listen.  He was but newly returned from six months with the northern Border Patrol and had been uncertain of what his father might have in store for him next.  During the last two years, Thranduil had sent him to several different postings for only a few months each, and this was his first indication of what his next placement might be.

His father seemed to brace himself.  “I am sending you to the Southern Patrol, Ithilden. Moreover, I am appointing you as the patrol’s lieutenant.”

Ithilden blinked.  While the Southern Patrol was a dangerous posting, he was confident that he could do as well there as he had done in all his other assignments.  He was startled, however, by the news that Thranduil was promoting him to serve as one of the patrol’s officers.  With characteristic coolness, he reflected on the new responsibility for only a second before he nodded.  I can do that, he thought with a little rush of satisfaction.

Thranduil was watching him with a small smile on his face.  “I am sure you will do very well as an officer,” he said, as if he had read his son’s thoughts.

Ithilden smiled back at him.  “When do I leave?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Thranduil replied, startling Ithilden again.  His face was serious now. “In addition to news of your appointment, I have a dispatch for you to take to Beliond, but I want to talk with you about what the dispatch will contain.”  Thranduil picked up the jeweled dagger he used as a letter opener and began to toy with it.  “I have received a report that the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm are on the move.  Most of them are apparently fleeing north toward the Grey Mountains.”  He looked gravely at Ithilden.  “I say ‘fleeing’ because they are evidently frightened although I have not been able to learn what it is that has disturbed them.”

Ithilden could feel himself tensing slightly at Thranduil’s account.  What could have been terrifying enough to drive the Dwarves away from the rich mithril deposits in Khazad-dûm?  He considered for a moment and then looked up to see his father watching him expectantly.  “Do you think something has happened at Dol Guldur to frighten them?”

Thranduil leaned back in his chair, evidently pleased by Ithilden’s guess.  “I am indeed wondering if that is what has happened, and I am asking the Southern Patrol to scout closer to Dol Guldur than they usually do and see what they can find out.  You will not approach the place too nearly, mind,” Thranduil said warningly, “but even from a distance, it should be possible to determine if the feeling of the woods has changed.”

Ithilden nodded.  Thranduil’s people ordinarily stayed as far away from their former home as possible.  Even warriors did not draw near, and no one was certain just what evil thing dwelt there, although it was generally believed to be one of the Nazgûl.

“I have already sent word to Nithron that the two of you will be leaving in the morning,” Thranduil continued.  Ithilden nodded again.  His body guard would probably not be pleased that Ithilden was being sent into a dangerous area because that would make his job harder, but he would never hint at that in any way to the king.

Thranduil rose, indicating that their talk was at an end and drawing Ithilden to his feet too.  “I know you will have packing to do, so I will not keep you.”  For a moment, his face looked bleak, and Ithilden suddenly realized how difficult it must have been for Thranduil to decide to send him south.   He was his parents’ only child, and despite the high expectations that his father in particular had always set for him, they tended to be fiercely protective.  Indeed, Ithilden thought that his father did not always realize the contradiction involved in his demand that Ithilden stay safe but do well as a warrior.  He suspected that his mother understood the strain of his situation only too well and worried about it.

“I will not disappoint you, Adar,” Ithilden promised.  “You can trust me to do this and come home safely again.”

Thranduil sighed.  “Of course, I trust you.  Still, I ask you to take care, iôn-nín.  You are precious to both your naneth and me.”  He came around the desk to embrace his son, and for a moment, Ithilden allowed himself to take pleasure in his father’s obvious affection.  Then he drew away and placed his hand over his heart in formal salute.

“Go,” Thranduil said.  He smiled a little wryly.  “I believe I am expected to go and speak to your naneth now.”  Ithilden smiled back and then left to begin gathering his belongings.

At evening meal, they all studiously avoided talking about his new posting.  Clearly not wanting to burden him with her worries, his mother was determinedly cheerful, and at the end, his father raised her hand to his lips in gratitude.  The next morning, his parents came to see him off in what was obviously a painful moment for both of them.

“Take care of him,” Thranduil said to Nithron, who stood nearby waiting with their horses and gear.

“Yes, my lord. I always do,” Nithron answered stolidly.  He and Thranduil were old friends and had served together at Dagorlad.

“Be careful, iôn-nín,” Lorellin murmured as she embraced Ithilden.  She pulled away a little and gently patted his cheek.  “Remember to take all chances for joy,” she admonished.  He smiled, kissed her brow, and turned to mount his horse.  He raised his hand in farewell, and then he and Nithron began the long ride south.

Once they entered the deeper parts of the forest, they both took their bows in hand, ready for any trouble that might come, but they rode at an unhurried pace, for while Thranduil wanted the Southern Patrol to scout Dol Guldur, having it done a day sooner would make little difference.

“You will need to be careful around Beliond,” Nithron began, in a routine that was familiar to Ithilden.  Nithron was responsible for training him, as well as guarding him, and Ithilden was only too sure that he would have much advice to give about the new responsibility that Ithilden was assuming.  He tended to be a perfectionist, and took any opportunity he could to counsel Ithilden on how to improve his performance.  “Beliond dislikes training young warriors, and if he thinks you are not up to your duties as his lieutenant, he will have small use for you, no matter who you are.”

Ithilden bit his tongue to keep from replying to the suggestion that he would trade on his position as the king’s son to avoid criticism of poor work.  It was, after all, quite true that if he were not Thranduil’s son, he would not have been promoted so soon.  “I have much to learn about command,” he said evenly, “but I see no reason I cannot learn it.”

Nithron nodded and then launched into a description of what Ithilden could expect to find in the woods around Dol Guldur.  Despite his annoyance with his mentor, Ithilden paid close attention.  He was enough of a perfectionist himself that he would not pass up an opportunity to glean valuable information.

The ride took three days, and as they rode, the forest around them gradually darkened.  The trees began to murmur uneasily, the deer became scarcer, and while they saw no giant spiders, they saw the remnants of their webs and nests on several occasions.  Late on the third afternoon, they approached the Southern Patrol’s current camp site.  Both of them were alert for signs of the sentries that they knew would be there, but it was Ithilden who first noticed the Elf overhead.

“Mae govannen,” he called, and the sentry dropped lightly to the ground in front of them.

“Mae govannen, Ithilden,” he answered, and Ithilden recognized Suldur a warrior he had served with in a different patrol two years ago.  Suldur nodded to Nithron too.

“Where can we find Beliond?” Ithilden asked and the sentry pointed in the right direction.

“Are you joining us?” he asked.

“I am your new lieutenant,” Ithilden responded.

Suldur’s eyebrow went up.  “I welcome you indeed, then,” he said and gave a small smile.  “Beliond will be interested to hear that.”

Ithilden felt a moment’s trepidation and was grateful for the warning Nithron had given him. “I expect he will,” he said dryly, and then he and Nithron rode off in the direction Suldur had indicated.

They emerged from the trees into a small clearing.  About a dozen warriors were spread about the camp, some of them dozing and others gathered around the campfire, drinking tea and tending the rabbits that were roasting on a spit there.  They all turned to look curiously when Ithilden and Nithron appeared.  “Over there,” murmured Nithron under his breath, and Ithilden looked to see an older Elf who had stood and was obviously awaiting their approach.  “I will take care of the horse,” Nithron went on, and Ithilden nodded.  They both slid to the ground, and Nithron took their mounts in hand, leaving Ithilden to approach Beliond alone.

“Mae govannen, Captain,” he said, saluting respectfully and then handing his dispatches to the other Elf.

Beliond skimmed them quickly and then looked up with a completely shuttered face.  “Your first tour of duty as an officer?” he asked, and there was no mistaking the skepticism in his voice.

“Yes, Captain.”  Ithilden opted for saying as little as he could, believing that his actions would be the only thing to which Beliond was likely to attend in any case.  Beliond looked at him steadily and then shrugged.  He would wait to pass judgment.

“Do you know what is in these dispatches?” Beliond asked.  Ithilden nodded.  “Go and stow your gear and then come back to talk about what plans we might make,” the captain said.  “We might as well begin scouting tonight.”

Pleased that they would be in action quickly, Ithilden nodded and went to do as he had been told.  As he went, he scanned the warriors around him, recognizing at least two thirds of them from the many different postings he had had in the last two years.  Most of them called out or waved as he passed, and he returned the greetings, cataloging as he did so the strengths and weaknesses of these Elves.

He met Nithron coming back into the camp site from the place where the patrol members left their horses and took his gear from Nithron’s left shoulder.  The two of them dropped their belongings in a likely spot, and Ithilden paused only long enough to retrieve a second dagger from his pack and store it in his boot before he turned to go back to Beliond.

“You know many of my warriors,” Beliond observed, and Ithilden nodded.  He assumed that Beliond had been watching him as he made his way across the camp.  “Do you know Anilith?” Beliond asked. “He is new to the patrol.”

“I know him,” said Ithilden cautiously.  Anilith had been in his last year as a novice when Ithilden had started his novice training.  Ithilden’s memory of him was not particularly good.  Anilith and another novice had tampered with the spare bowstrings of the opposing team when the novices had engaged in their spring war games.  The novice masters had discovered the sabotage and reacted strongly, as well they might.  A warrior never interfered with the weapons of one of his companions; too many lives depended on the soundness of a bow or a sword.  The masters had demanded a confession and the other culprit had stepped forward but Anilith had not.  Every novice on the team had known who the guilty parties were, but no one had told the masters that Anilith too was involved.  The other novice had been kept back for a year, while Anilith had gone on to pledge his faith as a warrior that very spring.  Ithilden did not trust him. So far as he was concerned, Anilith was too likely to think of his own success rather than that of the whole patrol.

“I have been thinking about how to carry out this scouting mission,” Beliond went on, his eyes never leaving Ithilden’s face. “Would you recommend placing him in charge of one of the groups?”

Ithilden hesitated.  Anilith could have changed since his days as a novice and Ithilden did not want to discredit him with his captain.  On the other hand, if he had not changed, then the success of the mission should not rely on him.  “I would not,” he finally said, meeting Beliond’s gaze, but he offered no explanation.  If Beliond asked him for one, he would provide it, but he would not volunteer it.

Beliond’s face seemed to relax slightly, and to Ithilden’s satisfaction, there was a glint of what looked like the beginnings of approval in the captain’s face.

~*~*~

Legolas was growing extremely sleepy, but he laughed softly at this vision of the first meeting of his brother and his keeper.  “Beliond did not know what he was getting,” he declared loyally.  “You probably turned out to be the best lieutenant he ever had.”

Ithilden smiled oddly.  “Everyone makes mistakes, Legolas,” he said and rose to take the tray from Legolas’s lap and help him lie down again.  “I will tell you more about my mistakes another time,” he said.  “You need to sleep now.  If I let you overtire yourself, Adar will have my head.”

Legolas wanted to ask Ithilden what he was talking about, but he was far too tired.  He wondered if there had been some sort of sleeping draught in the medicine he had drunk a few minutes before and concluded that there probably had been, but he found he did not care.  The pain in his leg was lessening, and he was floating blissfully away.

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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter. 

*******

3.  A New Captain

Someone poked at his broken leg and pain tore through it. Legolas gasped and grabbed blindly, the medicine he had been given making him slow to wake.  “Easy, my lord,” said Belówen gently, and Legolas came fully awake to realize that he had seized the healer’s arm and jerked it up behind his back.  Embarrassed, he released his grip and collapsed back against the pillow.

“Should he have more pain medication before you do this?” Thranduil’s voice asked, and Legolas turned his head slightly to see his father hovering nearby.

“I am all right, Adar,” he said, irritated by the knowledge that his father was capable of fussing over him endlessly.  “I was simply taken by surprise.”  He was further annoyed to see Thranduil and Belówen exchange a glance and to realize that his own wishes in the matter were probably going to count for little.

“I am nearly done, my lord,” the healer told Thranduil and then looked with some amusement at Legolas.  “And I think it was I who was taken by surprise.”

Legolas closed his eyes and breathed deeply, willing himself to relax under Belówen’s touch.  Thranduil’s hand patted his shoulder and despite his irritation, Legolas had to admit that the contact was comforting.  True to his word, the healer finished quickly.  He had evidently already examined the leg and was simply rebinding the splints.

“You are healing nicely, my lord,” he told Legolas.  “We will have you back on your feet in no time.”

“Good,” Legolas grunted.

“But you are not to get up before Belówen says you may,” Thranduil warned.  He had been the father of sons for many years now and knew exactly how restless they were likely to be when they had been injured and were beginning to heal.

Legolas grimaced and Belówen laughed.  “You will be on crutches within a few days,” he assured Legolas and then gathered up his things and took his leave.

“How do you feel?” Thranduil asked.

“Better,” said Legolas automatically and then realized that it was true.  His breathing was easier and, except when Belówen was examining his leg, it was less painful too.

Thranduil seated himself near the bed and then seemed to hesitate.  Finally he said, “You do not have to talk about what happened if you do not wish to, Legolas, but I would be happy to listen if you need to speak of it.”

Legolas glanced at him and then looked away, sorely tempted.  When he had first become a warrior, he had found to his surprise that his father was good at listening to him talk about his fears and worries over his experiences.  Thranduil offered sympathy and occasional advice, and if he was alarmed by what he heard, he hid it well from Legolas. What he really would like to do now was ask his father just what had happened.  Perhaps if someone reminded him of events, he would remember them on his own.  But he could not admit to Thranduil that there was a large blank space in his memory, he thought unhappily.  If he did, he might never be let out again or might be relegated to some safer and less useful posting.

His temptation to speak was cut off by a quick knock at the door and the entry of Sinnarn carrying a tray.  “Good evening, Grandfather,” he said politely, setting the tray on the table next to the bed.

“Good evening, child,” Thranduil greeted him affectionately.  Legolas smiled slightly to himself.  Ithilden might be angry at Sinnarn, but Thranduil was unlikely to be anything but happy to see him.  Legolas was always amazed at how indulgent Thranduil was toward his grandson compared to how demanding he had always been and still was toward his sons.

Sinnarn looked at Legolas. “You are awake,” he said, sounding pleased.  He turned to Thranduil.  “Naneth says that you are to go to the dining room for your evening meal.  I am to sit with Legolas and help him eat if he needs it.”

“I will stay,” Thranduil protested.

Sinnarn raised an eyebrow.  “Naneth says,” he repeated firmly.

Thranduil looked exasperated and rose.  “I suppose I had better, then.”  He leaned over and kissed Legolas’s brow.  “I will be back,” he promised and left the room.

“He might not be,” Sinnarn told Legolas, helping him to sit and then putting the tray on his lap.  “My naneth intends to make him go to bed.  He has been sitting up at night with you.”

Legolas smiled.  “I wish I could see him and Alfirin arguing over what he is to do.”

Sinnarn laughed.  “One cannot predict how it will turn out,” he agreed.  “Do you need help with the venison?”

Legolas looked at the tray and picked up his fork. “I can do it,” he said and realized he was hungry.

Sinnarn sat down in the chair Thranduil had been occupying.  He watched Legolas eat in silence for a moment or two and then, abruptly, said, “I am sorry for what happened, Legolas.”

Legolas immediately felt guilty.  “How are your hands?” he asked.

“Completely healed,” Sinnarn said promptly, extending his hands for Legolas’s inspection.  Legolas could not even see any reddened spots on them.

A sudden unpleasant thought struck him.  “If your hands are healed, then what are you still doing home, Sinnarn?  Are you hurt elsewhere?”  His nephew looked well enough but one could never be sure.  His family was perfectly capable of keeping news of more serious injury away from him.

Sinnarn made a face.  “Amdir and I have both been reassigned to the Home Guard.  Eilian is so angry that he says he will not have us back in the border patrol.  Believe it or not, I have been standing guard duty at the palace and the captain has given me extra shifts.”

Appalled, Legolas stared at him.  “Do you happen to know if Eilian is that angry at me too?” he demanded before he could stop himself.

Sinnarn took the question in stride though.  “I do not know.  When we were all sent home, he was too upset by what happened to say anything else.  I hope not.  I would hate to think that Amdir and I got you into real trouble.”

Legolas looked up to see Sinnarn eying him anxiously, and it suddenly occurred to him that here was a possible source of information.  He considered his options.  It would be best not to tell Sinnarn about his memory loss either, he decided.  Typical of his family, his nephew might feel he needed to pass the information along to Ithilden or Thranduil for Legolas’s own good.

He looked down and toyed with the food on his plate for a moment, trying to think how to ask for what he wanted to know without giving himself away.  Then, suddenly, he thought of the perfect question, one that he had been asked on a number of occasions himself, when things had gone wrong.  “What were you and Amdir thinking?” he demanded.

Sinnarn shifted uncomfortably.  “I do not know,” he confessed honestly.  “I think we were both annoyed at Eilian.  He had kept me from any of the more exciting assignment, but you know that because he did the same thing to you. And Amdir was not happy about the extra clean up duty.”

Legolas frowned.  Could he remember being irritated that Eilian was being overprotective?  He almost thought that he could.  He glanced at Sinnarn, who was looking despondent.  “Do you want to talk about it?” he invited, echoing his father’s question and feeling only slightly guilty for his hypocrisy.  He really did sympathize with his nephew, who was obviously unhappy, and Sinnarn might feel better if he talked about what was bothering him. That Legolas might also learn something was beside the point.

His nephew hesitated, reluctance evident on his handsome young face.  “It is not easy to talk about,” he said soberly.  “I do not think I will ever forget what that fire was like.”  Legolas cringed inwardly.  Without understanding why, he felt responsible for whatever had happened with the dragon and the fire it spewed, and his nephew had apparently suffered for it. Sinnarn looked at him.  “But I think I would like to talk to you about it, if you do not mind.  After all, you were there.”

Sinnarn sighed.  “I knew there would be problems from the minute Eilian rode into camp and announced he was our new captain.  I already had Nithron keeping an eye on me, and you of course, and sometimes even Beliond.  The arrival of Eilian and Maltanaur just added two more people who thought they had to take care of me.”  Legolas smiled to himself a little ruefully.  He knew just what Sinnarn meant.

~*~*~

At the sound of approaching horses, Sinnarn looked up from where he was watching Amdir make stew to see his uncle Eilian and his body guard come riding into camp.  Next to him, Amdir whistled under his breath.  “Look at that,” he said.  “Do you think your uncle is Galan’s replacement?”

Sinnarn knew instantly that Amdir was right. “I cannot think of any other reason he would be here.”  Amdir had sounded dismayed by Eilian’s appearance and Sinnarn was not completely happy about it himself.  He was fond of his uncle and glad to see him, but like all the older warriors in his family, Eilian tended to treat Sinnarn as if he were still a child.  Moreover, Eilian was very cool toward Amdir, probably sharing Sinnarn’s father’s belief that Amdir was a bad influence on him, so Sinnarn also felt some resentment on his friend’s behalf.  Serving under Eilian might present some difficult moments.

Sinnarn glanced across the camp at Legolas, who had risen and looked overjoyed by Eilian’s arrival.  Legolas and Eilian had always been close, and Legolas had often voiced the desire to serve under his brother’s command.  Sinnarn suspected that Legolas might be in for a less satisfying experience than he was anticipating.  So far as he could see, Eilian was at least as protective of Legolas as he was of Sinnarn.

“Mae govannen, Eilian,” the group’s lieutenant, Lómór, called as both Eilian and Maltanaur slid to the ground.  He waved toward a warrior, indicating that he should take the horses of the two newcomers.

“Mae govannen,” Eilian grinned, clasping arms with Lómór.  “I hope your warriors have been behaving themselves, Lómór, because your new captain is here to inspect you.”

Lómór grinned back.  He had served as Eilian’s lieutenant before and seemed happy at the prospect of doing it again.  “I think we are ready for you.  And you have your usual good timing.  Evening meal is almost ready.”

Legolas had now moved forward to greet his brother, and Sinnarn went to join them.  Eilian embraced them both.  “I have letters for you two from your various doting parents,” he told them.  “Do not let me forget to give them to you later.”  Then he walked off with Lómór, evidently intending to confer with him.

“This could be interesting,” Sinnarn observed dryly.

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

“Do you really think he will allow us to do anything he believes is dangerous?” Sinnarn responded.  “He is more likely to take away our weapons and tell us not to play with anything sharp.”

Legolas laughed.  “I have been serving the realm faithfully for over fifty years now, so I think I am safe, but I have to admit that if I were you, I would get ready to spend all my time cooking and tending to the horses.”

Amdir approached.  “Perhaps you two can talk Eilian into letting me cook instead of doing any clean up,” he suggested hopefully.  They both turned to face him.

“It does not hurt you to do your share of clean up,” Legolas said.  “And you cook because you like it and are good at it.”

Sinnarn looked at him sideways.  When Legolas was around Amdir, he sometimes sounded as old as Sinnarn’s father.  Sinnarn did not understand it.  He knew that Amdir had had an older brother who died young and that the brother and Legolas had been friends, but he could not see any necessary connection between that and Legolas’s apparent need to try to govern Amdir.  He had once asked Legolas about it, and Legolas had said that he felt responsible for Amdir, but that had not cleared the matter up much so far as Sinnarn was concerned.  Legolas tended to feel responsible for anyone with whom he was friends or to whom he was related.

Eilian and Lómór had evidently finished their conference, for Eilian had now walked into the center of the camp and was calling them all together.  Sinnarn, Legolas, and Amdir joined their fellow warriors.  Eilian looked around at the group and grinned at them.  “I am pleased to see so many of the realm’s finest warriors here.  I am counting on you to make me look good as your captain.”  The assembled Elves all laughed, and Sinnarn could feel them warming to Eilian.  He knew that his uncle was a popular captain, and he could already see why.

“We have been asked to undertake a special mission,” Eilian went on, “and I assured Ithilden that this group would have no trouble with it.”  Again the assembled warriors looked pleased.  “Something has stirred up the Dwarves in the Grey Mountains, and we have been asked to find out what that something is.  We will leave in the morning, so get a good night’s sleep tonight.  I look forward to seeing just what this group can do.”

With that, he dismissed them and walked off, evidently intending to store his gear in the flet that was always used by the patrol’s captain.  As he crossed the camp, Legolas joined him and took one of his packs, and then the two of them disappeared together into the tree tops.  Sinnarn started back toward the campfire, where Amdir was adding a handful of herbs to the stew.  Amdir was really a very good cook and their evening meal smelled wonderful.

“Come and walk with me for a while, Sinnarn,” said a familiar and not particularly welcome voice, and Nithron was suddenly blocking his path.  Sinnarn stifled a groan.  Nithron already looked set to deliver a lecture, and it would be unwise to provoke him.  He fell in next to his body guard and the two of them strolled off into the surrounding trees, although they were careful to stay inside the patrol’s sentry line.

“I have been to the Grey Mountains before,” Nithron began, “and I will tell you about them as we draw closer.”  Sinnarn repressed a groan at the idea of the lecture to come.  Nithron was a tireless teacher and Sinnarn had never much liked sitting still for lessons.  “But judging by what Eilian said, this mission will probably be more dangerous than the routine patrols we have been carrying out.  If the Dwarves are alarmed, you can be sure that something serious has happened.”  He turned and faced Sinnarn.  “You need to take care, Sinnarn.  You cannot go adventuring on your own.”

Sinnarn nodded impatiently.  He knew this, and he could not understand why Nithron was so concerned.  He had been in the northern Border Patrol for almost a year now, having been transferred there from the Home Guard, where he had gone directly after finishing his training.  He knew that he sometimes tended to seek excitement and that, particularly when he was with Amdir, he occasionally amused himself in ways his various captains had not found amusing at all, but he did not think that he had ever done anything that unduly endangered himself or risked the success of a mission.

Nithron looked at him gravely.  “Eilian will not put up with any nonsense, young one,” he warned.  “He will want to see you safe, and he will not hesitate to send you home if he thinks that you are not ready for this kind of duty yet.”

“I will be careful,” Sinnarn promised, and Nithron evidently accepted his pledge for he let Sinnarn go back toward the camp.  As he approached the fire, Legolas joined him and handed him two letters.

“From your adar and naneth,” he said happily and held up a letter of his own.  “My adar also sends you his love.”  Sinnarn smiled and settled down to read, with Legolas next to him rereading his own letter.  Warriors all over the camp were opening and reading messages that Eilian had brought with him from home.

“The colt you were admiring when you were home is turning out to be clever,” his father wrote.  “When oats are being poured into his feed, he has taken to nudging the bucket so that he gets a bigger share.”

“I have decided to weave a new wallhanging for your sleeping chamber,” his mother told him.  “I am thinking of an autumn scene with reds, and oranges, and yellows.  Would you like that?”

The two letters finished with almost identical words.  “Be careful.  We love you and we miss you.”

Sinnarn cleared his throat. Next to him, Legolas folded his letter and tucked it in inside his belt.  Sinnarn had seen him before with such letters, taking them out and reading them repeatedly in the evenings.  “Do you miss home, Legolas?” he heard himself ask with some surprise.

“Sometime,” Legolas said, picking up a twig and poking at the ground with it. He was silent for a moment and then seemed to steel himself.  “But I like being here doing something useful too.”  He glanced at Sinnarn sympathetically.  “It gets easier,” he said.  Sinnarn nodded and did not meet his uncle’s eyes.  He was saved from further emotional display when Amdir called that the stew was ready and the patrol descended on him enthusiastically to eat their evening meal.

Those who were not on watch went to bed soon after the meal was over.  Sinnarn scrambled up an oak to the flet he shared with Amdir.  He found Amdir digging through one of the small storage chests for the apples he had brought back from his last leave.  “There is only one left,” he said, pulling it out and holding it up.  It was shriveled but still good.

“You can have it,” Sinnarn said.  “You brought them back after all.”

“Nonsense,” Amdir declared.  “We share, remember?”  He grinned at Sinnarn.  “I will arm wrestle you for it,” he offered.  “I can dispose of you in short order and eat the apple without guilt.”

Sinnarn smiled gleefully back at him.  “You are going to be sorry you said that,” he announced.

Amdir slammed the chest shut, dragged it out from between the two pallets to a clear spot, dropped to his knees at one side, and plunked his elbow onto its top.  Sinnarn dropped down across from him, positioned his own elbow, and clasped Amdir’s hand in his.  “Go!” cried Amdir, shoving at Sinnarn and pinning his hand to the chest before the word was even out of his mouth.  He jumped up and snatched the apple.

“Not fair,” Sinnarn laughed, grabbing at the apple that Amdir held overhead.  “I win by default because you cheated. That apple is mine.”

“Keep away,” Amdir crowed.  “You are too long-legged for it to be natural.  There is some sort of magic going on there and that is cheating too.”  He shoved lightly at Sinnarn who slid to one side, forgetting that the chest had been moved.  With a suddenness that was heart-stopping, he felt his legs catch and his body tip over the chest to dive head first off the flet.

A branch tore through his tunic, gouging painfully at his back, but providing him with something to grasp.  Quicker than thought, he twisted his body and swung his arm over the branch, to find himself dangling thirty feet above the camp.  He hung for a moment, too surprised by what had happened to feel much of anything else.  Then his body noticed that he had fallen, and his heart began to pound. He swung one leg over the branch too, pulled himself up on it, and lay with his face pressed to the tree limb, listening to the tree tell him he was safe.

“Sinnarn!”  Amdir cried, peering down over the edge of the flet.  “Are you hurt?”  On the ground too, someone had noticed the commotion and people were gathered below him.  Two people started hurriedly up the tree. He thought they were Legolas and Nithron.  And now that Sinnarn knew he would not fall, he suddenly felt his heart sink. This would not go over well with any of the various people who kept an eye on him, he thought in dismay.

He pulled himself to a crouch on the branch, feeling a painful pull across his back as he did so.  Legolas now jumped to the branch beside him.

“My back is scratched,” Sinnarn assured him rather shakily, “but other than that I am all right.”

Legolas examined the tear in his back.  “It is only skin deep,” he concluded, “but I expect it stings.”

“A little,” Sinnarn admitted.  Nithron was now on his other side, looking at Sinnarn’s back with his lips compressed in disapproval.  He waved reassuringly to Eilian who stood below them looking anxiously up and then turned back to Sinnarn.

“We will go down to the ground and clean and bandage that,” he said, and all of them climbed down the tree to find Eilian waiting for them.  Amdir ran to get an emergency healing kit.

“He is fine,” Eilian told the gathered warriors.  “The rest of you should go on about your tasks.”  Amdir came hurrying back with the kit, and Nithron took it from him and then cut off the remains of Sinnarn’s ruined tunic so that he could care for the injury, while Eilian stood watching with his face grim.  Sinnarn expected that his keeper’s efforts to clean the cut would sting and he was not disappointed.  As Nithron worked, the other members of the patrol dispersed slowly, going back to their preparations for the night.  At last, Nithron finished, and Amdir handed Sinnarn a new tunic that he had retrieved from their flet.  Sinnarn pulled it over his head.

Now it was Eilian’s turn.  “What happened?” he demanded angrily.

Sinnarn and Amdir looked at one another.  “I fell,” Sinnarn offered hopefully.  He could see Legolas grimace at his attempt to evade the question.  They both knew only too well that the attempt was likely to prove futile.

“Do not toy with me, Sinnarn,” Eilian snapped.  “How did you come to fall?”

“We were wrestling,” Sinnarn admitted, “but it was only in play.”  Somehow, he did not think that excuse would placate his uncle.

Eilian’s face reddened, and he paused for a moment as if struggling to choose appropriate words.  “You could have killed one another,” he finally said, his voice sharp.  His gaze raked from one of them to the other.  “Both of you are on clean up duty for the next two weeks, and I never want to see you doing something like this again.”

Sinnarn kept his face carefully impassive, and from the corner of his eye, he could see Amdir doing the same thing.  Eilian would not react well to any protest.

Eilian looked at Amdir, Nithron, and Legolas.  “Leave us,” he commanded, sounding unexpectedly like Thranduil.  “I want to speak to Sinnarn.”  Amdir shot Sinnarn a sympathetic look and sidled away, only to be intercepted by Legolas, who seemed to have a lecture of his own to deliver. Nithron went off to put the healing kit away.

“Walk with me,” Eilian commanded and led the way into a sheltered spot a small distance from the clearing, turned to him, and placed his hand on Sinnarn’s shoulder.  “In what I am about to say, I am your uncle and not your captain. I am one of those who has watched over you with love since you were a baby, and who would have to bring the news to our family if anything should happen to you.  Do you understand?”  Sinnarn nodded a little doubtfully, wondering where this was all leading.

He did not have to wonder long.  Eilian moved his hand from Sinnarn’s shoulder to his chest, grabbed a fistful of his tunic, and pulled him close so that their faces were only inches apart. The gesture pulled Sinnarn’s tunic tight across his scraped back, but he did not think now was the time to complain.  “I am unhappy enough that Legolas is about to leave on a dangerous mission, Sinnarn,” snarled Eilian, “but at least I have seen him in battle and have some faith in him as a warrior.  You, however, scare the wits out of me, all the more so because I vividly remember being a young fool myself.  If I ever hear about you behaving so stupidly again, I swear to you that I will take a quiver strap to you as your uncle before I turn into your captain and discipline you again.  And then I will tell both your adar and your naneth exactly what happened.  Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes,” Sinnarn squeaked.  “And I am truly sorry, Uncle.  I promise you this will not happen again.”

“It had better not,” said Eilian grimly and released him.  “Get some sleep.  We leave early tomorrow.”  He strode away, leaving Sinnarn to draw a deep breath and then make his way back to the camp site, where Amdir was just shaking himself free from Legolas.

Amdir joined him but waited until they were safely alone on their flet to speak.  “You have a very bossy family, Sinnarn.  Do you know that?”

“I know,” Sinnarn admitted.  “But this time, we were wrong.  We really should not have been fooling about on the flet.”  His encounter with Eilian had shaken him, and he fully intended to heed his uncle’s warning. He did not think Eilian would actually carry out his threat.  Sinnarn’s father was capable of growing far more angry than Sinnarn had ever seen Eilian become, and Ithilden had never laid a finger on him.

Amdir made a face.  “It was an accident,” he insisted.  “Eilian and Legolas both overreacted.”

Sinnarn made no reply but began taking off his various weapons and laying them carefully to hand in preparation for sleep.  He would be more careful, he promised himself.  Eilian had been right.

~*~*~

“I am glad to hear that you recognize that Eilian was right,” said Alfirin, coming into the room in time to hear Sinnarn’s last words.  She was dressed for evening meal and her thick braid was twisted in an intricate knot at the nape of her neck.  Putting the cup she was carrying on the bedside table, she inspected the empty tray on Legolas’s lap.  “Good,” she said approvingly.  “You must be feeling better.”

Sinnarn had jumped to his feet at her entrance.  “I really am sorry, Naneth,” he said contritely.  He looked miserable.

She turned to him and suddenly her face softened.  “I know you are, iôn-nín, and I have faith that you will do better next time.”  Sinnarn smiled in relief and came forward to kiss his mother’s brow.  “Go,” she told him.  “Legolas is going to sleep now.”  She handed the tray to Sinnarn, who started toward the door.

When he had gone, Alfirin turned back to Legolas.  “Thank you for getting him to talk to you about what happened, Legolas,” she said softly.  “He has been unwilling to speak to Ithilden or me or even his grandfather.”  She eyed him speculatively.  “Your adar will be relieved that you and Sinnarn have spoken to one another, even if you are not yet ready to talk to the rest of us.”

Feeling like a fraud, Legolas was unable to meet her eyes, and after a moment she began settling him for the night, telling him small bits of news as she smoothed out his blankets:  her brother was away buying horses and Legolas’s best friend had gone along as part of the guard; the friend’s small daughter had announced that her ada was going to bring her back a pony and that her grandmother needed to make many strawberry jam tarts because that was what the pony would want to eat.  The grandmother was busy baking.

Eager as he usually was for news of these people, Legolas only half listened to his sister-in-law as he considered what Sinnarn had told him.  And suddenly, vivid as life, he remembered part of the scene between himself and Eilian on Eilian’s flet.

Eilian had handed him a pack of letters. “There is one from me in there too,” he had said with a wry smile. “I wrote it before I realized I was about to join you as your captain.”

Legolas had caught his brother’s mixed emotions.  “You know that Ithilden has only your well-being at heart when he moves you,” he had protested.

Eilian had made a visible effort and smiled at him.  “At least I will be able to keep an eye on you and our scapegrace nephew.”

And Legolas could now remember the dismay he had felt at Eilian’s words.  “I do not need you to keep an eye on me,” he had protested.  And Eilian had laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and sent him off to deliver Sinnarn’s letters to him.

Triumphant at having recovered this brief memory, Legolas turned it over in his head, trying to see what it might tell him about other, more important, events.  Eilian had certainly not sent Sinnarn and Amdir back to the Home Guard for engaging in horseplay on the flet.  Legolas wanted to hear what had happened next, for those events were the ones he needed to know about. He could not quite recall those events clearly, but he could feel memory of them tickling on the edge of his consciousness. 

Alfirin had finished arranging the blankets and now picked up the cup on the bedside table.  “This is to ease any pain and help you sleep,” she told him. 

“I do not need it,” he said, pushing the cup away.  He would never remember what happened if he kept taking that medication, he thought in frustration.

Alfirin hesitated.  “Belówen says you are to take it, Legolas, and I do not feel I have the right to set his orders aside.  I can get your adar, but he, I hope, is asleep in his bed, and he consented to go there only because I promised faithfully to take care of you.”

“Ithilden?” Legolas asked hopefully.  Perhaps his brother would be willing to countermand the healer’s directions.

She shook her head.  “One of his captains sent for him just as we were finishing evening meal. He has not come back yet.”

Legolas grimaced.  It felt churlish to refuse the medicine from his sister-in-law when he had taken it from Thranduil and Ithilden. He reached for the cup and downed its contents as quickly as possible so as not to taste them.  Alfirin sat down next to the bed.

“You do not have to stay,” Legolas protested.

She smiled at him. “Sleep now.”  And whatever had been in the cup had been powerful because he did not think he could have disobeyed her, even if he had wanted to.

4.  Ithilden’s Story

Legolas was firing arrow after arrow, but the dragon sailed overhead as if he were not even there.  I am an archer, he thought desperately.  If I cannot use my bow to protect the weak, then what use am I?  He ran after the dragon, still firing.  Then, in a movement so slow that he had time to notice the beast’s razor-sharp teeth, the dragon opened its mouth and blasted the opening of the cave with fire, making the underbrush burst into flame.  Horror drove the breath out of him like the flame shot from the mouth of the dragon.

Suddenly, his attention was caught by cries from the cave.  He turned to see two figures silhouetted in the flames, struggling to get out of the cave as if they feared being trapped there.  "No!" he cried, starting toward them and trying to make himself heard over the noise of the dragon and the fire.  "Go back inside!"

Hands caught at him, holding him back when he needed to get to the cave mouth quickly.  He struggled to free himself from the restraining grasp on his shoulders. “Wake up, Legolas,” said his father.  The hands on his shoulders shook him slightly.  “Wake up!”

His eyes came briefly into focus to see his father’s concerned face bending over him. “It was a dream,” Thranduil told him, “only a dream.”  Relief flooded Legolas’s system.  It had all been a dream!  He relaxed for the first time in days and allowed himself to drift off into a light sleep again.  Thank the Valar. It had all been a bad dream.

In his half sleep, he could hear the people around him talking.  “The events trouble him in his sleep,” Thranduil was saying, worry in his voice, “but he will not talk about them.  He seems so disturbed by them, that I have considered forcing the issue.”

“Give him time, my lord,” said Belówen soothingly.  “He will speak when he is ready.  Let him be the one to bring the matter up.”

“Alfirin says that he and Sinnarn were talking about these things last evening,” Ithilden put in.  “Sinnarn has been reluctant to speak about what happened too, and according to Beliond, he saw far less than Legolas did.  And then, you know that Legolas tends to see himself as responsible for everything that happens anyway.”

There was a second’s silence and then Thranduil’s voice said rather dryly, “Something you would never do, iôn-nín?”  Ithilden laughed a little, and Legolas felt a familiar admiration for his oldest brother’s confident attitude around their father.

He tried to make sense of the conversation he had overheard and briefly failed.  The events at the cave had been part of a dream, had they not?  Suddenly, he came fully awake, eyes focusing on the ceiling and knowledge settling in his heart.  No, they had not been a dream. They had been real.  Someone had been in the fiery mouth of the cave, but it had not been Sinnarn.  Had it been Beliond?  He did not know and anxiety twisted in his gut at that realization.

“Good morning, Legolas,” Thranduil said.  Legolas turned his head to see Thranduil and Ithilden standing next to his bed. The healer must have left, he thought.  Good.  Healers tended to tell you that their medicine might be “slightly bitter” and their treatment might make you “a little uncomfortable” and then pour the vilest concoction imaginable into your mouth and poke good and hard at whatever injury you had sustained.  All he wanted now was to be left alone to try to work out what had happened.

“Your morning meal is on its way,” his father told him.  “I fear I must meet with my advisers again this morning, but Ithilden will stay with you for a while anyway.”

“I can manage by myself,” Legolas protested and struggled to sit up.  A stab of pain in his side reminded him suddenly of broken ribs, and he clutched at them, breathing hard.

Thranduil moved forward quickly to help him into a sitting position.  “Yes, I can see that,” he said, with one eyebrow lifted.  A quick knock sounded at the door and it opened to admit a servant with a tray holding a bowl of porridge and a cup of water.  Legolas looked at it glumly, and Thranduil laughed.  “Eat your porridge, child, and you might get something better for midday meal.”  He nodded to Ithilden and then left the room.  Ithilden sat down next to the bed.

“Ithilden, I am begging you to leave me alone for a while,” Legolas told him. “I promise you that I will eat, but so far as I can tell, I have not had a single moment’s privacy since I was brought home.  I do not mean to offend you, but I am sick of having other people around all the time!”

Ithilden looked sympathetic but made no move to leave.  “Adar does not want you left by yourself, especially when you are sleeping.  You are very restless, and he is afraid you will somehow hurt yourself.”

Legolas ground his teeth in frustration.  He was certain that if he could just have a little peace, he could reconstruct the events that had led to his being injured.  He could feel them trying to make their way into his mind.  He simply needed to relax and let them emerge.  “How is Beliond?” he asked.  If he was to have people around him all the time, they could at least give him useful information.

“He is better.  His pain is lessening and his arms are healing well.”  Ithilden smiled.  “He is a tough old bird, Legolas.  The healers are likely to pronounce him well simply because they want him out of the infirmary.  I understand he is giving them a great deal of trouble.” 

Legolas smiled at the image of his keeper harassing the healers.  At least Beliond’s condition was improving, Legolas thought, although he still shuddered to think of the pain Beliond must have experienced.  Burns were nasty things.  “Tell me more about serving as a lieutenant under Beliond,” he said.

“Eat and I will,” said Ithilden.  Legolas unenthusiastically began to spoon up the porridge, and Ithilden gazed off into the distance, as if he were seeing another time and place.

~*~*~

Ithilden looked up in irritation at the sound of Suldur’s strained voice.  “I loaned you my whetstone, Anilith,” he said, “and now I cannot find it.”

Anilith scowled at him but did not get up from his position stretched out on his blanket.  “I cannot help your carelessness,” he said.  “I returned the stone to you yesterday.”

“You were the last one to use it,” Suldur insisted, standing over him with his fists clenching and unclenching.  Heads around the camp were turning in their direction, and Ithilden could see Beliond beginning to rise, but Ithilden was already on his feet and moving.  Beliond settled back down on his own blanket, but Ithilden could feel his captain’s eyes on him as he approached the squabbling warriors.

“Would you like to borrow my whetstone, Suldur?” he asked, with an ease he did not feel.  Both warriors turned to him.

“I would like to have my own back again,” Suldur said stiffly.

Ithilden nodded.  “Anilith will look for it and return it to you if he has it.”  Anilith opened his mouth to protest, but Ithilden ignored him and pressed on.  “And you will search your own belongings again in case you missed seeing it the first time.”  Suldur pressed his lips together, looking unhappy.  Ithilden gestured toward Suldur’s pack a short distance away, and the other warrior hesitated and then whirled and started toward it with Ithilden right behind him.  Ithilden did not look back, lest Anilith look smug and Ithilden be tempted to kick dirt on his blanket.

Suldur rummaged in his pack, frowning all the time.  “I still do not see it,” he spat.

“Come and borrow mine,” Ithilden told him and then caught at his arm as he rose.  “Remember that the Shadow speaks through us all here, Suldur,” he said in a low voice.  “It feeds our discontent and in turn is fed by it.  Keep sight of yourself as best you can.”

Suldur glared at him for a moment and then his shoulders slumped.  “You are right, of course,” he said with a grimace.  “Thank you for the reminder.”

Ithilden nodded.  “And I ask that you remind me in my turn.”  They made their way to where Ithilden’s belongings were stowed, and Ithilden fished his whetstone from his carefully organized pack.

Suldur took it with a sigh.  “I suppose I have to go and apologize to Anilith,” he said glumly.

Ithilden smiled. “Tomorrow will be soon enough, and maybe you will be lucky and he will discover that he has your whetstone after all and have to apologize to you.”  The smile that Suldur gave in return was small, but when he walked off to sharpen his sword, he looked far more at ease than he had been. Ithilden looked to see if Beliond was still watching, but the taciturn captain had already lain down with his arm thrown over his face.

In the two weeks that Ithilden had been with the Southern Patrol, Beliond had spoken to him only to issue the orders that Ithilden was supposed to convey to the rest of the patrol or carry out himself.  They had been moving toward Dol Guldur, taking every precaution possible to avoid alerting the enemy to their presence.  Moving by day when the Orcs slept, they had set a double watch at night and lit no fire to avoid attracting them. In combination with their approach to the Shadowed, diseased area around Dol Guldur, the situation was beginning to wear on them all.

“Lie down and sleep while you can,” advised Nithron, who was rolled up in his own blanket next to Ithilden’s.  He was facing in the other direction, and Ithilden had been unsure if he were still awake.  Unable to deny the wisdom of the advice, Ithilden sighed and did as he had been told.  “You handled Suldur well,” Nithron added, still not looking at him.

Ithilden smiled wryly to himself.  Coming from Nithron, that was overwhelming praise. And as much as I am likely to get, he thought.  He did not think he needed constant praise to keep him happy, but his appointment as a lieutenant was new enough to him that he would have liked to have some indication of whether he was meeting his captain’s expectations.

He rolled over onto his side, his mind busy going over Beliond’s scouting plans for the next day.   The captain intended to break the patrol into pairs, who would spread out and probe within three leagues of Dol Guldur all along this side of it.  Beliond had told Ithilden how the pairs were to be arranged, and Ithilden was wondering whether the captain’s choices were the strongest possible.  He supposed it did not matter, because Beliond was unlikely to ask him his opinion anyway, and it seemed presumptuous to give it uninvited.  But he thought perhaps he should give it, that that was part of his duty as an officer.

He sighed.  He knew exactly why his father had been assigning him to different patrols every six months over the last few years, and why he had made him an officer in this one.  Thranduil was feeling the strain of managing both the realm’s troops and its governance in the increasingly dangerous world that the Greenwood had become.  He had wanted Ithilden to learn what serving in every part of the realm’s forces was like, and now he wanted him to learn to lead those forces.  Then, assuming all went well, Thranduil intended to put him in command of the troops.  Ithilden was not a person who was given to self doubts, but he could not help feeling a little intimidated by the prospect before him.

Do not think about that now, he told himself sternly.  You do not have to do anything now but be this particular patrol’s lieutenant.  Learn what you can.  You have always been able to do what was asked of you. You will be able to do this too.  You have no choice really.  Adar needs you to do it.

Sleep began to creep over him, and his mind drifted back to his parting with his parents.  I have apparently not made any glaring mistakes yet, Naneth, he mentally teased.  Is that a cause for joy?  Somehow, he did not think his mother would find the joke funny.  Ithilden was sometimes bothered by the knowledge that his mother found him too serious, but he could see no way to be other than he was.  Meeting his obligations required seriousness on his part, so far as he could see.  The path of Elven dreams opened before him, and he walked forward to meet it, slipping for a while into a starlit, tree-filled world where no danger would ever threaten the people he loved or the realm he was born to serve.

“Ithilden,” someone murmured in his ear, and he came instantly awake.  “Orcs,” said the sentry, and every muscle in Ithilden’s body tensed.  He leapt to his feet, bow already in his hand, and then began moving around the camp with the sentry, rousing the other warriors. Nearby, Beliond was doing the same thing, and within two minutes, every Elf in the patrol was high in a tree, with all gear stowed in the branches.  Throughout this entire mission, they had slept with their gear in their packs so that refuge in the trees could be easily sought, for their goal was to find out what their king wanted to know without the enemy ever realizing that they had been there.  As they had neared Dol Guldur, the number of Orc bands had increased, and this was the second time in a week that they had had to take to the trees in the night.

Ithilden crouched immobile on the branch with Nithron next to him.  A cricket’s chirp came from straight ahead of him, and his breath quickened slightly with the knowledge that the Orcs would be passing directly through their campsite.  He glanced around him to make sure all was as it should be and noted with approval that even he had trouble spotting the Elves around him.  With a skill that Wood-elves all seemed to be born with, they had faded into the trees around them.  He had not yet engaged in battle as part of this patrol, but he had been impressed with what he had seen of its readiness.  And then a slight whiff of the stench of Orcs drifted to his nostrils, just as he heard the first muffled tramp of their heavy feet.

Within what was probably a short time but seemed an age, a dark figure lumbered out of the trees and crossed the campsite, followed closely by another and then by three more.  An owl hooted wisely; Beliond was reminding them that they were expected to hold their positions and not to fire on the creatures below them.  He knew quite well that it went against the grain of every warrior in the patrol to let the Orcs pass, but given that they were not in a position to do battle with the massed forces of Dol Guldur, stealth was the means by which they could carry out their mission and survive to report on its results.

This band was not a large one.  Waiting tensely overhead, Ithilden continued to count as its members appeared and disappeared among the trees and concluded that there were perhaps twenty members.  Almost all of them had bows, however, which was unusual.  He wondered fleetingly if this was some sort of special force or if the Orcs were training more archers.  If the latter were the case, it did not bode well for the Elves, who were accustomed to being able to stay out of reach in the trees and shoot arrows into Orc swordsmen who could not reach them.

Suddenly, Ithilden stiffened. One of the last Orcs to appear had stopped and bent to sniff at the ground around him.  Next to him, he was aware of Nithron tensing too.  Orcs had a sense of smell that was surprisingly acute for creatures who reeked so strongly themselves.  Ithilden had always wondered how they could tolerate their own presence.  The Orc below him now lifted his head, sampled the air, and then let out a guttural shout and simultaneously reached for his bow.

Beliond had undoubtedly been watching the Orc just as Ithilden had been because, as the Orc reached for his bow, Beliond gave the signal for the Elves to attack.  Ithilden rose to his feet and sent an arrow into the Orc who had sounded the alarm, but as he did so, he mind was racing with thoughts of where the other Orcs were in relation to his patrol. Most of them had already passed the Elves’ position and were therefore behind them, and although three still remained below them, all of them were now falling to Elven arrows. The Elves needed to be quick and thorough about this, Ithilden thought grimly.  They could not allow any of these Orcs to return to Dol Guldur and report their presence, not if they wanted to see home again.

Nithron shoved him and an arrow sailed past from behind him.  Blessing his keeper’s alert presence, he spun to find that Orcs were now running back toward them, shooting as they came.  Ithilden drew and shot, sending an Orc to his knees, and then shot again so that another Orc stumbled over him, clutching at his eye socket from which an arrow now protruded.  All the while, he tried to be aware of arrows flying toward him, and also of whether he might need to intervene in the positioning of the troops around him.  He had never before acted as an officer during battle, and meeting the added responsibility took all of his concentration.

Suddenly, he heard a clear signal rising above the noise of battle, and his heart froze, for this was the signal that meant stop the enemy’s progress at any cost.  And just as he heard it, he saw that two Orcs had passed back under the line of Elves and were about to disappear into the forest in the direction of Dol Guldur.  Without even having to look, he knew that he and Nithron were closest to the two and would have the best chance of stopping them.  He loosed one last arrow after the two Orcs and then began moving swiftly through the branches after them, with Nithron close behind him.

Ordinarily in a chase such as this, the Orcs would have had no chance of escape.  Elves were far quicker in the trees than Orcs were on the ground.  But this close to Dol Guldur, the trees were twisted and failed to provide the springy footholds that Ithilden was accustomed to using in making rapid passage through the branches.  Moreover, the undergrowth was thick and dark here, and the two Orcs that Ithilden and Nithron sought had disappeared into it before the Elves had had a chance to spot them.

Straining every sense, Ithilden moved forward as silently as possible, scanning the undergrowth as he went.  With deliberation, he slowed the beating of his own heart, so that its pounding would not drown out any small sound the Orcs might make.  And then, to his right, a small movement in the bushes caught his eye.  He signaled its presence triumphantly to Nithron, and his keeper nodded in silent understanding.  The two of them crept toward the bushes and then paused and exchanged a glance.  There was no way they were going to be able to dig the Orcs out of their refuge if they stayed in the trees, Ithilden thought, and he knew from the resigned look on Nithron’s face that his keeper had come to the same realization.  The two of them shouldered their bows, drew their swords, and then, with a coordination born of over fifty years of fighting together, they leapt to the ground and ran toward their targets with a silence that only Wood-elves could have carried off.

They did not have far very run.  They had barely entered the underbrush before they spotted the two Orcs who were now openly fleeing before them. With a speed born of the heat of battle, Ithilden rushed forward, sword at the ready, forcing the Orcs to turn and take a stance or be cut to pieces when he slashed at them from behind.  The Orc who was closer to Ithilden swung at him with an arcing blow that was meant to take his head off.  Ithilden parried but felt the shock all the way up his arms.  Orcs were not artful swordsmen, he reminded himself grimly, but they were strong.  From the corner of his eye, he could see Nithron engaging the other Orc.

As if reading Ithilden’s thoughts about Orc sword play, the Orc shoved Ithilden’s blade aside with his own and then brought it around to swing straight down at Ithilden chest.  With gleeful skill, Ithilden deflected the blow, knocking it to his right and then moving in with a quick thrust that drove up under the Orc’s unprotected ribs and deep into his guts.  The Orc’s sword arm moved, as if the owner did not yet know that he was dead, and then realization dawned on the creature’s face, and it slumped to the ground with Ithilden yanking his sword free as the Orc fell.

He spun, looking for Nithron, and found his keeper grappling with the other Orc, who had moved in close and was trying to slice the edge of his scimitar across Nithron’s back.  Ithilden jumped forward and shoved the tip of his own blade between the Orc’s shoulder blades.  With a grunt, the Orc loosened his hold on Nithron and then stumbled forward onto his face as the keeper moved out of his way.

For a second, both Ithilden and Nithron stood, breathing hard.  Then Ithilden bent over the second Orc to make sure he was dead.  He had just finished checking both Orcs when he realized that Nithron had slid to a seat against the trunk of a tree, with his hands clutched to his side.  “Are you hurt?” Ithilden asked in alarm, hurrying toward him.

“I do not think the wound is deep,” Nithron answered tightly.  He was plainly straining to control his pain and whatever was going wrong with his body.  Ithilden bent for a moment, pushing his keeper’s hands aside to look at the cut.  Nithron was right: the wound was not deep, thank the Valar. The Orc’s blade had probably been deflected by one of Nithron’s ribs.  Ithilden stood and then cocked his head to listen for some indication of how the rest of the patrol’s fight had gone. He needed to get his keeper back to where he could be cared for, he thought worriedly, but he did not want to take him into a battle. He heard no clash of swords, and indeed heard very little commotion at all.  That probably meant the battle was over, and Ithilden assumed that the Elves had won, but he could not really be sure of anything, he reminded himself.

“Come,” he said, helping Nithron to his feet and drawing his keeper’s arm around his neck.  “Let us go see how the others have fared.”  They made their way back toward where they had left the rest of the patrol, with Ithilden listening all the while for any sign of trouble.  They had drawn within a few hundred yards of the battle site when three of their companions came into sight, obviously searching for them.

“Help me,” Ithilden ordered, and one of them ran forward to take Nithron’s other arm around his neck.  Nithron was growing lightheaded and had begun to stumble.

“How did it go?” Ithilden asked.

“The Orcs are all dead,” his companion told him.  “Beliond seems to think we will need to move quickly now however.”  Ithilden nodded. That did not surprise him. No one from this Orc band would report their presence to Dol Guldur, but the commotion of battle could have been noticed, or the slaughtered Orcs might be missed when they failed to turn up wherever they were supposed to be, or someone might stumble across the bodies that the other Southern Patrol Elves were undoubtedly now trying to conceal.  They needed to do their scouting and get out of there.

They emerged from the trees to find the rest of the patrol dragging dead Orcs into a shallow hollow and piling brush over them.  Ordinarily, they would burn the bodies but that was not an option here. The smoke would be seen or smelled. “How is he?” Beliond asked, hurrying toward them.

“I think the wound is minor, but he will be out of commission for a while,” Ithilden told him, easing Nithron’s arm off his shoulder and lowering him to the ground.  Suldur came running toward them with a healing kit in hand.  He was the best in the patrol at emergency treatment of wounds.  He bent over Nithron, cutting his tunic away from the wound so he could see better.  Ithilden crouched next to them, watching anxiously.  Suldur poured water on the cut and then looked again.

“I do not think the blade was poisoned,” he finally opined.  Ithilden breathed a sigh of relief.  Orcs used poison often enough that sometimes the wound itself was the least of a hurt warrior’s problems.  This band had not been expecting battle, though, and their blades had probably been clean.

“Do what you can for him,” said Beliond briefly.  Ithilden rose to stand beside his captain, who was regarding him appraisingly.  “You are aggressive in battle,” he said.  Ithilden blinked.  He was not sure if he was being criticized or complimented.  “You are also very capable in a fight,” Beliond went on, “just as you are with most things.  It would not surprise me if you turned out to be a competent officer.”

Ithilden felt a sudden spurt of pleasure at this rather stingy praise.  Now here is a source of joy, Naneth, he thought.  I will have to tell you about it.

Beliond looked down at Nithron, who was groaning slightly under Suldur’s ministrations.  “I will tell you though, I would not have Nithron’s job for any kind of reward.  Get what sleep you can. We are moving at first light.”  He strode away to send others, too, to what rest they could find.  Ithilden stared after him, bemused but still grateful for the assessment Beliond had given him.

~*~*~

Legolas laughed, clutching at his broken ribs as he did so.  “Poor Beliond!” he exclaimed.  “He thought that Nithron had a rough job guarding you, and then he got me.”

Ithilden smiled at him. “I do not think he finds guarding you to be such a hardship.”

Legolas welcomed the reassurance but could not help responding, “He is still in the infirmary though.”

Ithilden’s face grew serious. “He is recovering, Legolas.  Nithron was hurt guarding me too, but you see him hovering over Sinnarn these days.”

Surrendering the argument, Legolas dropped his head back on the pillow and smiled.  “Sinnarn must have been a shock to him if he thought that he was getting a younger version of you.”

“I am not sure he has recovered yet,” Ithilden laughed.  He rose, took Legolas’s tray, and moved it to the table. Then he picked up the cup that stood there.  “You should take this and sleep for a while,” he said.

Legolas immediately braced himself.  He had not felt right in refusing to take the medicine from Alfirin, but Ithilden was fair game.  “No,” he said firmly.  “I do not want the medicine any more.  It clouds my mind.”

Ithilden frowned.  “Belówen says you need it, Legolas.”  His voice held just a hint of warning.

“No. I cannot think straight when I have taken it.”

Ithilden paused and then set the cup down.  “I will talk to Adar,” he said.  “He can decide.”  At the look of relief on Legolas’s face, he suddenly looked concerned. “Has it been so bad to be a bit dreamy for a few days?” he asked.

“My mind plays tricks on me when I take the medicine,” said Legolas, knowing that he sounded strained.

“What do you mean?” Ithilden asked.  His face sharpened with suspicion.  “Is there something the matter that you are not telling us about, Legolas?”

“No!” Legolas bit his lip as Ithilden frowned at his emphatic tone. “I just prefer to be more in command of my thoughts.”

Ithilden stared at him for a moment and then grimaced and patted his shoulder. “I will talk to Adar,” he said again.  “If the medicine is just to dull your pain and help you sleep, I will tell him I do not think you should be forced to take it if you do not want it.”

As he had many times in his life, Legolas experienced a rush of gratitude for his oldest brother’s strength.  Thranduil would listen to Ithilden.  He would not have to take the mind muddling draught any more.

A knock sounded at the door, and Ithilden went to answer it.  To Legolas’s surprise, Amdir stood in the doorway.  Legolas had forgotten that, like Sinnarn, Amdir was now serving in the Home Guard. He was obviously on duty and apparently had a message for Ithilden.  “My lord,” he said, “a messenger has arrived for you.”

“Can he not wait?” Ithilden frowned.

“He says it is urgent,” Amdir responded.

Ithilden grimaced and then glanced thoughtfully back at Legolas, who was watching them with cautious hope.  “Very well,” Ithilden said.  “But you will need to stay with Legolas while I am gone, Amdir.  He is not to be left alone.”

Amdir’s face brightened, and Legolas knew that his own must look much the same.  “Yes, my lord,” Amdir said cheerily and bounced into the room to take the chair by the bed almost before Ithilden was out of the room.  Legolas gazed at him with satisfaction.  A chance to talk to Amdir was an unlooked for opportunity.  Amdir knew what Legolas needed to find out.

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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter. 

*******

5.   Amdir’s Story

Amdir looked happily at Legolas.  “Sinnarn says you are better,” he said.  “I am glad. I was worried about you.”

Legolas could not help smiling at Amdir’s good cheer.  “I do feel better.  I am hoping that Belówen lets me up on crutches sometime soon.  I think he would have done so already, if I had not broken my ribs too.”  He hesitated.  He did not want to embarrass Amdir.  “I was sorry to hear that you had been reassigned,” he finally offered sympathetically.

Amdir gave a snort.  “Eilian carried on as if Sinnarn and I had done something terrible.  So far as I can see, we did not even violate his order that much.”

Legolas regarded him with some dismay.  Surely Amdir had been a warrior long enough to know that most officers “carried on” if you violated orders at all.  In contrast to Sinnarn, Amdir seemed not at all chastened by the fact that he had been reassigned to the Home Guard.

For a good many years now, Legolas had been trying to act as an older brother to Amdir, one who could give him the kind of attention and guidance that his exceedingly detached parents seemed unable to provide.  He had acted partly out of guilt:  When he had been almost old enough to start his novice training, Legolas had been present when Turgon, Amdir’s real older brother, was killed by Orcs because he and Legolas had been where they were not supposed to be.  Turgon had suggested the unauthorized trip to the forest, true, but Legolas had gone along with it and not stopped him.

And then he had seen Amdir running wild, given license by his parents’ permissiveness, as if they could not be bothered trying to guide their willful younger son any more than they had his brother.  Legolas had not always been happy with his own father’s strictness, but as he had grown older, he had come to appreciate the way that the rules that had governed his life had both protected him from danger and nudged him into acceptable behavior.

And guilt had not been the only emotion that led Legolas to try to help Amdir.  Turgon had been maddeningly undisciplined, but he had also been an affectionate and loyal friend, who had shared the events of Legolas’s life from a time dating before his mother’s death.  Legolas missed him even yet.  Turgon had never had a chance to grow into a responsible adult; Legolas was determined that Amdir would.  There had been long stretches of time when Legolas had been unable to see Amdir much because he had duties elsewhere, but he had never lost sight of what he believed were his obligations to the young warrior.  And he had been glad when they had wound up in the same patrol.

Legolas knew that his family had mixed feelings about his association with Amdir.  On one hand, when he had been in the difficult years between childhood and adulthood, they had all spent a fair amount of time urging him to be more responsible, and they could not deny that he had assumed responsibility with Amdir.  On the other hand, at different times, his father and brothers had all told him that he could not be Amdir’s father and that the task he was taking on was an impossible one.  And sometimes Legolas had to concede that they were right.  Like now, for instance.  If suffering Eilian’s rage and being sent home had not affected Amdir, then what could Legolas possibly say that might penetrate his thick skull?

Frustrated, Legolas stared at the ceiling for a moment.  “What do you mean, you did not violate Eilian’s orders ‘that much’?  What made you think you could violate them at all?”

Amdir shrugged impatiently. “I still do not think we did!”

Legolas turned a level gaze on him.

Amdir grimaced.  “Well, maybe we did.”

Legolas groaned.  He was making no progress with Amdir, he decided. He might as well get on with solving his own problems. As he had when questioning Sinnarn, he considered tactics.  “Why not tell me about how you saw the patrol going?” he finally suggested.  “I would like to hear your point of view on things.”

Amdir brightened, and Legolas promptly felt guilty.  I need to know this, he reminded himself, and I need to know it now.  I am not going to be able to fool Adar or Ithilden much longer.  “I am glad that someone has finally asked how I saw things,” Amdir prattled happily.  “No one ever listens to me.”

Legolas sighed.  “Just get on with it,” he said glumly, and Amdir launched into his account of the northern Border Patrol’s trip to the Grey Mountains.

~*~*~

Amdir lay stretched at full length on the branch of a pine tree, watching the small group of Dwarves hurry past beneath him.  The Elves had heard the Dwarves coming and slipped silently into hiding. They waited now for the Dwarves to disappear toward the south and for Eilian to sound the signal that they could all resume their search for some clue as to why the Dwarves were on the move.

Given that the northern Border Patrol’s mission was to acquire information about the Dwarves that they had not willingly provided to Thranduil, Eilian had decided that they needed to move in as much secrecy as possible.  “Someone might actually think we were spying,” he had said with a straight face as they prepared for the mission.  They had therefore come without horses, moving almost as swiftly through the treetops as they could have done on horseback anyway.

It had taken them four days to get from their camp to the foothills of the Grey Mountains, where they now lay hidden watching this group of Dwarves, the second one they had seen today.  Until now, they had been moving by night, but having drawn so close to their target, Eilian had today chosen to scout by day, when they would be more likely to see every little sign of the passage of creatures large and small.  The gently rising path they were following through the foothills was marked with the passage of dozens of Dwarves, but no sign of what might have caused them to move.

The Dwarves disappeared, and Eilian sounded the signal for them to gather to him.  Amdir dropped to the ground and joined the other members of the patrol, who were assembled around their captain.

“I can hear a waterfall back that way,” Eilian indicated.  “Fill your water skins, and take some time to rest there and eat the dried food in your packs, but stay out of sight and keep quiet. I want to go forward a little to see what is along this trail. The Dwarves supposedly have settlements all through this area.  We may be near one.  Galelas, you come with Maltanaur and me.”  And having motioned to Lómór to take charge of the patrol, he led the other two Elves into the branches and away north along the path.

Legolas was standing next to Amdir, and Amdir had felt him come alert when it became obvious that Eilian intended to scout ahead and would almost certainly take someone with him, and then had heard him snort softly when Eilian had chosen someone else, particularly when that someone turned out to be Galelas, a warrior who was only a year or two older than Legolas and one whom Eilian seemed to be encouraging.  Legolas would like to go, Amdir thought, and felt resentment toward Eilian on Legolas’s behalf.  Legolas was a good scout, and Eilian had not let him do any of the forward scouting so far.

Legolas stood looking after Eilian for a moment and then seemed to rouse himself and move with the rest of the patrol deeper into the shadows of the trees.  Amdir followed him to the stream that led down from a small but noisy waterfall and crouched beside him to fill his water skin.  “It would be nice to swim here,” Amdir said somewhat wistfully, but Legolas only grunted in reply.  Amdir looked at him out of the corner of his eye.  “Eilian should have taken you with him, not Galelas,” he said.

Legolas did not look at him.  “It is Eilian’s choice,” he said steadily, keeping his eyes on the stream.  Amdir frowned.  Legolas was ordinarily as willing as most warriors were to gripe a little about the vagaries of officers, but Amdir had not yet heard him say anything even the slightest bit critical of Eilian.  In Amdir’s opinion, Legolas was entirely too forgiving.

Sinnarn approached on Amdir’s other side.  He splashed water from the stream over his face and then sighed.  “I wish we could talk to the Dwarves,” he murmured.

Amdir and Legolas both turned to stare at him incredulously.  “Why?” Amdir exclaimed, only to have Legolas shush him.  They could talk if they did so quietly, but if Lómór thought they were being too noisy, he would order them to silence. Amdir did not much like being silent.  “Why?” he repeated more softly.

“My adar says they are interesting,” Sinnarn shrugged.

Amdir turned to look at Legolas, who simply rolled his eyes.  His oldest brother’s quirks were not his responsibility.  Legolas picked up his water skin and swung up into a nearby tree to be lost to sight immediately.  Amdir looked at Sinnarn again.  “You were right when you predicted that Eilian would not let us do much. He will not even let Legolas scout, so there is not much hope for us.” Sinnarn nodded in glum agreement, and they too moved into the trees.

Amdir settled comfortably onto a branch, feeling the breeze on his face, laden with the scent of evergreen and something else, something more acrid. He frowned.  It smelled like charred wood.  There must have been fire in these trees recently.  He patted the tree.  There is no fire here, he assured it and leaned back to listen to the soothing sound of the waterfall.

No more than an hour had passed when Eilian and his two companions reappeared.  Eilian’s and Maltanaur’s faces were controlled, but Galelas looked somber.  Eilian motioned them all to him again.  “There is a large burned area ahead, surrounding what seems to be an abandoned Dwarf cave,” he told them.  “The fire was recent, no more than a month or so ago, I would say.”

Amdir blinked.  A forest fire?  Could that have been what drove the Dwarves out? He could not see the connection.  He had always been taught that Dwarves were indifferent to the presence of trees.  He found it incredible, but he believed it was true nonetheless.

“We will move toward the area now,” Eilian told them. “We need to search it and the cave too.  I do not think there are any Dwarves about, but keep your eyes open.”  He leapt into the trees and, along with the rest of the patrol, Amdir followed him, knowing without being told that they needed to be even more silent than usual in their passage.

As he slid through the branches, Amdir could smell the stench of fire growing stronger, and within what seemed like a short time, Eilian sounded the signal to halt them at the edge of the stand of trees through which they had been passing.  Amdir stopped and looked before him.  Up the side of the hill they had been climbing stretched a wide patch of burned trees, their leaves and smaller branches gone and only their charred trunks remaining.  The ground beneath them was thick with ash.  Amdir felt his stomach churn at the sight.

“What is this?” Legolas asked in a hollow voice from next to Amdir. “This does not look like a fire from a lightning strike.”

“I do not know,” Amdir said and flinched to hear that his voice was as tight as Legolas’s.

Eilian was moving through the group, splitting them into pairs and spreading them out to search the burned area.  Without waiting for Eilian to tell them, Legolas moved off with Beliond, and Sinnarn joined forces with Nithron, neither of whom had been far from their young charges in any case.  Amdir had expected that.  Thranduil’s sons and grandson all lived their lives under close guard, even their lives as warriors.  Amdir would have hated it and thought that there were times when Legolas and Sinnarn did not much like it either. He found himself paired with Lómór.  Of necessity, they dropped to the ground and began searching through the section of ruined trees to which they had been assigned.

They were soon filthy as ash swirled up from the ground, coating their clothes and skin and clogging their nostrils.  But they found no sign of Dwarves, other than the occasional half obscured footprint, and no sign of what might have caused the strange fire.  When they had finished their search, they joined the other members of the patrol, sheltering silently among some rocks.

Eilian stood on one of the rocks staring intently toward the mouth of the cave that had apparently once housed Dwarves.  With Amdir trailing curiously, Lómór approached him to report on their futile search.  Eilian heard him out and nodded.  “We need to check the inside of the cave,” he said quietly.  Several of the Elves near them stirred, including Legolas. Amdir felt a thrill at the idea of searching the cave and he assumed that everyone else did too.  The Dwarves seemed to be gone, so the Elves would not have to deal with them, and Amdir could not imagine that he would ever have another chance to see what one of the Dwarves’ combination mine and dwelling places was like.

Eilian scanned the assembled warriors and began to indicate whom he wanted to go with him, for he was certainly going into the cave, Amdir knew. Eilian had been his captain for less than two weeks, but Amdir had already realized that Eilian was not one to pass up a chance for adventure. It would be the patrol’s lieutenant, Lómór, who stayed outside and kept watch with the remainder of the group.  This time, Eilian did not select Galelas, but he did not select Amdir or Sinnarn or Legolas either.  And this time, Amdir could see Legolas start toward his brother with his mouth opening to protest or perhaps simply to ask. But Beliond laid a restraining hand on his arm, and Legolas stopped with his mouth compressed into a thin line.

Eilian had probably not noticed, for he was already creeping up the slope toward the mouth of the cave, a half dozen or so warriors behind him.  The rest of them settled down to wait.  Amdir sat next to Sinnarn, who was eyeing Legolas and Beliond.  The older warrior had drawn Legolas off to one side and was speaking earnestly into his ear.  Legolas jerked his arm out of Beliond’s grasp and came over to sit with Sinnarn and Amdir.  With his face closed, he picked up a twig and began jabbing at the rocky ground with it.  They all waited in silence for the return of the scouting party.

This time, their wait was long. The afternoon sun had faded and dusk had thickened before Eilian and his companions reappeared.  “It is huge and empty,” he told them all, using a normal voice that sounded loud after the silence they had been careful to keep while he was gone.  “And I will be hanged if I can see why.  The fire is the only odd thing I can see.”  Looking frustrated, he rubbed his hand across the back of his neck.  Amdir felt a stab of sympathy for him. In the unlikely event that the king had assigned Amdir to lead a patrol to discover something, he would not want to go home empty handed, and he supposed that Eilian did not either.

Eilian motioned them to their feet, and they followed him away from the burned area and back down the slope to where they had waited earlier in the day.  He led them a half mile or so further downstream from the waterfall and soon found a small, flat clearing where they could camp in reasonable comfort.  “I think we are far enough off the trail that we can have a campfire to cook something hot tonight,” Eilian told them, looking around.  “We will put it out afterwards.”   Amdir felt a surge of delight at that.  He would probably be allowed to cook, and with water from the stream he could turn their dried provisions into a passable stew.  Eilian was still issuing orders.  “Keep close to camp,” he told them.  “We still do not know what we are dealing with.  And keep your weapons to hand. We need to be prepared if an unwelcome visitor or two appears.”

All around Amdir, warriors began shedding their packs and starting toward the stream to wash off as much as they could of the filth they had picked up when rooting among the remains of the fire.  As Amdir joined them, he happened to glance back and saw that not everyone was intent on washing before they did anything else.  Legolas had closed in on Eilian and even though his back was to Amdir, there was something in the stiff line of his spine that told Amdir that Legolas was angry and was letting Eilian know it.  Eilian was facing Amdir, and although it was dark enough that it was hard for Amdir to see him clearly, he did not look happy with whatever Legolas was saying.  Amdir turned back to the stream.  He had absolutely no wish to get involved in a quarrel between the two younger sons of Thranduil.  Nothing good could come of that.

By the time Amdir had washed and returned to camp, where he was indeed set to cooking the evening meal, Legolas had disappeared.  Amdir was not particularly worried about him.  Beliond was gone too, and Amdir doubted very much if Legolas had gone anywhere other than the stream.  Amdir worked quickly and intently, doing what he could with the dried foodstuff, and was pleased when his fellow warriors seemed to enjoy the results.  Even Legolas took a plateful with some sign of enjoyment, although he ate quickly and then lay down on his blanket with his arm flung over his face.  Amdir had noticed that he and Eilian had kept well away from one another during the meal.

Amdir had just finished extinguishing the small cooking fire when Sinnarn appeared next to him looking glum.  “Lómór just reminded me that we have to clean up,” he said.

“But I cooked,” Amdir groaned.

“I do not think that matters to Lómór,” Sinnarn answered and began gathering up the patrol’s dirty dishes.  With a resigned grimace, Amdir joined him, and they each carted a huge armload of dishes to the stream to be washed.

Amdir plunked his load of dishes in the stream and began pulling them out one by one and wiping them off.  “I am sick of washing dishes,” he grumbled.

Sinnarn frowned but instead of responding to Amdir’s complaint, he asked, “Do you know if my uncles are quarreling?”

Amdir made a face. “I think they are. I think that Legolas told Eilian he wanted to do more of the scouting.”

Sinnarn blew out an exasperated breath. “I knew this would happen.  Legolas and I both might as well go home for all the good Eilian will let us do here.”

Amdir pulled his last dish from the stream, wiped it, and set it on the pile of clean dishes that teetered precariously on a nearby rock.  He contemplated the stack of clean dishes. “We were quick,” he commented.  He looked thoughtfully upstream to where, even from this distance, he could hear the waterfall.  “As I recall, there was a pool at the base of that waterfall. I think we have time for a quick swim.”

Sinnarn stared at him, open-mouthed.  “Are you mad?  Eilian would have a fit.”

“Eilian will not know, assuming we are quick enough,” Amdir corrected.  “Besides, all he said was to stay close to camp and the waterfall is not far.”  He started up the stream, but Sinnarn still hung back.  “Come on,” Amdir urged. “I, for one, want to get all of these ashes off my body.”  He started walking again, listening for Sinnarn, and smiled to himself when he finally heard the soft sound of his friend trotting after him.

“I am probably going to regret this,” Sinnarn moaned. “But I suppose the worst that can happen is that Eilian can send us home, and I cannot see that that would make much difference anyway, given how little he will let us do.”

Mindful of the need to be quick, Amdir hurried upstream, finally coming in sight of the waterfall.  He hastily dropped his weapons, stripped off his clothes, waded into the cold, clean water, and then dove beneath the falls.  Water flooded his scalp and flowed over his body, washing away the ashes that had seemingly lodged in every crease and pore.  Exhilarated, he rose to the surface and flipped over to float on his back, letting his hair trail in the water.  How good it felt to be clean!   Sinnarn suddenly surfaced beside him, startling him slightly.  The noise of the waterfall had drowned out Sinnarn’s entrance into the stream.  He laughed and sent a splash of water toward his friend.

“Surely you do not really regret this, do you?” he called.  Sinnarn grimaced but immediately submerged again, enjoying the chance to shed dirt just as much as Amdir had.

Too lazy to dive again, Amdir floated in blissful peace.  Sinnarn needed to relax more, he thought.  Sinnarn’s family, and in particular his father, put too much pressure on him, so far as Amdir was concerned.  Sinnarn was a good warrior, who followed orders in battle well enough.  If he sometimes played a little carelessly when he was not in battle, Amdir did not see the crime in it.  No one could be serious all the time.

Except perhaps Legolas, he thought, grimacing as he recalled the lecture Legolas had given him after Sinnarn fell from their flet.  In many ways, Amdir admired Legolas; he was the best archer Amdir had ever seen, and he was a careful and perceptive scout.  Eilian was foolish not to use him more.  He underestimated how good a warrior Legolas was.  But Legolas was relentlessly earnest about being a warrior. When the patrol was on a mission, he would no more take time to play than he would roam the woods without his bow.

Legolas was usually less serious when they were in camp, though, which was why Amdir had been surprised at how upset he had been about Amdir and Sinnarn wrestling on the flet.  Amdir could only assume that Legolas had been thrown off balance by the arrival of his older brother, whom he seemed to admire without question. At least, Amdir amended, Legolas had admired Eilian without question before this mission had started. The angry conversation between the two brothers that Amdir had glimpsed a little while ago suggested that Legolas was less enchanted than he had been by the idea of serving under Eilian.

Sinnarn resurfaced next to him.  “We need to go back,” he urged.  “We have been away from camp long enough.”

Amdir had turned his head toward Sinnarn, intending to tease him by suggesting that they stay a bit longer, when suddenly a movement on the bank caught his eye.  He blinked, scarcely believing what his eyes told him.  A Dwarf was in the act of picking up Amdir’s sword from where it lay next to the untidy pile of his shed clothes.

“Hey!” he shouted.  “Drop that!”  He started swimming hastily toward shore.  Next to him, Sinnarn turned, saw the Dwarf, and also let out a wordless cry.  The Dwarf spun and disappeared at a run into the underbrush, sword in hand.

With his heart pounding, Amdir scrambled out of the water and into his clothes, Sinnarn right behind him.  He grabbed his bow and started up the bank, every nerve concentrated on pursuing the Dwarf and retrieving his weapon.

“Wait!” cried Sinnarn, catching at his sleeve. “We need to tell Eilian.”

“Tell him what?” demanded Amdir. “What we need to do is get my sword back from that Orc-begotten little digger!”  He charged into the underbrush and, after a second, he heard Sinnarn following him.  The path the Dwarf had taken through the bushes was obvious enough, but within a hundred feet, they came to a place where the Dwarf had veered to one side and evidently clambered up a rocky outcropping.  Amdir scaled the rocks only to find a stone plateau and then another rocky slope. Sinnarn arrived at his side, mumbling unhappily under his breath.

“We need to go back, Amdir,” he said, not sounding as if he had much hope.

Amdir ignored him.  “Look around!” he urged, frantically searching the ground.  “We have to find his trail.” Sinnarn let out an exasperated noise and then evidently gave up the fight.  The two of them scanned the hard surface, the darkness slowing their efforts until the moon began to slide over the horizon.

“Here!” cried Sinnarn, pointing to scrapes showing in the dust on the stone.  They bent close to the ground, following the tiny traces that showed that the Dwarf had climbed the second slope too.  At the top of this slope, they once again had to relocate the trail, and Amdir could feel himself growing tenser with every passing second.  Surely the Dwarf was not going to get away with his sword! One part of him burned with anger at the insult, while another part was frantically wondering how he would ever explain the loss to Eilian.

Following a bent blade of grass here and a disturbed pebble there, they made their way quickly and quietly along a narrow opening between two walls of rock and emerged onto a large, grassy area in front of steep cliffs that stretched away on either side of them.  Piles of boulders and an occasional stunted tree dotted the area in front of them, and brambles and underbrush grew in a dense array along the edge near the wall.  Amdir halted at the sight.  Here, he thought with a flush of vengeful glee.  The greedy little grubber has gone to ground here. I swear I can smell him.

He signaled to Sinnarn, who nodded, and, bows in hand, they turned right and began a slow search of the underbrush there, searching for where the Dwarf could have hidden.  Within a hundred yards, they found it:  a tell-tale path of broken branches leading straight toward the cliff.  There must be a cave, Amdir thought.  He and Sinnarn exchanged glances.  Without needing to speak, they began to work their way toward the cliff.

Then Sinnarn halted and put a steadying hand on Amdir’s arm.  There against the cliff was a blacker space in the moonlit darkness.  And now Amdir could hear minute noises: the murmur of a deep voice and the scrape of a boot on stone.  Grimly, Amdir fitted an arrow to his bowstring and flattened himself against one side of the cave entrance.  Two yards to his right, he could see Sinnarn taking up the same position.  He tipped his head slightly and Sinnarn nodded.  Amdir drew in a deep breath and then whistled one of the signals used by Thranduil’s forces.

With a speed and silence that must have made their appearance seem almost magical to those in the cave, the two of them swung through the entrance to stand with arrows pointed at the figures huddled within.  For a split second, everyone was frozen in place and then one of the Dwarves started to his feet with Amdir’s sword in his hand.

“Drop it!” Amdir snarled, pointing his arrow straight at the Dwarf holding his weapon, while Sinnarn menaced the others Dwarves. The Dwarf with the sword looked at Amdir and then, even longer, at Sinnarn and dropped the sword with a clang.  “Back up,” Amdir ordered, and the Dwarf backed away from the sword.  Keeping a careful eye on him, Amdir picked up the sword and put it back in its sheath where it belonged.  He heaved an enormous sigh of relief.

“Amdir,” said Sinnarn, and his voice sounded strained.  Amdir glanced at him, and Sinnarn motioned with his bow toward the other Dwarves.  For the first time, Amdir really looked at them.  There were two, sitting close together on the ground. One, like the Dwarf who had taken the sword, looked much as Amdir expected. He was short, thick, and bearded.  Amdir’s eyes swept over him to focus on the other Dwarf.  For a moment, he could not understand what he was seeing. This Dwarf was thick through the body and legs too, but he was small and his face was beardless.  Suddenly Amdir recognized what was in front of him.  A child!  The third figure in the cave was a child.

As if released from some sort of spell by Amdir’s recognition, the child began to cry, with large, frightened sobs.  The Dwarf sitting next to him pulled the child onto his lap and began what were obviously efforts to comfort him, although Amdir could not understand a word the creature was saying.  Sinnarn lowered his bow uncertainly, and the Dwarf who was standing started toward them. Startled, Amdir realized that his own bow had dropped too, and he brought his arrow back around to aim at the Dwarf.

The Dwarf snorted scornfully.  “I have no weapon,” he said, sarcasm dripping from his voice.  “Do you think I might be allowed to comfort my son?”

Amdir licked his lips. The idea of Dwarves having children seemed somehow ludicrous to him.  “Why did you take my sword?” he demanded.

“I just told you,” the Dwarf said impatiently, growing bolder by the minute in the face of Sinnarn’s and Amdir’s obvious confusion.  “We had to leave our home so suddenly that I had no time to get my axe.  I have no weapon.”

It suddenly occurred to Amdir that here was an opportunity to learn why the Dwarves were fleeing the mountains.  Eilian had undoubtedly missed them by now, but if Sinnarn and Amdir could take back the information that the patrol was seeking, their absence just might be forgiven.

“Why did you have to leave?” he demanded, aiming his bow straight at the Dwarf’s chest.

The Dwarf looked at him pityingly.  “You poor fool,” he said, and Amdir had to give him credit for bravery.  “Have you not seen any of the dragons yet?”

From the corner of his eye, Amdir could see Sinnarn’s mouth drop open, and he suddenly realized that his own jaw had fallen too.  “Dragons?” he breathed.

“Dragons,” the Dwarf confirmed.  “We have sheltered here for the night because that is when they take flight.”

As if evoked by the Dwarf’s words, a rushing sound made itself heard from outside the cave.  Indeed, when Amdir thought about it, he had heard the beginnings of this sound a minute or so previous.  At its louder arrival though, the child began to cry anew and the Dwarf on the floor held him more tightly, murmuring what were obviously admonitions to hush.  Even to Amdir, it was obvious that the child was terrified.   The noise had grown to a roar now, and then there was a sound that Amdir not recognize, a blasting sound that was akin to thunder but was not thunder.

~*~*~

“And then,” said Amdir, “you came.”  He had been gazing off into space, as if seeing there the scenes he was describing, but now he looked at Legolas again, and he started. “What is the matter?” he asked in alarm.

Legolas stared at him, his heart pounding and his breath coming in gasps.  He had wanted to remember what happened. Oh yes, he had wanted to remember.  And now he did.

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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter. 

AN:  I think I need to issue a small warning with this chapter:  Legolas was repressing some grim stuff.  It comes out here.

I drafted this chapter simultaneously with chapter 5, so it’s done quickly.  It’s a present for readers who seem to be a little annoyed with me!  It will take me longer to get the next one done because I’m still fluffing out the outline of it.

*******

6.  Legolas’s Story

“Legolas, are you ill?” Amdir cried, starting to his feet in alarm.  Unable to answer, Legolas gasped for breath, feeling dizzy from the scenes that were now flooding back into his consciousness.

Amdir hesitated for only a second more before rushing to the door and flinging it open.  “Help!” he cried.  “I need help in here.”

Running footsteps sounded in the hall, and, weapons drawn, two of the guards burst into the room, followed closely by Thranduil.  The guards looked hastily around and then stood uncertainly, but Thranduil hurried immediately to Legolas’s side.  Legolas grasped at his father’s hand as if he were drowning and a rope had been thrown to him.

Thranduil turned to Amdir. “What happened?” he demanded.

Amdir’s eyes widened at being addressed so brusquely by the king.  “I do not know,” he said. “I was telling him what I remembered about the Dwarves and the cave and suddenly he began gasping like that.”

“Get the healer,” Thranduil commanded.

“No!” Legolas managed to choke out. Thranduil turned to him.  “I will tell you what the matter is, Adar, but no healer, please!  I swear to you I do not need one.”

Thranduil paused, with his eyes narrowed.  Then he jerked his head at the guards, who were both staring at Legolas. “Go.” They immediately recollected themselves and faded from the room.  “And you,” Thranduil said, turning to Amdir now.  “You may go too.”  With his face anxious, Amdir hesitated for a second, but fear of Thranduil seemed to overwhelm whatever else he was feeling and he bowed quickly and went out the door, closing it behind him.

Thranduil turned back to Legolas.  Still holding Legolas’s hand, he nudged the chair next to the bed into place and then sat down in it.  “Now what is this about, iôn-nín?” he asked, in a voice that Legolas had heard from childhood, the one that meant that all evasions should now be put aside and the truth be told, no matter how painful truth might be.

Legolas drew a deep breath and tried desperately to think of how he was going to explain himself to his father.  “Since I awakened,” he began and then stopped to steady himself.  Thranduil waited, saying nothing yet, but with an implacable look that made it clear that Legolas had no choice but to go on.  “Since I awakened,” Legolas repeated, with his heart pounding, “I have been having some trouble remembering everything that happened during the mission. That is why I told Ithilden that I did not want the pain medication any more. I thought it might be preventing me from recollecting events.”

Thranduil blinked at him and then slowly asked, “Do you mean that you have been having trouble remembering every detail?”

Legolas sighed.  “No,” he said. “Until now, I have not been able to recall anything at all about what happened.  I only knew that it was horrible and that I felt responsible.”

“You cannot remember the mission?” Thranduil cried.

“I can,” Legolas hurried to reassure him.  “Now I can, but I could not before.”

Thranduil sat back and drew in his breath slowly.  “You have had no memory of events and you have not told us?”

Legolas grimaced.  “I was afraid you would not allow me back on duty.”

“No more would I have!” Thranduil exclaimed.  “Legolas, that kind of injury is treacherous!  You could not have predicted how you would have behaved when memory came back or when you were in situations like the one you could not remember.  I am appalled that you concealed such a problem. Doing so was a violation of your commanding officer’s trust.”

“I am sorry,” said Legolas, miserably aware that his father was angry, but so pained by the memories that had come back to him that Thranduil’s fury seemed like a minor matter.

Thranduil paused and seemed to struggle to regain control of himself.  Finally, he spoke again, more gently this time. “You say you now have full recall?”

Legolas nodded. “I think so.”  He looked pleadingly at his father. “You once said you would be happy to listen to me talk about events. Would you still do that, Adar?  I need to talk about this.”

Slowly, Thranduil nodded.  “If it would ease your heart to speak of these things, then I am here to listen, Legolas.  I have heard reports of what happened, of course, but there are parts of this tale that only you can tell, and I have been reluctant to push you to speak of them.  As it turns out,” he added dryly, “I would have learned more than I bargained for if I had done so.”

Legolas knew that he had leaned on Thranduil’s strength from the time he was small.  He thought that he did it less often now, as he moved slowly toward standing on his own two feet in full adulthood, but at a moment such as this one, he was deeply grateful for the rock-like figure of his father, even when Thranduil so plainly disapproved of the concealment that Legolas had practiced.

He leaned back against the pillows, keeping hold of his father’s hand, but not looking at him.  He thought the story might be easier to tell that way.  “I was angry at Eilian, I am afraid,” he began.  “When Eilian went into the Dwarves’ cave and did not choose me to be one of the party, I finally lost my temper about his refusal to let me do anything even remotely dangerous.  Beliond tried to tell me to get hold of myself, but the best I could manage to do was wait until we camped for the night before I approached Eilian.”

~*~*~

With his temper damped down but still smoldering, Legolas waited while Eilian issued orders for the night’s camp.  “Stay close to camp,” Eilian said. “And keep your weapons to hand. We need to be ready if an unwelcome visitor or two appears.”  Almost as one, the warriors around Legolas dropped their packs and started toward the stream, intent on washing off some of the day’s filth.

Legolas had enough control to wait until everyone around Eilian had walked off, but then he could wait no more.  Resolutely, he approached his brother, who was starting toward the stream too.  “Eilian,” he said, stopping him, “I would like a word with you.”

Something about his tone must have told his brother that Legolas was angry, for Eilian’s face immediately became cautious.  “What about?” he asked.

“About the way you have refused to allow me to take part in any of the forward scouting.  I am an effective warrior and a good scout, and you keep me as far from the action as you possibly can.  That is not right, Eilian.”  Legolas kept his voice low but he knew it sounded heated.

“I owe you no explanation for how I arrange the patrol’s responsibilities,” Eilian said, his voice containing an edge of menace, “but surely you can see that I give the more dangerous tasks to the more experienced warriors.”

“Do not try to claim that your choices are simply based on my inexperience,” Legolas responded sharply. “You took Galelas with you today!”

Eilian flushed and then snapped, “This discussion is closed. You need to remember that I am your captain here, Legolas. It is not your place to question my orders.”

Legolas was opening his mouth to protest further, but someone caught at his arm.  He whirled to find that Beliond stood behind him. “Come,” his keeper said.  “You need to dunk your head in the stream for a while.”  He pulled firmly on Legolas’s arm, making it impossible to resist him without making a public scene.

Legolas glanced back at Eilian. “We will talk of this more later.”

“No, we will not.”  Eilian turned his back and walked off in the other direction.

“Just what do you think you are accomplishing anyway?” Beliond asked in a disgusted voice as he dragged Legolas off toward a part of the stream that was slightly screened by a thicket of brambles running down to its edge.

“He is being unreasonable, and you know it,” Legolas responded heatedly.

Beliond shoved him toward the edge of the stream.  “So are you.  Splash some of that water over your head and cool off.”  Still fuming, Legolas crouched down by the edge of the stream to wash.  When he tried to rise, Beliond shoved him down again.  “You are not ready to go back yet,” he announced.  Legolas glared at him, filled with some of the same helpless fury that he felt toward Eilian.  Beliond gazed back at him and then made an exasperated sound.  “Do you want to provoke your brother?” he asked.

Legolas thought for a second. Did he want Eilian to be angry with him?  “No,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Good,” said Beliond. “Then we will stay here until you calm down.”  Ignoring Legolas, he too crouched by the stream and began to wash.  Legolas watched him for a moment and then turned away, finding that his anger was already beginning to abate.  He blew out his breath in a noisy sigh.  His chances of making a dent in Eilian’s protectiveness were not great, and when you came down to it, Eilian was his captain.  Legolas had never yet served under a captain who responded well to angry words from a warrior.

Having cleaned ashes from every surface he could reach, he stood.  “I am ready to go back if you are,” he said resignedly.  Beliond nodded and the two of them returned to camp to find that Amdir had managed to create a meal that smelled quite tempting.  Scanning the camp for Eilian, Legolas found him on the other edge of it, conferring with Lómór and Nithron.  Sinnarn’s keeper had been to this part of the world before, and Eilian had been making use of whatever knowledge Nithron could provide to shape their scouting.  Legolas took a bowl of the stew and went to sit as far away from Eilian as he could get and still be in camp.  When he finished, he lay down on his blanket and flung his arm over his face, still trying to talk some sense into himself.  The sounds of the evening camp routine rose around him.  People finished eating and began spreading their blankets; Sinnarn and Amdir took the dishes off to wash.

Finally, he sat up and looked toward Eilian again.  He probably should make his peace with his brother, he thought.  He hated being at odds with him.  Eilian was still talking strategy with Nithron and Lómór, however, and Beliond had now joined them too.  Legolas was interested in that.  Beliond had spent years conducting special missions for Thranduil, and the fact that he had been included in the planning session suggested that he had been to the Grey Mountains before.

Legolas idly scanned the camp and suddenly became aware that Sinnarn and Amdir were not yet back from washing the dishes.  Surely they should be back by now, he thought. He felt a momentary alarm over their safety, followed quickly by the certainty that the two of them had simply become distracted by some scheme.  Unreliable as they sometimes were, they were still Elven warriors and it was unlikely that something could have silently harmed the two of them within a few dozen yards of camp.

They had better return soon or they were likely to be in even more trouble than they were in currently, he thought.  He glanced toward the group around Eilian again and then rose to his feet.  He had better retrieve the two young fools while he had the chance to do so discreetly, he thought.

He slipped quietly away and soon found himself staring down at a pile of clean dishes, neatly stacked on a rock. Where were Sinnarn and Amdir?  Idiots! he thought and began to follow the light traces of their passage along the stream bank. It soon became obvious to him that they were heading for the waterfall, and he remembered Amdir saying that it would be nice to swim there.  I will haul them back by their hair, he thought grimly.  Eilian will kill them if he finds out they have wandered off.

When he got to the waterfall, however, neither Sinnarn nor Amdir was in sight.  Trying to see which way they had gone, he peered at the confusion of tracks in the wet soil next to the waterfall and suddenly he stiffened.  For the last two days, the northern Border Patrol had been examining prints similar to those he now saw mixed with Amdir’s and Sinnarn’s. A Dwarf.  A Dwarf had been here, and while there was no sign of a struggle, both the Dwarf’s prints and those of the two missing Elves suggested that they had been running when they left the waterfall.

Fighting down his alarm, Legolas stared at the prints and tried to decipher what might have happened.  Dwarves were known to be in the area, so in one way, the appearance of a Dwarf here was no surprise.  And while the Elves and the Dwarves were not friends, neither were they enemies, so he had no reason to suppose that the lone Dwarf had done harm to Sinnarn and Amdir.  Indeed, the two of them had plainly been well enough to run when they left the waterfall.  Had they been chasing the Dwarf?  Had they perhaps gone somewhere with the Nogoth?   He recalled Sinnarn’s wish to talk to a Dwarf and drew in a sharp breath.  Surely they had not been so stupid as to follow a Dwarf simply to satisfy his nephew’s curiosity?

He looked back downstream toward where his patrol was camped.  He knew what he should do now: He should sound the signal that something was not right. He hesitated.  Eilian was already angry with the two young ones and was likely to report their unauthorized trip to Ithilden rather than simply deal with it himself.  Legolas did not like to see them get into a great deal of trouble if all they were doing was satisfying their curiosity.  And Eilian was likely to be unhappy enough with Legolas, who had set off to retrieve them without telling anyone.  This little jaunt would not help Legolas’s argument about being allowed to participate in the more exciting parts of the mission.

There was no choice really, he thought resignedly.  He was a warrior with a warrior’s obligations.  With a sigh, he put his hand to his mouth and whistled the signal.  Then he turned back to the tracks, intending to examine them further as he waited for other warriors to arrive.  As he did so, his eye was caught by something in the sky in the direction toward which the tracks led.  A red light flickered momentarily and then disappeared.  He blinked, apprehension suddenly making him stiffen. Far too often, he had found that unfamiliar things turned out to be dangerous.  He waited, watching tensely, and suddenly the light flared again.  And then he waited no more, but, bow in hand, started at a run along the trail that Amdir and Sinnarn had left.  Whatever the light represented, he could not risk waiting for the patrol to arrive before he went after the two missing ones.  His own trail would be easy enough for his fellow warriors to follow.

Moving as quickly as he could, he followed the tracks.  The moon was up now, and while the rocky ground slowed him a little, the passage of the three was relatively easy to trace.  He scrambled up the second rocky slope, entered a narrow passage, and slid silently along it to emerge on a rock- and tree-studded plateau.  Watching the ground, he moved hurriedly to the right.

He had just found the place where the tracks entered the underbrush along the cliff wall when he became aware of an odd whooshing noise from far off to his left.  He slipped into the cover of the bushes and then turned to scan in that direction.  And there at a distance in the sky, he saw again the red light, and this time it was traveling rapidly in his direction.  For a moment, he stood frozen in confusion. What was that?  Foreboding filled him as the light sped toward him, growing gradually larger, and he drew back deeper under cover.  Now he could see that it was some sort of flying creature, but one whose huge size meant it was nothing Legolas knew.

Concern for Amdir and Sinnarn suddenly flooded him, and he once again put his hand to his mouth and sounded one of the calls used by the warriors of the Woodland Realm, the one that meant that serious trouble was at hand.  He only hoped the patrol was close enough to hear it.  Legolas was confident of his ability in battle and believed that Eilian wronged him by keeping him from taking part in all aspects of the patrol’s mission, but he knew that he was now in a situation for which his experience had not prepared him.  Amdir and Sinnarn might be in danger, and he was appalled by the thought that they had only him to help them.

Keeping one eye on the sky, he turned and began to track the two wanderers rapidly through the underbrush.  Wind from the flying creature’s wings was now swirling about him, although the thing was sailing toward the cliff at perhaps half a mile’s distance from him.  And then, with startling suddenness, the creature spat forth a torrent of flame that raked along the cliff.  Legolas gaped, shocked into immobility.  A dragon!  That was the only thing the creature could be: a dragon.  The dark flying shape rose so as not to crash into the cliff and then whirled away in a large, lazy circle.

With a gasp, Legolas leapt into motion again.  His heart pounded and his stomach twisted, but he ran quickly along the trail that Sinnarn and Amdir had left.  And there, ahead of him, he saw where they, and probably the Dwarf too, had undoubtedly gone, for the mouth of a cave was discernible through the undergrowth.  Drawing on every bit of warrior training and experience he possessed, he forced himself to stop and listen outside the cave.  The dragon was sailing away from the cliff just now, and Legolas needed to know what he was likely to find in the cave.  The only sound that reached his ears puzzled him, for it was remarkably like the muffled sobs of a child.  He could not wait to learn more, he thought desperately.  With a last glance at the dragon, he drew his bow and slid like a shadow into the cave.

Startled faces turned toward him, and it took him a minute to sort out what was happening in the scene before him.  Sinnarn and Amdir stood with bows in hand, although Sinnarn’s weapon was lowered. Amdir, however, had his bow pointed straight at a Dwarf who stood in front of him.  And on the ground were two more Dwarves. For a minute, Legolas stared at these two, for here was the source of the sobs he had heard outside the cave.  With his fists knotted in the larger Dwarf’s beard, a child leaned against him, while the adult stroked the little one’s hair and murmured what were obviously soothing words.  The adult shot Legolas a fiercely protective glance, startling him by the accusation his eyes held.

“It is all right, Legolas,” said Sinnarn, his voice shaking slightly.  “They are unarmed.”

And, indeed, Legolas could see that Sinnarn was right.  Slowly, he lowered his bow, but he did not take the arrow from the bowstring.  He glanced at Amdir, who reluctantly lowered his bow too.  “What is going on here?” Legolas asked. An edge of hysteria bubbled up in him and it was all he could do to keep from laughing at his own question.  There was a dragon outside the cave; what did it matter what was going on inside it?

Sinnarn began to answer but the Dwarf who was standing interrupted him.  “Keep your voice down, you fool!” he hissed in a low tone.  “Dragons have excellent hearing. I assume you did not miss seeing the one that is circling outside?”

Legolas blinked at the sarcasm in his voice.  “No, I did not miss it,” he snapped, although he heeded the Dwarf’s warning and lowered his voice.

“They are hiding from it,” Amdir said.  He turned to Legolas, his face pale. “The dragons are the reason that the Dwarves have been fleeing to Erebor.”

The sound outside the cave changed, and all three of the Dwarves flinched.  The child began to cry again, and the Dwarf who sat next to him pulled him into his lap and began to rock him.  Legolas stared at them for a moment, trying to identify what had struck him about the gesture.  It was maternal, he suddenly thought, and then another realization dawned. This was a family in front of him.  Despite the beard and the deep voice, the Dwarf who held the child was his mother, and the one who was standing was trying to protect his wife and son, with his bare hands if necessary.

The noise of the dragon was growing again. It was returning, Legolas realized, trying not to panic.  He looked at the Dwarf who stood before them.  “Is it hunting you?” he asked, and the Dwarf nodded.

“It knows we are here somewhere,” he said. He looked anxiously at his wife and the crying child and then said something in his own tongue.  The mother rose and carried the child further back into the cave, hushing it as she went.   She was worried the dragon would hear the child, Legolas suddenly realized.

And now the sound of the dragon had risen to a roar, and once again the thundering noise of its fire filled the air.  From where he stood in the cave, Legolas could see the light of the fire hurtling against the cliff face a short distance away.  “It was closer that time,” he breathed.

“It will be back,” the Dwarf said grimly.

Legolas glanced again at the Dwarf woman and her child, huddled in the back of the cave.  Then he looked at Sinnarn and Amdir, who were watching him, as if waiting for him to direct them.  These two think I know what to do, he thought with a shock.  He nearly laughed, but he stopped himself in time.  He needed to be calm and rational, or none of them was going to survive long enough for Eilian to discipline.  How he wished now that he had gone to fetch Eilian and the rest of the patrol when Sinnarn and Amdir had first turned up missing.  If he had, two dozen Elven warriors would now be waiting to shoot the dragon on its next pass.

“We need to draw the dragon away,” he told Sinnarn and Amdir.  “It does not know we are here, and its underbelly will be vulnerable to arrows.   But the most important thing is that we need to get it away from the cave.”  They both nodded, but their frightened young faces were pale. Legolas supposed he did not look very different himself.

“Give me a sword, and I will come with you,” the Dwarf cried.

Legolas blinked at him.  “A sword will do you no good,” he said, knowing he sounded confused. “And your family needs you.”

“I will not cower here while something menaces my wife and son!” the Dwarf cried.

Legolas hesitated for only a second and then, from its tooled scabbard, he drew the sword that his father had given him the day he came of age.  He reversed it and extended its hilt to the Dwarf, who took it eagerly.  Legolas now turned to the mother and child in the rear of the cave.  “Stay in the cave,” he said. “You will be safer here than anywhere else.” He glanced at the Dwarf.  “Do they understand?” he asked.

The Dwarf said something to his wife who nodded, and then turned back to Legolas and spoke in Common.  “If the dragon finds the cave, they will not be safe here, no matter what you have told them.”

Legolas bit his lip.  “The dragon will not find the cave,” he promised grimly and then turned to lead the way out into the night.  A distance off to his right, where the dragon’s last attack had occurred, the bushes were burning.  Legolas scanned the sky but could see no approaching fiery light.  “When I saw the dragon, it came from that direction,” he told the Dwarf, pointing.  “And it sounded as if it came that way the last time too.  Is it likely to come that way again?”

The Dwarf hesitated.  “Perhaps,” he said doubtfully.

Legolas despaired at the uncertainty in his voice, but he had to act on the shaky knowledge he had.  He turned to Sinnarn and Amdir.  “You two go that way,” he said, pointing in the direction from which the dragon had come.  “Shelter in the rocks and wait until it is overhead.  Then shoot and move immediately.  You do not want it to turn and breathe fire at you.”  They both nodded and ran off to take up the positions to which he had sent them.  For a second he paused.  What in Arda would he say to his family if something happened to Sinnarn?  He shoved the thought from him.  Nothing will happen, he told himself grimly, but he was not sure he believed it.

He turned to look at the Dwarf, valiantly and foolishly holding a sword with which he intended to defend his family from a dragon.  “Stay in the rocks nearest the cave,” he said and the Dwarf nodded and moved off.  Perhaps he could be useful if they all had to find new shelter at short notice, Legolas thought and then ran to take up his own position.

Every nerve alert, Legolas stared off into the night sky, trying to see if the creature was circling around for another attack, but it was his ears that told him that the dragon was coming again, for long before he saw it, he heard the roar of its wings.  He crouched behind the rock, his arrow nocked and ready. 

His heart quickened and his breath came in shorter gasps as the roar of the dragon grew, and suddenly, off to his left, he saw it, coming, to his dismay, from an angle he had not expected.  Sinnarn and Amdir would have no chance of hitting it before it reached the cave.  He was going to have to do this on his own, he thought grimly, for there was no one else with any hope of success.

His fingers tightened on his bowstring, and he struggled with an impulse to jump from his hiding place and begin loosing arrows, but he would have no chance of killing it or at least driving it off if it saw him, so he forced himself to wait until the creature sailed directly over his head.  With an immense sense of release, he leapt to his feet and drew and fired into the dragon’s unprotected underbelly quickly enough that he had time to draw and fire again as the creature tore past overhead.  It gave a terrifying cry and then something thick and black rained down onto Legolas’s shoulder.  Blood! he thought exultantly. I hit it.

He spun to watch the dragon's course and saw it wobble slightly.  He felt a spurt of exhilaration, but then, to his dismay, it steadied itself and continued its course. With a guttural roar, it opened its mouth, and, to Legolas's horror, raked a breath of fire across the entrance to the cave where the mother and child were sheltered.  The brush and trees covering the entrance burst into flame as the dragon wheeled and turned to approach again.  It is coming back, Legolas thought, fear flowering in his guts.  He scrambled from his position to a different one behind a pile of large rocks that was now in the beast's path.

Suddenly, his attention was caught by cries from the mouth of the cave.  He turned to see two figures, one large and one small, silhouetted in the flames and struggling to get out of the cave as if they feared being trapped there.  "No!" he cried, starting toward them and trying to make himself heard over the noise of the dragon and the fire.  "Go back inside!"  Surely they realized that they would be safer where the dragon would not see them!

The noise rose to a crescendo as the dragon sailed overhead and then hurled a tongue of flame toward the two figures in the cave mouth.  It flickered over them, and the hair of the smaller figure burst into flame.  "No!" Legolas cried again, as fire seemed to spring from everywhere around the two.  Even from where he stood, he could hear the mother Dwarf scream as her beard and clothes, too, blossomed with fire.  From somewhere not far away, the father gave a loud wail.  Legolas’s stomach turned, and his heart froze in horror.

And then, suddenly, more arrows flew toward the dragon, coming from his right.  He had time to wonder how Sinnarn and Amdir had managed to get to that spot and then to realize that there were far too many arrows for them to have come from only two warriors, when in the course of its turn, the dragon's tail swept through the rocks over his head and knocked them down upon him.

~*~*~

Legolas was crying unashamedly, and Thranduil had moved from the chair to the edge of the bed and drawn him into an embrace.  “I am sorry.  I am sorry. I am so sorry,” Legolas gasped, over and over again.

Thranduil stroked his hair.  “You are not to blame, Legolas. You did what you could.”

“If I had gotten Eilian earlier or if I had been clearer in telling the Dwarves to stay in the cave or if I had positioned Amdir and Sinnarn differently, it might not have happened!”

“You could not have known.  You did what you could.”  Thranduil’s voice was low and soothing, and Legolas could not help being reminded of the voice of the mother Dwarf.

“I am supposed to be such a good archer. Why did I not kill it?”

“Legolas!” Thranduil sounded firm now. “Listen to me!  You must stop this fruitless wishing that you can alter what is past. I know this temptation, iôn-nín, for I have felt it many times in my life, and I tell you that you cannot give in to it. You did what you could to protect them.  You could not have done more.  And now you have to let it go.”

Legolas turned his face into his father’s chest and breathed in his woodsy scent.  Gradually, he began to regain control over himself, although he knew that he was only dulling his grief, not curing it.  Exhausted, he pulled away from Thranduil and lay back against his pillow, gazing at the ceiling and thinking.

“How was Beliond burned, Adar?” he finally asked.

Thranduil hesitated, and Legolas turned toward him.  “Truth for truth, Adar,” he said with a twist of his mouth that he meant to be a reassuring smile.

Thranduil sighed.  “The Dwarf rushed into the fire after his wife and child, and Beliond pulled him back.  The Dwarf’s clothes and beard were on fire, and I gather Sinnarn arrived in time to slap at the flames and try to put them out while Beliond attempted to go to your aid.”

Legolas grimaced.  “Is the Dwarf all right?”

Again his father paused. “No,” he said finally.  “He died of his burns.”

Legolas closed his eyes and felt tears beginning to leak from under his eyelids again. He flung his arm across his face.  “I wanted to remember,” he said bitterly.  “What could I have been thinking?  You can call the healer now, Adar.  He can give me whatever drugs he likes.” 

7. The Rest of Ithilden’s Story

“No medicine,” Belówen declared.

Legolas regarded him in disbelief for a second and then let his head fall back on his pillow with a snort of disgust.  He might have known.  Healers were among the most perverse creatures in Arda.

“He may have trouble sleeping,” said Thranduil reluctantly.  He had kept hold of Legolas’s hand the entire time that Belówen had been examining him, and Legolas was deeply grateful for his continued presence.

Belówen grimaced.  “He probably will, but he should take nothing that will cloud his mind, my lord.”  He looked at Legolas disapprovingly.  “You should have told me about this memory loss earlier.”

“I am sorry,” Legolas said automatically, glancing at Thranduil.  He really felt no remorse for having withheld the information from the healer, but he knew he had owed a frank confession to his father.   And to Ithilden, he thought unhappily.  Ithilden was not going to be any more pleased than Thranduil was at what had been kept from him.

“I do have one piece of good news for you though, Legolas,” Belówen went on.  “I think you can get out of bed for a while today, and if all goes well, you can start moving around the palace on crutches tomorrow.”

Legolas felt his heart lighten slightly at that news.  At least he might be able to find something to do besides lie in bed and think.

Belówen turned to Thranduil. “Shall I send one of my assistants to help him dress and then stay with him, or is there someone here who can do it?”  He had treated Thranduil’s sons after serious injury before, and he therefore knew perfectly well what the king’s answer to that question would be, but he asked it nonetheless.

“I will do it,” Thranduil responded immediately.  “Or someone else from the family will if I cannot.”

Belówen nodded and began gathering up his belongings.  “Just sit in a chair for a while today,” he instructed Legolas as he packed his gear.  “And be careful. You may be dizzy because you have not been upright for a while.”

“He will take care,” Thranduil responded for him and then went with Belówen to the door.  Legolas could hear them murmuring to one another in the hallway, and then he could hear his father issuing orders to various attendants before he came back into the room.

Thranduil went straight into the bathing chamber, returning with a basin of warm water and a cloth.  “I will help you wash and dress,” he said.

“If you put the basin on the table, I can do that, Adar,” Legolas protested.  He was not helpless; he simply had a rapidly-healing broken leg.  And a recently returned memory that had left him gasping with pain, he reminded himself.  He knew that his father was far more worried about that than he was about any of Legolas’s physical injuries.

Thranduil hesitated for only a second before he put the basin and cloth within Legolas’s reach and then went to the cupboard to pull out clean clothes.  He used his dagger to cut the leggings so they would fit over the splints on Legolas’s left leg, while with only a minimum of fumbling, Legolas managed to pull off the sleep tunic he was wearing and wash himself.  Thranduil waited patiently until he was done and then helped him into his clothes. Then he carefully picked Legolas up and carried him to the chair in front of the fireplace.

“There,” he said, tucking a blanket around him.  “How do you feel?”

“Fine,” Legolas responded automatically, although he found that even these simple tasks had left him exhausted.  He felt as if all his perceptions had been dulled, and he looked at the world through a hazy screen.

Thranduil went to the door to call a servant and then sat across from Legolas while she lit the fire and then changed the sheets on the bed.  Legolas stared for a moment at the fire and then shuddered and looked away.  Thranduil quietly reached out and put a hand on Legolas’s knee.  The servant finished her work and withdrew.

There was a moment’s silence, and then Thranduil sighed. “Legolas, I wish there were something I could say to take this pain away from you.”  His voice was urgent and Legolas found that he could not look away from his father’s grey eyes.  “I cannot deny that there are evil things in this world, and you have unfortunately been witness to one of them.  But I would remind you that because you are willing to serve the realm as a warrior, there are fewer of those evil things than there would be otherwise.  You could not stop this dragon, but you have stopped other shadowed creatures from doing harm to the innocent.  The world is a better place because you are in it, iôn-nín.”

Legolas drew a somewhat wobbly breath.  “Thank you, Adar.  I will try to remember that.” And against all odds, he could feel the pain in his heart releasing its grip, just a little.

Thranduil patted his knee and then rose and walked toward the corner of the room.  He returned holding something that made Legolas draw in his breath. “I had not realized that you gave your sword to the Dwarf,” Thanduil said, drawing Legolas’s sword from its scabbard with a whispery whoosh.  Legolas blinked at the way the firelight reflected off the blade.  The weapon was truly beautiful. His father had chosen carefully when he selected it for Legolas.

“The Dwarf needed it,” Legolas said apologetically.  He knew Thranduil’s dislike of the Naugrim.

Still holding the sword, Thranduil looked at him.  “Yes, he did. He was a husband and father protecting those he loved from the creatures of shadow.”  He smiled slightly at Legolas’s bemused look.  “Still, I am glad that it came home with you, and it is here now waiting for you when you are ready to take it up again.”  Thranduil regarded the sword thoughtfully.  “A fine weapon for a fine warrior,” he said finally, slid the sword back into its sheath, and then turned to re-hang it on the hooks on the wall. Legolas swallowed the lump in his throat.

There was a knock at the door, and then it opened to admit a grave-looking Ithilden.  “The delegation from Esgaroth is waiting for you, Adar.”

Thranduil nodded.  “Ithilden will stay with you,” he told Legolas soberly. “You two have much to talk about.”  Legolas looked at his brother and flinched slightly, for it was obvious to Legolas that Ithilden now knew about his memory loss.  Belówen must have told him, Legolas thought, and Ithilden had not liked what he had heard.  As a consequence, when Legolas looked at Ithilden now, he saw not his brother but his troop commander, whom he had deceived about what healing would be needed before he was ready for battle again.  Thranduil walked from the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, Ithilden stood looking at him. “I would rise if I were able to, my lord,” Legolas said as evenly as he could. “As it is, all I can do is tell you how deeply I regret my deception.  I should have told you immediately about the problem I was having.”

“Yes, you should have,” Ithilden responded.  “And I trust you would have before you let me risk your safety and that of others by sending you into a responsible position again.”

“I would have told you if it had gone on so long,” Legolas answered.

Ithilden nodded and then said gently, “I would have found out anyway, Legolas, when I asked you for an official report on what happened.”

Legolas grimaced.  He had not thought of that.  “I would never have lied to you directly,” he said and knew that it was true.

Ithilden sat down in the chair that Thranduil had vacated.  And suddenly, he looked like Legolas’s brother again, the one who had bandaged his cut finger and let him ride before him on his horse when he was little.  “Belówen says that, for you, this memory is fresh, as if the events happened only this morning. I am sorry, Legolas. This must be very painful for you.”

Unexpectedly, Legolas felt tears stinging his eyes again.  He gritted his teeth and blinked them away.  “I keep thinking I should have been able to do something. I should have known what to do so that things would turn out differently.”  He looked at Ithilden a little desperately. Surely with all his experience, Ithilden could tell him how he could do better next time, for he was determined that he would never again feel so helpless when charged with the care of another creature.

Ithilden looked away.  “Everyone feels that way sometimes, Legolas, but in this case, I do not think there was anything you could have done.”

“If I had told Eilian immediately that Sinnarn and Amdir were missing, the whole patrol would have been there.”

Ithilden shook his head. “No, Eilian would have assumed what you did, that they were off on a lark. That is certainly what I would have assumed.  He would probably have sent Nithron and a companion to retrieve them, so there might have been four warriors instead of just three, but that would be all.  And no one in that patrol had any more experience than you did with dragons, Legolas. They have been hidden away for too long.”

Legolas let his head fall back against his chair, feeling an odd mixture of relief and despair that the dwarves would have fared no better no matter what he had done.  He lifted his head again to find Ithilden regarding him sympathetically.

“Shall I tell you the rest of the story of my first posting to the Southern Patrol?” he asked.

Legolas blinked.  “I thought you had finished,” he said uncertainly. “I thought you were trying to tell me not to feel guilty about Beliond being hurt because Nithron had been hurt while guarding you.”

Ithilden raised an eyebrow.  “Is it not possible,” he inquired with an injured air, “that I would tell you a story simply because I wished to amuse you?”

“No,” answered Legolas promptly.

Ithilden laughed outright. “That was part of my point,” he admitted. “But there is more to the story.”

“Then of course I would like to hear it,” Legolas said politely enough but somewhat mystified.  Why was Ithilden telling him this story now?

His brother settled himself more comfortably in the chair.  “As you say, Nithron had been hurt in the battle to keep the Orc patrol from warning Dol Guldur about our presence.   And Beliond had decided that we would take up the last part of our scouting mission at dawn and then leave the area. It was becoming too dangerous for us to stay.”

~*~*

Ithilden tightened his quiver strap and picked up his bow.  “Take care of him,” he said with a grin to the Elf who had been delegated to watch over the wounded Nithron while the patrol finished its last day of scouting.

Nithron frowned at him. “Take care of yourself,” he said emphatically.  “Your adar will have my head if something happens to you while I am lying here.”

“Surely you are not suggesting that the king can be unreasonable?” Ithilden said with an impudent grin.  Then he patted his keeper’s shoulder and started moving across the campsite in Beliond’s general direction.  The stars were fading, and Beliond would want them to be underway at any moment.

The other patrol members too were stirring about, and as he crossed the camp, Ithilden stopped here and there to speak to them, reading their mood.  They were feeling the strain more than they usually did.  They would all be glad to be away from the shadow so they could begin to regain their balance a little.

He had just turned to walk the final distance to Beliond’s side when Anilith walked past and picked up his pack, which had been lying open nearby.  As he lifted it, something fell from it onto the ground, and he bent hastily to retrieve the object and restow it.  Ithilden blinked, certain of what he had seen, but unable to believe it.  The object had been a whetstone. Anilith had Suldur’s whetstone and had not returned it.

Ithilden hesitated. Should he say something?  Not now, he decided, not while the patrol was getting ready to scout.  He would deal with the matter later.  He started toward Beliond again, aware as he moved away that Anilith was eyeing him smugly.  Later, he thought firmly.  I will deal with Anilith later.

He arrived at Beliond’s side just as the captain finished stringing his bow.  “Since Nithron is hurt, you will scout with Garion,” Beliond told him.  Ithilden nodded and then listened carefully as Beliond went over the arrangements one final time.

Ithilden hesitated. He was still doubtful about the way Beliond had paired the patrol members.  Should he tell Beliond what he thought?  He did not want to be presumptuous, but if he did not share what he knew, then he was not serving Beliond well, for he had not given him all the information he needed to make good decisions.  He took a deep breath. “May I comment on the way you have arranged the pairs?” he asked.

Beliond turned piercing grey eyes on him.  “You may,” he said, but his eyes suggested that whatever Ithilden had to say had better be worth listening to.

“You have Suldur and Imbelót working together,” Ithilden said carefully.  “They are both exceptionally good trackers.  Had you considered having each of them work with someone else who might not be as strong?”

Beliond frowned.  “I do not know Imbelót well.  He came to the patrol only a week before you did.  Is he so good?”

“I judge him to be excellent,” Ithilden answered.  “He was in the eastern Border Patrol when I served there last year.”

Beliond nodded.  “Then of course we will separate them,” he said matter-of-factly, and Ithilden could not imagine why he had ever hesitated to make the suggestion.  “Suldur will work with Anilith, and Imbelót will scout with Fend,” Beliond declared.  “Gather them together.” Ithilden paused for only a second, wondering if matching Suldur and Anilith was a good idea, but then he moved off to summon his fellow warriors to hear their last minute orders.  Suldur had been reasonable last night. The two of them should be able to get along today, no matter how much strain the shadow had put on their tempers.

“Remember what we are looking for,” Beliond told the assembled patrol, “anything unusual or different that might have moved westward and caused the Dwarves to flee Khazad-dûm.”  Then he told them who would be working with whom and how they would split up the area to be covered and, with a nod, sent them on their way.

Ithilden moved quickly to join Garion.  The two of them moved into the trees and were soon searching carefully through the area they had been assigned, moving apart and together again but never out of call of one another or the pairs of warriors to either side of them.  Beliond had given them four hours to make their search. After that, they were to return to camp and report.  By mid-day, the captain wanted them to be on their way north again. 

As the morning wore on, Ithilden began to question whether the source of the Dwarves’ movement was really to be found here in the Woodland Realm. The area they were searching was disturbing but no more so than usual, so far as he could tell.  He dropped to the ground yet again and bent to examine tracks, finding as he had before only the marks of the passage of Orcs.  He glanced up at the sun.  Their time was almost up.  He and Garion should check in with one another in a few minutes and then go back to camp.

Suddenly a signal pierced the air from off to his right, sending his heart pounding.  Before he even knew he had registered the sound, Ithilden was flying through the trees toward its source, and all around him, he could hear the faint sounds of the other patrol members responding in the same way.  Someone was in trouble.

The signal came again, more frantic this time, and Ithilden pushed himself to move faster, flinging himself from limb to limb with heedless haste, for now he could hear sounds that told him just what had alarmed one of his fellow warriors. From up ahead came the deep-throated growls of Wargs who were intent on their prey.

With a final burst of speed, Ithilden emerged into a clearing and found a horrifying scene before him.  Suldur was on the ground, standing over a limp Anilith and holding off four Wargs with the stream of arrows he was sending toward them.  Blood ran from a slash on his face, and the body of a fifth Warg lay near him.  Even as Ithilden spotted him, Suldur sounded the alarm again, apparently unaware that help had already arrived.

From the trees all around now, arrows began to fly with deadly accuracy. For a moment, the Wargs seemed not to realize what was happening and remained intent on Suldur and Anilith. But then, as the arrows bit deep, they began to back off in confusion.  Ithilden took careful aim and put an arrow in the neck on the Warg nearest the Elves. The creature staggered and then fell as a second and then a third arrow struck it.  The other Wargs seemed to hesitate and then suddenly, they were fleeing.

“Let them go,” Beliond ordered and jumped to the ground.  Ithilden too was on the ground, running toward Anilith and Suldur before the last Warg had disappeared from the clearing.

“We saw Warg tracks,” Suldur babbled, as Ithilden put his arm around the wounded Elf’s shoulders.  “I told him not to follow them, but he went anyway.  I should have sounded the alarm right away, but I did not do it until I heard the Wargs. He must have disturbed them.  We were quarreling,” he told Ithilden, and the horror of the last few minutes had finally begun to sink in because he suddenly sagged and would have fallen if Ithilden had not had hold of him.  “He had my whetstone. I saw it,” he said, almost in tears. “I was angry and I wanted him to get in trouble.  But I did not want him to be hurt!”

Ithilden looked over Suldur’s head to where Beliond was crouched over Anilith.  The captain looked up, his face grim, and then let his hand fall away from the body of his warrior.  What help they could give had arrived too late for Anilith.  “We need to get moving,” he said.  “How badly is Suldur hurt?” he asked Ithilden.

“He can travel,” Ithilden said briefly and Beliond nodded and then gathered up Anilith’s body to take it back to camp, the first stage of their long and hurried withdrawal from the area around Dol Guldur.

~*~*~

“But what had frightened the Dwarves?” Legolas asked.

Ithilden shook his head. “Our mission was not as successful as yours was.”  Legolas could not help grimacing at the idea that the mission he had been on was a ‘success.’ “We never found out why the Dwarves were leaving,” Ithilden went on. “We still do not know really, although we think it must have been something in the mountains or in Khazad-dûm itself.  We could find no change in the area around Dol Guldur.”

Legolas sat quietly for a moment, thinking about the tale that Ithilden had just told him. Then his brother’s deep voice interrupted his reverie.

“I should have acted right away,” Ithilden said, as if to himself. He was staring into the fire and seemed almost to have forgotten Legolas.  “That whetstone was a small thing, but I let it fester and it led to deadly consequences.  So we came home with no answers and a dead warrior.”

Legolas frowned.  “How can you blame yourself for that?  You could not have known that warriors would act like children.”

“We were near Dol Guldur, and I knew the shadow was affecting them,” Ithilden insisted.  He sighed and ran his hand over his hair. “I can tell you that I have never again let something like that slide.”  He looked at Legolas.  “You did the right thing to call for your patrol when you did,” he said. “You should not have gone after Sinnarn and Amdir without telling Eilian or, even more, Beliond, but when you saw something unexpected, you made the right decision and then you acted valiantly.  I am proud of you, brother.”

Legolas felt a lump rise in his throat again and he swallowed hard. “Ithilden,” he asked tentatively, “you went to the Southern Patrol when you were my age and you let Eilian go when he was even younger.” He hesitated and Ithilden looked at him with understanding growing in his eyes. “Is there some reason you have not let me go?  Have I given you reason to doubt me?”

As Thranduil had done before him, Ithilden leaned forward and put his hand on Legolas’s knee.  “Never doubt that you are a competent warrior, Legolas. I have not sent you south because I have not had to.”

Legolas tried to make sense of this.  “What do you mean?”

“Adar needed me to be ready to command the troops, so he sent me into responsible situations when I was still young.  Naneth was never happy about it, and in some ways, she was right,” Ithilden told him.  “I could see that when I had to start sending Eilian into difficult circumstances.  The Peace ended and I found I had fewer experienced warriors than I needed.  And there were other reasons for Eilian being sent south too that you would have to ask him about.”

Legolas looked at him curiously and tried to interrupt but Ithilden evidently had something he wanted to say.

“But, Legolas, I have no need to send you so close to the shadow so soon. There are others who can carry that burden for now. Your turn will come,” Ithilden assured him rather sadly, “but it is not yet.  For now,” he added with a small smile, “do what Naneth would have told you to do and take all chances for joy.”

Legolas felt a little catch in his throat. “I like to picture Naneth saying that,” he said.  “She must have been good for Adar.”

“She was good for all of us," Ithilden said. "I am sorry beyond what I can say that you did not have a chance to grow up with her there to remind you that you are a Wood-elf and should take time to play as well as live up to your duties.”

Legolas raised his eyebrows. “I never thought I would hear you say something like that, Ithilden.”

Ithilden shrugged. “When I was your age, I did not really understand what Naneth meant, and indeed, I am not sure I really did until I was in the position of having to send Eilian and then you and then Sinnarn into danger, when you all seemed so terribly young to me.”  He looked at Legolas. “I have been thinking about Naneth’s words since you and Sinnarn came home hurt.  I do not want either one of you to have to be so serious and responsible as I thought I had to be at your age.”

Legolas considered Ithilden’s words.  “You are not sorry that Sinnarn was transferred to the Home Guard,” he suddenly realized.

Ithilden shook his head.  “He deserved to be disciplined, and he has been sobered by the public reprimand that lies in being transferred home again. And as you say, I am not sorry for that. But besides that, I think it is a good thing for him to be free for a little while of the burden of the more dangerous patrols.  He should have a chance for joy as well as duty.”

“You are not going to transfer me too, are you?” Legolas asked in alarm.

Ithilden smiled sadly.  “No, you need to be a warrior.  You always have needed that. But I would remind you, little brother, that there are chances for joy all around us always. Do not lose sight of them in your desire to drive back the shadow.”

And suddenly Legolas dared to hope that there would be joy for him again too. Not today, but someday soon.  “Do you think that Eilian will have me back?” he asked tentatively.

Ithilden laughed. “Of that, I have no doubt at all.  I believe he has plans for you!”

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

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter. 

*******

8.  Healing

Ignoring Alfirin, who was hovering nearby, Legolas lowered himself carefully into the chair in the family’s sitting room and then laid his crutches on the floor where he could easily reach them.

“You seem to know what you are doing,” Alfirin said with approval.  “Your adar may forgive me after all for letting you out of your own room.”

Legolas grinned at her. “You cannot imagine how much I needed a change of scenery.”

She laughed.  “I suppose you did.  Would you like something to read while I weave?  I can go to the library and get something for you.”

“I would like that.  Some tales of the First Age, perhaps?   Maybe something with dragons.”

She made a disapproving noise.  “I will get you some poems,” she said emphatically and left the room.

Left alone, he leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes.  He certainly would not tell Alfirin, but he was exhausted just from making his way from his sleeping chamber to the sitting room.  I will have to use the crutches as much as I can, he thought.  I need to regain my strength if I am to go north again.  For a moment, he wondered what Ithilden had meant when he said that Eilian had ‘plans’ for him, but he put that thought aside. Eilian had the right to decide what penalty he would pay for leaving camp, and he would deal with it when the time came.

Alfirin came back into the room carrying a book, which she placed on the table near him. “Beliond is here to see you, Legolas.  Do you feel up to a visitor?”

“Of course,” Legolas managed to respond. He wanted to see Beliond for he had been worrying about him, but he also was a little apprehensive about what his keeper might have to say to him about going to retrieve Sinnarn and Amdir without telling anyone.  Alfirin left the room, and a moment later, Beliond came in.

“How are you?” Legolas asked immediately.  Beliond’s arms were heavily bandaged from elbow to wrist, but in all other ways, he looked surprisingly normal rather than like the ailing patient that Legolas had been picturing.

“How I am is tired to death of having people ask me about my injuries,” Beliond grumbled.  “Do you want me to ask about yours?”

Legolas could not suppress a grin. “No.”

Beliond sat down in the chair opposite him. “The healers poke at my arms and then ask me if they hurt. They wait until I fall asleep and then they come in and tell me it is time to eat or to change my bandages.”  His disgust was patent.

“They drugged me senseless until I wanted them to knock me out, and then they refused to do it,” Legolas responded, in complete sympathy.

Beliond stopped his own grumbling and turned a keen gaze on Legolas.  “The king tells me you have had trouble recalling events.”

Legolas grimaced.  He should have known that his father would tell Beliond about Legolas’s problems.  Thranduil had appointed Beliond to see to Legolas’s safety, and he would certainly believe that his keeper needed to know about his memory loss. “I did have trouble. I no longer do,” he said rather stiffly.

His tone must have betrayed his discomfort, and Beliond’s face softened a little.  “There are times when forgetting for a while is the only sensible course of action,” he said.  And Legolas was suddenly struck by thoughts of Beliond’s son, dead at Dagorlad.  For a moment, they sat in the silence of mutual sympathy.

“I keep thinking about the Dwarves,” Legolas finally said, feeling his chest tighten.  “I keep thinking there must have been something I could have done differently.”  He looked at Beliond beseechingly. “You were there.  What should I have done?”

Beliond sighed.  “I am afraid I have no wise advice, Legolas,” he said gently. “You did as well as any of us would have done against a dragon. You killed it after all.”

Legolas blinked. “I did?”

Beliond raised an eyebrow.  “Yes, you did. Has no one told you that?”

“No.”  Legolas thought for a moment. “I do not think I have asked,” he said in surprise.

“It was falling when it knocked the rocks down on you,” Beliond told him.  “The rest of us shot at it too, but it was already dying.”

“Then if I had been further from the cave and had been able to shoot earlier, I could have saved the Dwarves!” Legolas exclaimed in distress.

“Legolas, listen to yourself,” said Beliond, and now he sounded exasperated.  “You are talking as if you think you could know everything that will happen ahead of time and react in precisely the manner that events then prove would have been best.  But you are as limited as the rest of us! Except for your skill with a bow, of course,” he added as an aside. “In that, you truly are exceptional. But you could not have known what would be the best course of action against that dragon.  Hear me and hear me well, young one:  The Dwarves’ fate was not in your hands.  It is best not to have any illusions about one’s power to stop the inevitable.”

In his frustration, he had allowed his voice to rise slightly as he spoke, and Alfirin now put her head in the door. Legolas was suddenly aware that he was staring at his keeper with his mouth open.  His father and Ithilden had both let him know that they disapproved of his deception, but they had offered nothing but sympathy over his anguish for the Dwarves. He felt as if someone had thrown a bucket of cold water on him.

“I think it is time for Legolas to rest now,” Alfirin said, eying Beliond disapprovingly.

Beliond rose.  “Now that the healers are allowing me to move about,” he told Legolas, “I plan to spend most of my time in the woods. They can do what is needful if they see me twice a day.  I will be back when you are ready to resume training. The king has said that we go back to our patrol only when I say you are ready to go.”

He turned to Alfirin.  “He will not break with a little rough handling, you know.  He is tougher than you all give him credit for.”  And with a dignified bow to her, he left the room.

“Really, he is impossible,” said Alfirin.

Legolas looked at her outraged face, and suddenly, he laughed.  “He is,” he agreed, when she frowned at him.  “And he is also always so very much himself that he is wonderful.  I want to stay here and read for a while,” he added hastily, when she moved toward him.  “I am not tired.”

She studied him for a moment and then gave a small smile.  “Perhaps he was good for you after all.”  She seated herself at her loom, and the two of them spent the next hour in a silence that Legolas found peaceful.

***

“Again!” said Beliond, and Legolas dragged his sleeve across his forehead to wipe away the sweat and then once again brought his practice sword into guard position.  “Go,” said Beliond, and Legolas quickly thrust at his keeper’s midsection.  Beliond blocked and shoved Legolas’s blade to one side.  Legolas allowed his sword to keep going and circled it in under Beliond’s, thrusting again, this time at an angle.  Beliond managed to block him again, and for a while, they battled back and forth across the practice field, with novices who had finished their day’s training stopping to watch from the field’s edges.

Finally, Legolas managed to get in under Beliond’s guard and touch him lightly on the ribs.  “Enough,” Beliond declared, with an approving look.  “You are moving more easily, I think.”

“It seems that way to me,” Legolas agreed.  “How do your arms feel?”

Beliond grinned. “Like I just spent three hours fighting with a mad young warrior.”  Legolas laughed.  He had seen for himself that Beliond’s reach was growing longer again.  The skin on his burned arms showed almost no sign of the injury that had been done to them.

The two of them moved toward the rack where the practice swords were stored, and Legolas suddenly became aware that the novices had scattered away from the area, leaving a single tall figure, who had evidently watched most of the last bout.  “Hello, Adar,” he said.

Thranduil smiled, but his eyes were somber.  “You grow stronger,” he observed, and Legolas nodded.  Thranduil looked at Beliond. “When?” he asked.

“Another week or so, I think, my lord,” Beliond answered.

Legolas shifted his weight a little.  It was clear to him that his father was reluctant to see him go back to his patrol.  “I will be fine, Adar,” he said.  “You should not worry.”

Thranduil gave a short laugh, and then put his hand on Legolas’s shoulder.  “I know that you will be fine.  You are obviously a skilled warrior.  But I will worry anyway.”  Legolas recognized the effort his father was making and, with a flood of affection, put his hand over Thranduil’s.

Beliond bent to gather the gear he had left near the sword rack.  “By your leave, my lord,” he said.  Thranduil nodded, and Beliond turned to Legolas. “I will see you tomorrow at the same hour,” he said and then walked off to disappear in the woods that closed in on one side of the field.

With Thranduil’s hand still on his shoulder, Legolas watched his keeper go.   The trees were in full summer leaf and a light breeze stirred them. Even from where Legolas stood, he could hear the songbirds, persistently warbling their songs, going on with their lives no matter what evil moved elsewhere.  And suddenly he felt an almost overwhelming desire to be in the woods.  He turned to his father.

“I think I will camp tonight, Adar,” he said.  “The time of year is too beautiful to sleep indoors.”

Thranduil looked for a second as if he would protest, and then his face softened.  “You have always liked being out at night,” he said rather wryly.

Legolas laughed.  As a child and a youngling, he had crept from the palace at night without permission too many times to count.  “You should come too, Adar,” he urged. “It is a chance for joy, and we should take it while we can.”

Thranduil blinked in surprise, and his face registered recognition.  “Your naneth was wise,” he said, “wiser than I always had the sense to recognize.”  He smiled slowly. “Perhaps I should join you,” he said, sounding more lighthearted.  “She is certainly checking on my behavior even now.”

Legolas laughed again and the two of them moved off toward home.

***

“Mae govannen, Beliond. You too, Legolas,” called the sentry.  “Welcome home.”

Legolas grinned at him, for in an odd kind of way, the camp of the northern Border Patrol did feel like home.  Or at least, it felt like where he belonged.  Other voices called to him too now, as he and Beliond rode into the camp and dismounted.  He turned a little apprehensively to scan the campsite for his brother, but suddenly Eilian was there, embracing him.  “I cannot tell you how good it is to see you, brat,” he murmured in Legolas’s ear, and Legolas felt a flood of relief mixed with the familiar love he bore for this brother.

Eilian released him, reached to clasp arms with Beliond, and hesitated, but Beliond smiled and grasped his arm.  “The healers say it will take more than dragon fire to do me permanent damage,” he announced, and, with an answering smile, Eilian grasped his arm in return.

“I have dispatches, Eilian,” Legolas told him, pulling his packs from his horse’s back and beginning to fumble in one of them.

“Get settled and bring them to my flet,” Eilian said, slapping Legolas’s shoulder.  He turned and walked away, whistling cheerfully.

“He seems glad to see you,” Beliond commented as they led their horses away.  “The Valar know why.”

Eilian did seem glad to see him, Legolas thought, and he was glad for it.  Despite Ithilden’s assurances, he had been worried that Eilian would be angry with him for having gone after Sinnarn and Amdir without telling anyone.  He patted his horse’s side and then picked up a twist of dry grass to use to brush his horse’s coat.  Next to him, Beliond did the same.

“Hello, Beliond,” said Maltanaur, and Beliond nodded his greeting.  “Let me finish tending your horse.  I want to talk to Legolas.”  Beliond raised an eyebrow, and Legolas turned to stare at his brother’s keeper.  What was this about?

With a half suppressed smile, Beliond picked up their gear to take it to the flet they shared.  “Wait,” Legolas said and fished the packet of dispatches out of one of his packs.  “I will deliver this to Eilian when I am finished here.” Beliond nodded and moved off without a word.

Maltanaur began peacefully brushing Beliond’s horse.  “I am glad to see you back,” he observed.  “Eilian has been fretting about you.”  Legolas looked at him from the corner of his eye, still tending his own mount.  “He has had a difficult time,” Maltanaur went on, “worrying about you and Sinnarn, deciding what to do with the bodies of the Dwarves, dealing with the idea that there is a very dangerous new foe in the north, and trying to keep the morale of the patrol high despite the injuries and death its warriors had seen.”

Legolas grimaced.  The purpose for Maltanaur’s visit was now obvious to him.  Eilian’s keeper had looked after him for a long time now and saw the worries that Eilian hid from most people with his cheerful manner.  “I did not mean to add to his troubles by getting injured,” he said rather stiffly.

Maltanaur laughed.  “I am sure you did not,” he agreed heartily.  “But you might think about the burdens your brother bears when you judge his actions toward you.”

Legolas had finished with his horse now and stood with one hand resting on the animal’s flank.  “He needs to stop babying me, Maltanaur.”

Maltanaur nodded. “Yes, he does.”  He smiled blandly and patted the neck of Beliond’s horse.  “If you are done, I am sure he is waiting for you.  He really has been worried about you.  You are more precious to him than you can know.  Eilian gives his heart wholly to those he cares about.”

Legolas had to acknowledge the truth of Maltanaur’s assertion.  With a nod of farewell, he picked up the packet of dispatches and started off to find his brother.  He scaled the tree to Eilian’s flet, calling a greeting while he was still some feet below it.  Eilian came to the edge.  “Come up,” he called with a grin, and reached a hand to pull Legolas toward him.

Legolas handed him the dispatches and Eilian dumped them onto a small table and then sat in one of the chairs near it. “Sit,” he invited, and poured cider into one of the two cups that waited there.

“Eilian,” said Legolas, accepting the invitation, “I want to tell you that I am sorry I left the camp to go after Sinnarn and Amdir without telling you.”  With Maltanaur’s words ringing in his head, he wanted to try to make peace with Eilian so that they could start again to work toward being captain and warrior as well as brothers.

“Ah, yes,” said Eilian, poking absently at the pile of letters, “we should talk about that.”  He looked at Legolas with an odd little smile.  “You have to let Sinnarn make his own mistakes, Legolas.  You cannot protect him forever.”

Legolas stared at him, open-mouthed.  Surely Eilian knew how ridiculous that advice was directed from him to Legolas.

Eilian laughed out loud.  “I know,” he assured Legolas, as if he had read his thoughts.  He leaned back and sipped the cider. “Do you remember that last evening when you and I quarreled and Beliond dragged you off?”

“Yes,” said Legolas, a little defensively. “I remember everything now.”

“I did not mean to suggest that you did not,” Eilian assured him.  “I do not know what Beliond told you that evening, but Maltanaur cornered me and told me that I was acting like an overprotective mother hen and you had a right to be annoyed.  Not a right to tell me, mind you,” he hastened to add, for a second turning into the patrol’s captain again, “but a right to feel that way.”

Legolas could not help smiling, and Eilian laughed again.  “I make no promises, Legolas, and I really cannot tolerate disrespect from you any more than I can from anyone else I command, but I will try to remember that you are a competent warrior and not an elfling.”

Legolas’s smile broadened. “Can I remind you of that if I do so respectfully?”

“Very respectfully,” Eilian responded, with a hint of a warning in his voice.  “But there is something else, Legolas.” And now he was serious again. “The person to whom you really owe amends is Beliond.”

“What do you mean?” Legolas asked, frowning.

“He is supposed to be guarding you,” Eilian said, patiently. “When you crept off, you made it impossible for him to do his job.  He was frantic when you turned up missing, and he knew it was you sounding the alarm.  How do you think he felt when you were badly hurt?  Do you think you are the only one blaming yourself that someone else was injured?”

Legolas drew in a dismayed breath. He had not thought of any of this, and while Beliond had scolded him for what he saw as self-indulgent agonizing about the Dwarves, he had not mentioned Legolas’s creeping away from camp.  “You are right!” he cried.  He rose and started toward the edge of the flet. “I should speak to him.”

“No,” said Eilian firmly, rising too.  “This was a public offense, and I intend to deal with it publicly.”  With a bitten-back protest, Legolas turned to look at him, but he found that Eilian’s attention had been caught by something on the table.

Eilian reached slowly out to select a letter from those that lay there, and Legolas was puzzled, because even from where he stood, he could see that it was unopened and was addressed to someone in Eilian’s own sprawling handwriting.  How could a letter that Eilian had written wind up in the packet of dispatches coming back to him? Legolas wondered, and suddenly it dawned on him.  The letter had been refused and returned, and he knew to whom his brother’s letter had been sent.  He raised his eyes to Eilian’s stricken face and tried to think of something to say.  But abruptly Eilian seemed to come to himself. He tucked the letter into his belt. “Come,” he said, giving Legolas a smile that looked only slightly forced.  “We will do this now.”

He followed Eilian unhappily down from the flet.  What could his brother be planning?  Eilian stood in the center of the camp and called the patrol members to him.  Legolas was not sure whether he was reassured or not by the fact that they were smiling. Eilian summoned Beliond to stand in front of him next to Legolas and then turned to take a length of rope from Lómór.

“Legolas,” he began, “like your fellow warriors, I value the bravery and skill you showed in going to the aid of others, both those who were members of this patrol and those who were not.”  Legolas looked into Eilian’s grey eyes and felt a flash of gratitude for the pride he saw there.  “However,” Eilian went on, “when you left the campsite without telling anyone, you did a grave disservice to Beliond, who, like you, has obligations to fulfill.  You need to remember that, in a patrol, your actions are tied to those of others.”  He stepped forward and tied Legolas’s right arm to Beliond’s left one.  “From now until sunset, you will not be able to go anywhere without informing Beliond,” he said.  He was smiling, but there was an underlying note of seriousness in his voice. “Not anywhere,” he emphasized, and the Elves around them chuckled.

Legolas looked down at the rope and then up at Eilian.  He opened his mouth and then shut it again and finally settled for saying, “Yes, Captain,” as meekly as he could.  Eilian grinned and then went off to read his dispatches. The rest of the patrol dispersed too.

Legolas looked at Beliond, who was smiling smugly.  “You knew about this,” he said accusingly.

“I suggested it,” answered Beliond.  He started toward a fallen log that the patrol used as a bench, and of necessity, Legolas followed.  The two of them sat down.

“Why did you not tell me how much my actions had cost you when we were home?” Legolas asked, still vexed that he had not thought of apologizing to Beliond then.

“It was not home business,” Beliond answered briefly.  “It is a matter of how we act in this patrol, and it should be dealt with here, among just the patrol’s members.”

Legolas sighed. He supposed that Beliond was right, and Eilian certainly could have imposed a worse punishment than this purely symbolic one.

“Has Ithilden ever told you about serving under me in the south?” Beliond asked.

“Yes,” Legolas nodded. “He told me just recently.”

“Then you know the price that can be paid if warriors go off on their own,” Beliond said, and Legolas nodded again. “I would not have you pay that price, Legolas,” Beliond said seriously.  “Even if it were not my job to protect you, I would feel that way.”  Legolas felt a spurt of pleasure at his keeper’s obvious affection.  “You made a small mistake,” Beliond went on. “Learn from it, but do not torture yourself with it, because for the most part, you made the right decisions.”

“Thank you,” Legolas breathed.  Over the last few weeks, he had gradually begun to feel better about his actions around the Dwarves. He had done what he could. No one could do more than that.

Beliond smiled. “Against all odds, I find I enjoy watching your back, young one.  Do not frighten me like that again.”

Legolas grinned.  “I think most people would say that I am the one who is working against the odds.”

Beliond looked at him with mock severity. “Curb your tongue.  You have no idea of the unpleasant places I could lead you to just now.”

Legolas laughed and turned his head to the sky to wait for the stars to emerge, not because he would then be freed from his keeper, but because it was a chance for joy.

The End