Third Age, 179.  Set immediately after ‘Mid Winter Gifts’, but not linked to that story.

Chapter One – Journeys in The Dark

The Mid Winter festival had been and gone, but the snows had only just started to fall.  Storms in the Misty Mountains closed the passes for at least two months each year, but Elrond and his family planned to stay in Lasgalen until the high paths were clear.

The first heavy snow unleashed a riot of snowball fights among the young – and not so young.  Several elves old enough to know better had been seen to fling a missile at an unsuspecting companion.

After one particularly riotous battle, all those involved were more than ready for their evening meal, and after changing out of snow-sodden clothes and bathing, gathered in Thranduil’s private dining room.  Supper was late in arriving.  At length, Galion, one of the more senior servants, appeared, profusely apologetic.  “Your pardon, your Majesty,” he began.  “We had a slight emergency in the kitchens.  However, supper is ready now.”

As the meal was served, Thranduil questioned Galion as to the nature of the emergency.  “It was two of the younger elves, Sire.  I sent them to fetch a fresh barrel from the caverns, but – but they appear to have got lost.  I sent several of my other staff to look for them.  That is why supper is late.”  He bowed, rather shame-faced.

Thranduil dismissed Galion’s concern over supper.  “They are lost?  Have they been found?”

“Oh, yes, my Lord.  They appear to have taken a wrong turning, and ended up in the deepest caves.  We found them a short while ago.  They are quite well.”  Galion’s expression, however, told that they would not be so well once he finished scolding them for their foolishness.

“Good.  Do not be too hard on them, Galion.  Those caves are like a warren.”

As Galion was dismissed and the meal began, Elrond looked across at Thranduil.  “I knew you had caves below the palace, but assumed they were simply cellars.  Do they extend far?”

Thranduil shrugged.  “It is hard to tell, they have never been properly mapped.  The main caves are well travelled, but there are some tunnels which seem to have no end.  I must have them thoroughly explored and mapped one day.”

Elrohir glanced up, a gleam of interest in his eyes.  “A map?  I could help, if you wish.”

Elladan sighed at his twin’s enthusiasm.  “That was the wrong word to use, with El around.  He will map those passages single-handed, if you let him!”  He exchanged a look of exasperation with Arwen, both well aware of their brother’s fascination with maps.

“Not necessarily single-handed.  I could also help, my friend.”  Elrond, too looked interested.

“Ada!  Not you as well!”  Arwen exclaimed.

Elrohir laughed at her.  “Why not?  Come on, Arwen, it could be fun.  We could make it a competition.  You and me, against Legolas and El.  What do you think?”

Celebrían said nothing.  She knew her husband and son well.  They had been lost the moment the word ‘map’ was mentioned.  And knowing Elrohir’s infectious enthusiasm, the others would soon be equally involved.  “If it keeps the two of you out of mischief, it must be a good idea,” she said at last.  “I seem to remember hearing a tale about you riding out into a blizzard the last time you were here?”

She referred to the previous visit Elrond, Elladan and Elrohir had made to Lasgalen.  Then, goaded by Legolas into hunting for hibernating spiders, the twins had been caught unawares by a severe snowstorm, something they were unaccustomed to in Imladris.  They had been lucky to return alive, and that, too, had been thanks to Legolas.  It had been a foolish, reckless escapade, but they had all been much younger then.

“This is King Thranduil’s suggestion, Naneth.  Of course it is a good idea!”  explained Elrohir patiently.  Nothing would deter him from the prospect of exploring the tunnels.  If they were uncharted territory, so much the better.  He had spent many hours with his father in the library at Imladris, examining maps of Númenor and Arnor, and the lands beyond the mountains.  This sounded like a fascinating challenge.

“If you are agreeable, then I would welcome the help,” Thranduil said.  “Thank you.”

“We can start tomorrow!”  Elrohir was still enthusiastic.  “Come on, El, you know you’ll agree in the end!”

Elladan sighed.  “I know I will.  Oh, very well.  Why do I always let you talk me into these things?”  he asked rhetorically.  It was easier, he reflected, to acquiesce quickly, rather than  resist.  The outcome was always the same, anyway.  “What about you, Ar?”

Arwen raised one delicate eyebrow, in a perfect imitation of their father. “Why not?  And I bet El and I will map the end of our tunnel before you and Legolas!”  she finished, less elegantly.

~~**~~

They began to explore the tunnels and caverns the next day.  Outside, the sky was dark with the threat of more snow, and a bitter wind blew straight from the mountains.  No one relished the idea of venturing outdoors unless it was strictly necessary.

Armed with torches, parchment and drawing implements, the explorers set off.  The main storage caverns were well lit by torches set in sconces on the walls, and candles and tapers were located by less well-frequented routes.  But away from the main areas, paths were less clear.  Thranduil had been right, the caves were like a warren.  Passages led off unexpectedly, sloping up, or running steeply down.  Blank dark openings appeared beside them.

When they reached the furthest of the main caves, they split up.  Elladan and Legolas chose a tunnel that plunged downward into darkness, while Elrohir and Arwen followed a route that started level but quickly veered off to the left.

As they walked along the steeply sloping passage, Legolas could hear nothing but the faint sounds of their footfalls, and the slight rasp of breathing.  None of the everyday sounds of Lasgalen penetrated this far, and their voices, when they spoke, echoed oddly.  They stopped periodically to chart their progress so far, and to mark the openings they had not yet explored.

“Legolas?  Have you been along these tunnels at all before?”  Elladan was walking ahead with the torch, and he turned to look back.

“Some of them.  My friends and I used to explore sometimes, when we were much younger.  But we always seemed to run out of candles, and had to retrace our steps in pitch darkness.  In the end my father put a stop to it.  We never got as far as the deeper caves.”

Before long, they reached the end of the tunnel.  A fall of rock and stone, many years old, blocked their way, and they could go no further.  Returning, they began to explore some of the side-passages, but most were little more than fissures in the rock, and were too narrow to pass through.  At length, they returned to the cavern they had started from.  There was no sign of anyone else, so they selected another exit at random and started down it.  This path twisted and turned, and it was difficult to keep track of the main route.

“My grandfather built this in the second age,”  Legolas explained.  “Part of the river ran through here and made these caves, and Oropher excavated some of the other parts.  My father sometimes tells visitors that deep, deep underground he has dungeons for unwelcome guests!”

Elladan laughed.  “It would certainly be hard for them to find their way out again!”  He stopped suddenly, and placed a finger to his lips.  “Shh!  Legolas, can you hear anything?”

They both listened intently, and could faintly hear the sound of distant voices.  Elladan listened carefully, then grinned.  “It’s Elrohir and Ar,” he said.  “We’re going to meet up.  Shall we surprise them?”  Making sure they had candles and flint to rekindle it if necessary, they extinguished the torch and concealed themselves in one of the narrow fissures. 

They soon saw the flicker of torchlight, and could hear Elrohir and Arwen approaching, talking animatedly.  As Elrohir passed him, close enough to touch, Legolas stretched out one hand and brushed Elrohir’s sleeve.  He stopped dead.  “Ar?  Was that you?”

“Was what me?” Arwen asked, several feet behind her brother.

“Something touched my arm.”

Arwen shrugged.  “Well, it wasn’t me.  You must be imagining things.”

Very carefully, Legolas touched Elrohir’s sleeve again, and brushed his hand against his hair.  Elrohir had turned to look back at Arwen, and jumped.  “There it was again!  Did you see anything?”

“There’s nothing there, El!   Just you, waving that torch around.  I can’t see anything the way it’s flickering!”

Elladan gave a low moan, and Arwen stopped abruptly.  There was utter silence for a few moments.  “I heard something,” she murmured at last.

“I know.  So did I,” admitted Elrohir.  “Arwen, come here.  Stay close.”  As Arwen moved towards him, he put an arm around his sister and passed the torch to her.  “Hold it up high, Ar.”

With one hand on his knife, he peered into the darkness, and called sharply, “Who’s there?”  Elladan gave another moan in reply, then burst out from the side passage with a yell. 

Elrohir jumped and swore, and Arwen gave a shriek.  “Balrog’s balls!  Curse you, Elladan!  And you, Legolas!  You scared us to death!”  Elrohir fumed.

“I’m sorry!”  Legolas laughed, sounding not in the least repentant.  “It was his idea,” he added, indicating Elladan.

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” retorted Elrohir.  “Come on, we may as well go on together.  But you two can go in front, where we can see you!”

After debating their direction, they set off along one of the side tunnels that Elrohir and Arwen had passed a short way back.  A maze of openings led off the passage, and was carefully marked on the map Elrohir carried.  Without warning, the passage opened out into a large cavern, larger than some of the main storage caves. The rock seemed different here, and high up on one side a dim gleam of light showed.

Legolas regarded the cave blankly.  “I don’t think I’ve ever been here before in my life.  I  have no memory of this place at all.”  He sighed. "I think we'd better go back."  They followed Legolas back down the tunnel they had come through, the torches flickering in the draught from the hole behind them. He soon faltered and peered down a tunnel that led off to the right. "I think that's the way we came - come on."

The cave walls in places glistened with water, and the air was chill. Their voices echoed oddly, and outside the circle of light from the torches they could see nothing. The tunnels and caves branched and interlinked, so soon they had no idea how far they had come.  The new passage continued to twist on itself but eventually they saw it widen ahead. They were again in a large cave - and high up a faint light showed. "How did we get back here again?" queried Elladan.

“I have no idea,” admitted Legolas.  “Come on, we should try again.”  They set off again down a different passageway, but very quickly this time came back to the same cave.

Elladan sighed in exasperation.  “This is ridiculous!” he complained.  “How can we keep coming back here, but can’t get away?   Perhaps it would be quicker if we climb up and get out of that exit up there.”  He pointed to the glimpse of light they could see.

“Well, if we do, you can go first!” Elrohir told him firmly.  “If you fall it will serve you right!  Legolas, what do you think?”

Legolas looked around the cave, up at the distant glint of light, and back at the tunnels they had explored.  “We may as well try,” he said at last.  “Arwen, do you think you can do it?”

The twins exchanged an amused glance, their animosity forgotten.  No one with any sense ever questioned Arwen’s ability to perform as well as her brothers, even if it was clear she could not manage to keep up.

“Yes, of course!  Can you?”  She glared at Legolas and flung the challenge back at him.

Legolas laughed.  “All right.  We’ll go that way.  It should be easy; it doesn’t look too difficult, but I’m sorry I managed to get us lost!  Elladan, you go first.”

Elladan jumped and caught at an overhanging rock.  He pulled himself up, finding easy hand and footholds, and scrambled up until he reached the narrow gap.  The light was temporarily extinguished as he wriggled through, then he turned to peer down.  “It’s easy,” he called.  “Elrohir – you next.  Come on.”

With a nod, Elrohir followed his brother up the side of the cave.  The first part of the climb was easy, but at the top the rock was coarser and more crumbling.  The stone beneath his hand suddenly broke free, and he clung to the remaining outcrops tightly.  As he worked his way higher another part of the wall fell away, and the rock beneath one foot loosened.  As he placed his weight on it to inch a little higher, the toe-hold collapsed, and he dropped down, clinging to the rock with just his finger tips.

The rock crashed to the ground far below.  He could hear a gasp from Arwen and a shout of warning.  Above him, Elladan called to him, and leaned forward, reaching downwards.  Finally finding a rough ledge to brace his foot against, Elrohir pressed himself close to the rock face and paused.  He took a deep breath, trying to quell the blind panic he felt and slow his racing heart.  He was now high above Arwen and Legolas, high enough that if he fell he knew he would be probably killed, or badly hurt at best.    Yet he was not quite high enough, could not stretch that little bit further to grab Elladan’s hand.

Very cautiously he twisted his head upwards to look at Elladan.  “El, I think I’m going to fall,” he said very calmly.  “Tell Arwen and Legolas to get back out of the way.  The rock is crumbling, the whole lot could give way at any moment.  Tell them!”

“Elrohir, you’re not going to fall,” Elladan told him firmly.  “Just keep still, I’ll try to reach you.  Stay there!”

Even as Elladan spoke, Elrohir felt his precarious foothold giving way.  He dug his fingers into the rock, clinging to tiny crevices, and tried to find another support, but it was too late.  Another stone beneath his foot fell, then a whole slab of rock, loosened by the other movements, broke away and crashed to the ground. 

Finally, the one remaining stone he clung to so desperately came away in his hand, and he fell.

To Be Continued

Chapter Two – Darkness Falls

Legolas and Arwen watched as Elrohir scaled the rock wall after his brother.  “Your turn next,” Legolas told her.  “I’ll go last.  I wonder where the cave comes out?”  He tried to match their wandering route through the labyrinthine caves against the twisting hallways of Lasgalen, and tracks in the forest.  “I think it must be somewhere on the south side of the hill,” he continued, “but I’ve never seen a cave entrance anywhere there.  It must be well hidden.”  He knew – or had thought he knew – every inch of the forest immediately surrounding Lasgalen itself, every tree and dell.  It seemed incredible that a cave entrance like this had been overlooked.  It would be interesting to see where he was when his own turn finally came to climb out.

High above them, Elrohir had nearly reached the gap when he suddenly seemed to slip.  Arwen gave a slight gasp.  “Be careful, El!” she murmured.  Recovering himself, he climbed a little higher, and they watched his progress anxiously.  He slipped again as the rock appeared to crumble beneath his feet, and both Legolas and Arwen jumped back as a shower of stones and heavier rocks fell around them.  “El, be careful!” Arwen cried to her brother again in alarm, her gaze fixed on him.  “Legolas, he’s going to fall!”

“Maybe.  Arwen, stand well back.  If he does fall, or if any more rocks come down, we’re too close.  Move away.”

They had no time to react.  As the stone Elrohir gripped broke off and fell, Legolas saw a great boulder, loosened by the other movements, come away from the wall, together with a shower of stones, pebbles and soil.  Elrohir fell with it, and he heard Arwen give a horrified cry.   

Legolas froze as the cascade of rock fell towards him.  It was too late to run or jump clear, but he instinctively tried to ward off the falling stones.  He ducked in a futile gesture, arms raised protectively over his head as the rockfall hit him.  

With a suddenness too quick to feel any pain, darkness fell on him as swiftly as snuffing out a candle.

~~**~~

Elsewhere, deep under Lasgalen, another mapping party was returning to the main caverns with a partially completed chart.  “These passages extend further than I ever imagined,” Thranduil commented.  “It will take far longer than I originally thought to map them all thoroughly, but at least we have made a start.  I wonder if the younglings have enjoyed themselves?”

Elrond was about to respond when he suddenly stumbled, putting out one hand to steady himself against the stone wall.  He leaned against the wall for a moment, his eyes closed.  Beside him, one of the off-duty warriors who had accompanied the expedition stepped forward in concern.

“My Lord Elrond?  Are you well?”  Then the warrior turned sharply as Thranduil, too, staggered and nearly fell.  His startled gaze moved between the two elf lords, both reeling as if drunk.

Elrond straightened, regaining his composure, and nodded.  “Yes.  But there is something wrong.  The children …”

“Aye.  I feel it too.  They are in danger.”  Thranduil’s voice was steady and his face impassive, but there was a deep anguish in his eyes.

The guard, one of Elrond’s most trusted warriors, a veteran of the Last Alliance, was dismayed.  “The young Lords?”  he queried.  “Prince Legolas?”  What disaster was this to affect the heirs of both realms?

Elrond frowned, trying to make sense of the simultaneous three-way stab of fear that had assaulted him.    “Aye.  Arwen as well, I fear.  What has happened to them?” he appealed, to no one in particular.

“We should return to the main halls.  I can send out search parties.  We will find them.  We must.”  Thranduil, in truth, was rather at a loss.  Here in the chill dank caverns beneath his palace he could sense little of his realm, his natural affinity with the forest lost.  Rock and stone did not speak to him as the trees did.  Bereft of his own instincts, he would instead rely on the highly trained, well-honed skills of his warriors and guards.  They would find Legolas, and his friends.  He prayed that they would be found in time.

~~**~~

Elrohir felt a jolt of pure fear engulf him as he fell.  Then pain knifed through his shoulder as his arm was nearly wrenched from its socket, and he jerked to a halt.  Startled and disbelieving, he looked up into Elladan’s white face.  His brother hung half in, half out of the narrow gap, both hands clamped tightly around Elrohir’s wrist.  Elladan slithered forward a little further, and they both dropped down a few more inches.  “El, don’t!” Elrohir said desperately.  “Let go!  If I pull you down as well …”

“Don’t worry, little brother – we won’t fall.”  Elladan spoke slowly and calmly.  “I’ve got my foot hooked around a tree root.  Come on.  I will not let you fall.”  Tightening his grip a little, Elladan gradually wriggled backwards, very slowly, inch by agonising inch, pulling Elrohir with him. As they reached firmer ground, Elrohir was able to grasp with his free hand at the cave mouth, reassuringly solid.  He was now able to help himself, grabbing at bushes and branches that overhung the entrance, but Elladan did not relinquish his vice-like grip until they were both out of the cave.

At last Elrohir lay on the icy, snow covered ground, gazing up at the darkening sky.  It was a beautiful sight after the long dark of the caves.  They were on the lower slopes of the hill housing Lasgalen, which rose steeply above them.  One of the stately beeches which graced the hill had fallen, presumably in the winter’s storms, and where the roots had been ripped from the earth the cave was revealed.  Legolas would probably mourn to see the fallen tree, then give thanks to Yavanna  for the continued cycle of life … Legolas.  And Arwen.

“Arwen,” he told Elladan breathlessly.  “Is she safe?  And Legolas?  Did they get out of the way?” 

“I don’t know yet.”  Elladan’s voice sounded tense.  He was lying flat on the ground again,  looking down.  Elrohir rose to his knees and cautiously joined Elladan at the cave mouth, peering down into the pitch darkness. 

“Arwen?  Arwen!  Can you hear me?  Are you all right?  Legolas?”  Elladan called down frantically.  For a long, heart-stopping moment, there was no reply, and the twins exchanged an agonised glance.  “ARWEN!”

Finally, from far below came a slight sound, and Arwen’s voice floated up to them.  “Elladan?  I’m here.  I’m all right, I think.”  She sounded odd, tense with fright and shock.  She sniffed.  “But I saw Elrohir fall, and all the rocks came down as well – they must have buried him!”  Her voice wavered again.  “El, what are we going to do?”

“I’m here, Arwen,”  Elrohir called reassuringly.  “Don’t worry, El caught me.  But what about Legolas?”

“Elrohir?  Oh, thank goodness, I thought you’d been killed!”  Her voice broke on a sob of relief.  “I – I don’t know about Legolas.  I don’t know where he is, I can’t see him, and he doesn’t answer me.  I think he must be hurt.”

Elrohir glanced at his brother at this news.  “We need to get help,” he breathed.  Aloud, he called, “Don’t worry, Arwen.  We’ll think of something.”  He deliberately made his voice bright and reassuring.

They could both hear her sudden smile. “Yes.  I know you will.”

Arwen’s faith in them was touching, but Elrohir wished he felt half as confident.  He called again, “Can you see anything, Arwen?  What about the torches?”

“We dropped them when the cave collapsed.  They went out.  I’ve found one, but I haven’t got anything to light it with.”

Elrohir cursed himself for his stupidity.  He should have ensured that he and Arwen were both carrying candles, and the means to light them.  He pulled off one of his boots, while beside him, Elladan felt in a pocket and extracted two candles and a tinderbox.  They pushed the candles inside the boot, together with two further candles and another box that Elrohir had been carrying.  A little awkwardly – his arm hurt and it was difficult to move his fingers – Elrohir laced the top closed tightly and leaned into the hole again.  “Arwen, I’m going to drop my boot down to you.  Move back.  You’ll have to feel for it – it’s got some candles and a tinderbox inside.  Are you ready?”

“All right.”

Cautiously leaning forward as far as he dared, aware of Elladan holding his feet firmly, Elrohir dropped his boot.  He heard it land with a dull thud, then a faint scuffling as Arwen groped her way towards it.

“I’ve got it!”  There was silence for a moment, then, “El, did you have to tie the knot so tight?  Ah!”

“Sorry,  Ar.  Have you done it?”  There was a faint spark, then a tiny flame flickered into life far below.  They could both hear Arwen’s sigh of relief.

“That’s better.  I’m going to light the torch as well.”  A brighter light appeared, and they could see Arwen gazing up at them.  She was very pale, and had a trickle of blood down one side of her face.

“Ar, are you sure you’re all right?”

She brushed at the blood, grimaced, and nodded.  “Yes.  Really.”

Elladan gave a sigh of relief.  “Good.  Can you see Legolas now?”

She turned away from them, holding the torch high as she looked.  Then she gave a horrified gasp.  “Oh, no!”  The light wobbled as she moved swiftly toward the cave wall directly beneath them and out of sight.

The twins flung themselves flat on the ground again and inched forward.  “Arwen, what is it?  Have you found him?”

Her voice trembled.  “Yes.”

“Well?  Arwen, is he – is he dead?”  Elladan sounded as if he feared to say the words.

There was a long pause, and Elrohir found himself holding his breath.  The reply, when it came, was marginally steadier.  “No.  He’s alive, but he’s hurt.  Badly hurt.  He was hit by the rockfall.  El, what are we going to do?”

“Arwen, try not to worry,”  Elladan told her firmly.  “One of us will run back to Lasgalen and get help.  Someone will come soon.”  He moved away from the hole, and looked at his brother.  “Well?”

“You go, Elladan.  You’ll be faster than me.”  Elrohir gave the faintest of grins, and lifted his bare foot.  “I’ve only got one boot, remember?  Go.  The sooner you get there, the sooner you can raise the alarm.  And take this.”  He pulled the map he had been making from his belt.  “I know we couldn’t use it to get out, we must have gone wrong somewhere; but it should help.  Have you got the other one?”

Elladan shook his head and gave his brother a long look.  “No.  Legolas had it.  All right, I’ll go.  Look after Arwen – she’ll be scared.”

“So would I be.  But you know she won’t panic.  And El – thank you.  I think you just saved my life.”

“Of course I did – I’m used to having you around, little brother.  I think life would be boring without you.”  He turned back to the cave again.  “Arwen, I’ll go and get help.  Elrohir will stay here and talk to you.  I’ll be as fast as I can.  Don’t worry!”  With a wave, he turned, slithered down the slope to level ground, and ran off through the trees towards Lasgalen.

Elrohir watched as his twin vanished into the dusk and steadily falling snow, then moved back to the cave.  Wrapping one hand around a thick branch, he lay flat again, peering down.  He could still not see Arwen, but light from the torch flickered dimly.  “Arwen?  How bad is it?”

Her voice was calm now, matter-of-fact.  “Bad.  He’s unconscious, there’s a bad gash on his head.  He’s trapped under the rubble, but most of it is quite small.  I should be able to move it easily.”  As she spoke, Elrohir could hear the clatter and clink of the stones as she removed them and tossed them aside.  He could also hear the soft murmur of her voice speaking soothingly.

“Who are you talking to, Ar?”

“Legolas.  Ada said you can never be sure how much someone can hear, even if they’re unconscious.  I’m telling him that I’m here, and you’re here, and that Elladan’s gone to get help.”

Elrohir grinned.  He remembered that lesson too.  Elrond had given Elladan a blistering reprimand when he had made a comment about a wounded elf brought in for healing, questioning the likelihood of his survival.  “Good girl.  Arwen, it will be all right; we’ll get you out.  Both of you.  Father will be here soon, and Thranduil.”

“I know.  Do you think he knows already?  Thranduil, I mean.”

Elrohir nodded, although he knew Arwen could not possibly see.  “He might.  Do you remember that time at home, when Legolas nearly drowned?   Thranduil arrived long before anyone could possibly have got back to Imladris to raise the alarm.  He knew.”

“I wonder if father knows anything?  I wish he was here.”  She sounded rather forlorn.

Elrohir knew exactly how she felt.  “So do I,” he admitted.  “Arwen, how are you managing?  Does Legolas look any better?”

“Not really.  Elrohir, I’ve moved must of the rocks and debris.  But there’s a large rock pinning him down, I know I’ll never be able to shift it.  It’s across his leg.”

“Then you’ll have to leave it.  Don’t worry, just do what you can for him.  We’ll just have to wait.” 

Waiting was the last thing Elrohir wanted to do.  He felt so utterly useless, peering down at his sister, unable to do anything to help.  His little sister, who was trapped in a cave with a seriously injured friend.    He knew she was frightened and lonely, and desperately worried; however well she hid it, however brave she was being.  But at least Arwen was able to do something, could help Legolas.  Most of all he wished they could exchange places, that Arwen was here in the safety of the open forest, while he was in her place, or Legolas’s.  It might, in some small way, assuage his guilt.

This was, after all, all his fault.  It had been his idea to volunteer for Thranduil’s mapping expedition in the first place, his idea to persuade Elladan and the others to join him.  He was supposed to be the one who knew about maps – so how had he gone so badly wrong?  If only he had taken more care in climbing the cave wall, none of this would have happened – Elladan had managed it without dislodging a single pebble.

Despairingly, Elrohir could only hope that Elladan would soon reach Lasgalen and raise the alarm, and would be able to lead a rescue party back.  Then an uneasy thought struck him.   How would the searchers ever be able to find their way through the maze of tunnels to the cave?  And with the cave wall crumbling and collapsing with every movement, how would Legolas and Arwen ever get out?

To be continued

Chapter Three – Whispers In The Dark

Elladan slid down the steep slope from the cave mouth towards flatter ground, and turned in the direction he fervently hoped led to Lasgalen, weaving through the bare, white-frosted trees.  The snow was falling thickly now, laced with sleet, and the icy needles made his eyes sting.  He took careful note of his route so he could retrace his steps – he  was not familiar with this part of the forest at all, and just had to hope he was going the right way.  The way their mapping expedition had gone so disastrously wrong, it would be the last straw if he became lost in the steadily growing blizzard, or was unable to lead rescuers back to the cave entrance. Then help would never reach Legolas and Arwen. 

Before long, however, the clustering trees thinned slightly and he found himself on a narrow path, one that seemed familiar.  He was going the right way.  The path led to a wider track, and ahead, through the swirling snow, he could just see the gates of Lasgalen, closed against the storm, and the sentries who guarded the entrance in all weathers.  They instinctively moved to bar his way as he ran at them out of the gloom, but then must have recognised him, for they stepped aside.

“I need to speak to King Thranduil, or my father,”  Elladan explained breathlessly.  “Do you know where they are?”  He shook himself, sending a small flurry of snow to the ground, and looked enquiringly at the guards.

They both seemed startled to see him.  “My lord, I had no idea you were out in the forest!” exclaimed one.  He turned towards the gates and called a command.  Silently, one of the great doors swung open.  “Is anyone else out there?”

“I need help,”  Elladan said to the guard, as they crossed the bridge into Lasgalen.  “There was an accident, a cave-in.   Prince Legolas and my sister are trapped.  And I think Legolas is badly hurt.  I came back here to get help.  I need to see the king, so that we can go back and find them!”

“What is all this commotion?”  asked a cold voice behind Elladan.  He spun around, his heart sinking as he saw Thranduil’s dour archivist.

“Lanatus!”  He began to explain again.  “I need to find my parents, or Thranduil.  Do you know where they are?”

Lanatus wore his habitual expression of disapproval.  “The King,” he replied, emphasising the title, “is off with your father.  He said something about mapping the tunnels.  I have no idea where your mother may be.”  Nor, his tone implied, did he particularly care.

Elladan sighed with frustration.  Surely there was someone who could organise the necessary rescue parties?  “What about Tionel?  Do you know where he is?”  Thranduil’s steward would be more than capable in an emergency.

As Lanatus shook his head, a door that led into the main hall opened, and Celebrían swept out, followed by Tionel.  “I told you, I have no idea where they are, or if anyone is injured.  But something is wrong, badly wrong.  I can feel it!”  She stopped abruptly at the sight of her son.  “Elladan!”

Celebrían gave Elladan a searching look, taking in his flustered appearance, and embraced him briefly. Her face was white. “What happened?  Where are Elrohir and Arwen?  And Legolas?”

Elladan clasped his mother’s hands.  “Arwen is fine,” he reassured her, “but Legolas is badly hurt.  They’re both trapped in a cave.  El and I got out, so I came back here to raise the alarm.”

Lanatus sniffed.  “You and your brother saved yourselves, but left the prince and your sister behind,” he stated flatly.

“No!”  Elladan exclaimed, horrified.  “I would never do that.  El and I were already outside when it happened.  There was nothing else we could do!”

Celebrían interrupted them.  “When what happened, Elladan?  I knew there was something wrong, but cannot tell what it is.”

Elladan explained as succinctly as he could. “There was a cave-in while we were exploring.  We’d got lost, and decided to climb out of the cave.  I went first, but part of the cave wall collapsed as Elrohir was climbing it – I thought he was going to be killed!  I managed to grab him, but Legolas was hit by the rock fall.  We couldn’t get back down to them, so  El stayed there, and I came for help.”

Tionel stepped forward.  “I have already sent for the guards, and alerted Calmacil to prepare his healers.  We can send out search parties in minutes.  But your mother did not know where to look.  Do you have a better idea?”

Elladan was about to reply when a door adjoining the kitchens that led down to the cellars and lower caves opened, and Thranduil emerged, issuing a stream of orders to a few servants and guards he had already encountered.  “… search every inch of those tunnels, they are down there somewhere!  Find them!” he commanded. 

Elrond brought up the rear of the group.  He spotted his wife and son, and went to them, embracing them both.  “Tell me what you know,” he said softly.

Elladan repeated his tale again, aware that Thranduil was listening intently.  He finished, “I left them there, I had to, but Legolas is hurt, and Arwen’s trapped as well, and El is on his own in the forest, in this weather!”  He took a deep breath, combating his near panic.

“Where?”  Thranduil asked simply.

Elladan described the cave and their meandering route, then remembered the map and thrust it at Thranduil.  “There’s something wrong, it’s not complete, because we couldn’t use it to find our way back.  But it’s close.”

Thranduil examined the map, and a half smile lightened his grim expression.  “It helps.  I know where to send the warriors.  Well done.”

“I think Elrohir and I came out somewhere on the south side of the hill.  A tree had fallen, and the roots exposed the cave.  I know the way, I can lead someone back that way, too.”

Thranduil nodded.  “Yes.  I know where the tree fell.   I had not realised it revealed a cave.  Elladan, would you lead the group that goes overground?  We may need to go that way if we cannot get through the tunnels.  Your father and I will use the map and try to locate the cave.”  He turned to the assembled search parties.  “Are you ready? Then go.”

As Thranduil headed one large group to search the sprawling tunnels, Elladan led a second party back through the doors, out into the bitterly cold night, and the swirling, billowing snow.

~~**~~

Legolas gradually became aware of a voice, speaking soothingly and gently, but it seemed to take too much concentration to make out the words.  He slowly realised he had been hearing the voice for a long time.  There was another sound too, a soft moan of pain.  Someone was hurt.  He tried to open his eyes, to see who it was,  who else was there, but it was too great an effort.  He gave up the struggle, and both voices faded into silence.

The first voice was back again, this time calling someone, saying a name.  His name, he realised.  He tried to reply, but was distracted by another cry of pain.  Why did the one calling to him not leave him to sleep, and concentrate instead on whoever had been hurt?

The voice was clearer now, and he began to make out other words as well as his name.  “Legolas?  Legolas, please wake up.  Can you hear me?  It’s Arwen.”  Someone was touching him, stroking his head, a soft hand brushing against his face.  He turned his head slightly, and heard another soft cry, as wave after wave of pain washed over him.

Ai, Elbereth!  It hurt.  Everything hurt.  He suddenly knew he was the one making the pitiful sounds, and bit his lip to prevent another moan.  It felt as if there was a heavy weight across his chest, and every breath sent another sharp stab of pain through him.  There was a throbbing ache across his forehead, and when he blinked, trying to focus his sight, he could not see properly.  And his leg … he bit his lip harder, tasting the sudden salt of blood, and swallowed a cry of pain.  Agony radiated from his leg, and he seemed to be pinned down by a crushing weight.

The voice continued to call him, still gentle and reassuring.  “Legolas, please wake up!”  There was a slight pause, then the voice changed, sounding full of anxiety, louder now.  “It’s no good, El, he can’t hear me.  I keep thinking he’s waking up, but he still doesn’t answer.”

There was something familiar about the voice.  He had heard it before.  Arwen.  It was Arwen.  He tried to speak through the agonising pain, and attempted to respond.

“Arwen?”    He heard nothing but a harsh croak, so swallowed and tried again.  “Arwen?”   His voice was just a faint whisper, but it was enough.

“Legolas?  Oh, thank the Valar!”   Arwen’s voice was gentle again, and full of relief.  “Keep still.  Don’t try to move.”

That was easier said than done.  He could not help shifting slightly, in an attempt to ease the discomfort, and turned towards her voice.  The small movement brought a fresh wave of pain, and he was unable to prevent a slight cry.

“I said don’t try to move!”  Now she sounded cross with him, but why?

“Why not?”  Only two words, and he had to stop to catch his breath.  He tried again.  “What happened?”  He blinked, and succeeded in partially opening his eyes, but the lashes were stuck together.  “I can’t see you.”

He heard a faint slosh and gurgle of water, then a wet cloth was wiped gently over his eyes and face.  “Don’t worry, it’s just a little blood.  Is that better?” 

Legolas blinked again, gradually focusing on Arwen’s face.  Flickering light from a torch washed over her, casting odd shadows.  Outside the circle of light, he could see nothing.  He frowned, trying to work out where they were.  “What happened?” he asked again.

She began to explain.  “The cave collapsed.  Some of the rocks hit you.  Do you remember?”

Of course.  He recalled looking up at Elrohir as he clung desperately to the wall, and seeing the whole side of the cave falling, falling towards him … Elrohir.

“Elrohir; I saw him fall!  Is he all right?  Arwen, where is he?”  he asked desperately, trying to push himself upright to look.  Pain clawed at him again, and he fell back with  a gasp.

She placed her hands firmly on his shoulders, holding him down.  “Stay there!  Elrohir’s fine, Elladan pulled him up.  You’re the only one that got hurt, but it’s going to be all right.”  She looked up at a patch of lighter darkness high above them.  “Elrohir, he’s awake!”

“Oh, thank the Valar for that!”  Legolas could hear the relief in Elrohir’s voice even where he was.  “Are you all right?”

Legolas smiled faintly.  “Oh, just wonderful,” he whispered.  He lacked the strength to call back to Elrohir. “Tell him we should do this again one day.”  To his dismay, there was a distinct tremor in his voice.

Arwen relayed the message.  “He says he feels wonderful!”

Elrohir’s voice came again, with a catch of laughter in it.  “Legolas, I thought you prided yourself on never telling lies?  What would your father say?”

His father.  With the odd awareness they had of one another, Thranduil probably already knew something was wrong. “My father.  Do you know where he is?” he asked Arwen.  He coughed slightly, finding it more and more difficult to catch his breath.

“Elladan went to find him, to get help.  I expect he’ll be here soon.  Legolas, some of the soil and stones that fell are still covering you.  I’m just going to move the last of it.”  She began to remove some small pebbles, brushing away dirt and soil that still pinned him down.  She moved carefully, but even the gentlest touch hurt, and he clenched his hands, willing her to stop.  At last she did, gesturing at the heaviest slab of stone that still pinned his leg.  “I can’t move this, it’s too heavy.  And if it drops back … I’m sorry.”

He did not want to imagine what it would feel like if the slab fell back across his legs.  “It doesn’t matter, just leave it.  Arwen, please – just stop.”  In an effort to stop thinking about the blinding pain in his leg he concentrated on his other aches and pains.  His head ached badly, and he could feel sharp splinters of rock digging into his back.  As long as he took shallow breaths, the pain in his chest was not too bad, but he guessed his ribs were either cracked or broken.  And it seemed to take far more effort than it should have done to focus on what Arwen was saying to him.  His mind was wandering, and that worried him.

She was talking to him again now, had been for some time, but he could not recall what she had been saying.  It seemed to be something about the time he had visited Imladris.  “ … and it surprised everyone when we won! Do you remember that?”

He frowned at her.  “Won?  Won what?”  He sighed.  “I’m sorry, Arwen, I wasn’t listening.”  His eyes drifted past her again, looking around the cave, listening.  The darkness and silence pressed down on him as heavily as the slab of stone,  and somewhere in the quiet he could hear the soft, sighing whisper and trickle of earth and stones moving and settling as the cave walls continued to fall away.  The cave would collapse again, he knew it, and he was trapped here in the darkness, unable to move, helpless …

With an effort, he wrenched his attention back to Arwen.  Her stream of small talk could not conceal how scared and frightened she was – not for herself, but for him.  Poor Arwen, she was being so courageous.  He forced himself to listen to her more carefully.  It would help both of them if they could talk of other times.  “And do you remember what Finglas said after the race?  He accused us of cheating!”  Her face was indignant at the memory.

Legolas managed to laugh as he recalled what had happened.  “Yes, and I tripped him up with the crutch that Elrohir had made for me.  He was furious, because everyone laughed at him!”  The laugh changed into a cough, and a fresh spasm of pain.  At Arwen’s look of concern, he tried to reassure her.  “It’s all right, Arwen, don’t worry.  I’ll be fine.”  She did not look convinced.  He could scarcely blame her, he did not really believe it himself.

More debris began to fall from the cave wall, and they were showered with a fresh fall of stone and rock.  Panic clawed at him.  Despite the fact that he was still pinned and trapped by the heavy rock, he instinctively tried to squirm backwards, away from the cascade of stone.  He did not move an inch, but was rewarded with a fresh wave of agony coursing through him, and was unable to stifle a gasp of pain.  Then Arwen was next to him again, as the rain of debris grew heavier.

This was it.  But there was no need for them both to perish.  “Arwen, get out of the way!  It’s going to come down again!”  But instead he watched incredulously as she came closer, leaning over him.  He was shouting at her now, in a harsh, gasping voice, channelling the sheer terror he felt into anger at her foolishness.  “What are you doing?  Get out of here, now!  Arwen, please,”  he begged her.

She swore at him, words he was surprised she knew, as the shower of rocks intensified.  “I’m not leaving you!” she shouted.  Then they both closed their eyes as the cascade of rock and soil fell.

To be continued

Chapter Four – Light At The End Of The Tunnel

High above, Elrohir waited anxiously.  Elladan seemed to have been gone a long time, and he hoped desperately that his twin had not run into trouble.  It was dark now, and still the snow fell heavily.   Had Elladan even been able to make his way back to Lasgalen in these conditions?   Despite this new anxiety, he knew he had to concentrate on Arwen and Legolas.  They needed his help now.

Clinging to the heavy branch, ignoring the increasing pain in his shoulder, he wriggled forward again until he hung over the edge of the cave, and could peer straight down at Arwen and Legolas.  They were talking about the Games at Imladris.  A torch, wedged into a pile of stones cast a dim light, illuminating the scene.  It was enough to show how Legolas was pinned down by a large rock, and the blood that smeared one side of his face.  He could only see the back of Arwen’s head as she faced Legolas, talking to him in a determinedly cheerful voice about the contests.  He called down to them softly.

Suddenly, the soft soil and earth of the ledge he lay on began to crumble and give way again, showering Arwen and Legolas anew.  He heard the panic in their voices, and shouted at his sister.  “Arwen, get back!  It won’t help him if you get trapped too!”  Legolas was pleading with her to move as well, but unsurprisingly, Arwen ignored them both and leaned over Legolas, protecting him from the falling stones, as he wrapped his arms around her head, shielding her as best he could.

Elrohir knew that it was his own movements that were causing this newest collapse, and with a sob of despair pulled himself back, away from the edge, away from Arwen and Legolas.   The movement sent more rubble falling, and Arwen’s voice came again, fainter now.  “Elrohir, move back.  Away from the side, I think that’s what’s causing it.”

Elrohir listened intently as to his relief as the shower of dirt and stone slowed, then stopped.  “I’m sorry, Ar.  Is that better?   Are you both all right?  What were you thinking of?   That was a silly thing to do, you could have been badly hurt!”

She ignored him, but called instead, “Is there any sign of Elladan yet?”

“No.  He’s been gone a long time.  I expect he’ll be back soon,”  he said reassuringly, although he was beginning to get increasingly worried.

“What if a spider got him?”  Arwen sounded scared now.

Elrohir’s spine crawled.  He had not considered the threat of spiders, they already had enough problems with the cave-in and the increasingly ferocious blizzard.  If Elladan had encountered a spider … he was alone, and unarmed.   He glanced around uneasily, but said firmly,  “Don’t worry.  We’re quite close to Lasgalen.”

“But Legolas told me that they sometimes attack someone on their own, even here!”

“He was probably trying to scare you.  Ask him.  He told me that the spiders hibernate in winter, anyway.”  The trouble was, he and Elladan had not been sure they believed that tale.

“Spiders hibernate?  Are you sure?  Where?”  She sounded very doubtful.

Elrohir thought quickly.  According to Legolas, the spiders hibernated in caves.  But he was not about to tell Arwen that.  “In tree trunks.  In dead, hollow tree trunks.  They’d all be tucked up asleep in this weather!  But why don’t you ask him?”

“I don’t think he can hear me.  Elrohir, his leg’s bleeding, a lot. It looks bad.  But it’s underneath the stone, and I don’t think I can do anything.”  Arwen sounded worried again.

“Arwen, talk to him.  Keep him awake.  You’ve got to stop the bleeding. If you can’t get to the injury itself, there’s something else you can do.  At the top of his leg there’s a pulse point.  Do you know where to find it?   Press there, hard.  It should help.”  Elrohir spoke calmly, but he was growing increasingly worried.  Legolas was obviously badly injured, and needed help urgently.  And where was Elladan?

Helplessly, Elrohir waited, calling down to Arwen, talking to her, hearing her disembodied voice drifting up to him as she responded.  He shivered as the wind howled around him, but then stiffened as another sound came out of the night.  It was a voice, calling him.  Elladan.

“I know it’s this way, we must be close now.  El?  Elrohir!  Can you hear me?   Are we there yet?  El!”

Smiling with relief, Elrohir picked himself up off the icy ground and moved away from the cave.  “El!”  he called loudly.  “Here!  Over here!”

In minutes, Elladan and a group of warriors from Lasgalen appeared through the trees, heavily armed with ropes, blankets, stretchers and medical supplies.  Elrohir greeted his brother warmly, relieved to see him in one piece. 

“Father, Thranduil and Calmacil are going through the tunnels,”  Elladan explained.  “I described the cave; Thranduil knew where it was.  But if they can’t do that, we’ve got ropes to bring them out this way.”

Elrohir breathed a sigh of relief.  “Thank the Valar for that!  El, Legolas is badly hurt.  Arwen’s been great, but I can tell she’s scared.  I hope Father will get there soon – for both their sakes.”

~~**~~

As the rocks fell, Legolas put his arms around Arwen, cradling her head against him.  He kissed her brow.  “Thank you,” he murmured.  “For everything.”  He felt her jerk, her body tensing as the rocks hit them, and she gave a hiss of pain.  Something smashed into the back of his hand as he held her, numbing his fingers.  Slowly the rain of stone eased and eventually stopped, and Arwen turned her head, calling something to Elrohir.

She spoke again, but Legolas was finding it hard to concentrate.  His gaze slid past her, focused on the darkness beyond.  Her voice seemed to be coming from a long way away, and he stopped trying to listen.  He was tired, so very tired, and it was so cold down here.  His attention drifted, and he tried to peer into the furthest corners of the cave, certain that there was something lurking there, moving just beyond the range of his sight.  He could hear it moving …

With an effort, he tried to focus on Arwen’s voice again, but it was becoming more and more difficult.  Despite the intense pain, everywhere else there was a creeping numbness that scared him.  He tried to concentrate on something else, anything else, and tried to recall the poems in Quenya he had learnt as a child.  But he could not hold on to the words, they kept slipping from his mind like a handful of water.  He was feeling increasingly sick and dizzy, experiencing an odd floating sensation, and tried to use the pain in his leg to anchor himself to reality.  Arwen’s hands were moving now, feeling along his leg, higher and higher, until she reached his groin and pressed down hard.

“Arwen!” he protested faintly in embarrassment.  “What are you doing?  Stop it!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.  “But your leg’s bleeding, and this is the only way I know to stop it.  Don’t worry.”

He smiled.  “You keep saying that,”  he pointed out. 

“But I mean it this time.  Did you hear that?  Elladan’s back, and he says your father’s on his way.  They’re coming through the tunnels.  Someone will be here soon, Legolas.  Stay with me!”

Either her voice, or perhaps it was his hearing, was fading.  Dim sparkles of light were appearing on the edges of his vision.  He blinked, but they were still there, flickering and dancing, brighter now, hurting his eyes.  Arwen was saying something else now, sounding excited and relieved, but  he could not understand her.  Wearily, he closed his eyes against the brightness again, beginning to find the darkness more welcoming, but then opened them once more as he was brought back to awareness by a sudden movement as Arwen leapt to her feet and shot across the cavern. 

Turning his head painfully, Legolas could see his father’s warriors approaching, Calmacil as well, and Elrond standing just inside the circle of torchlight holding Arwen tightly.  She moved then, still clinging to his arm.  She was pointing up at the cave wall, and at the fallen rocks, explaining what had happened.

There was movement beside him now, and an arm slid beneath his shoulders, lifting him gently.  “Ah, Elfling, what have you done now?”  Thranduil’s voice was rough, worried, but somehow reassuring.  Legolas leaned back against his father, feeling obscurely relieved, a remnant of his childhood belief that his father could do anything, would make everything all right – somehow.  His adult mind knew that it was not so,  but Thranduil’s presence was still comforting.  One hand caressed his face and forehead, the other took his hand.

Now Elrond and Calmacil were beside him, kneeling and inspecting the stone slab, their expressions concerned.  Legolas tried to concentrate on what Calmacil was saying, but it was hard, so hard to focus his attention.  The healer was holding a small cup towards him, urging him to drink.

“Legolas?  Can you hear me?  I want you to drink this, it will help you later.  Come now, drink it, all of it … well done.”

Calmacil’s instructions did not really make sense; for surely they intended to lift the slab immediately, not wait for the medication to take effect?  But Legolas had known Calmacil all his life, and trusted him completely.  He drank, barely noticing the bitter aftertaste.

Elrond was directing the guards, indicating, by word and gesture, how they would have to lift the great stone and ease it down.  “Legolas, are you ready?  We are going to move this now.  It will hurt,” he warned.

Legolas nodded, and managed to give a faint grin.  “It already hurts.  Just do it,” he murmured.  “Get me out of here.” 

He had not believed it possible that the pain could increase as the slab lifted, but it did.  Indescribably so.    Flames of agony flared through him.  He swallowed a cry, desperately afraid that if he made any sound at all he would not be able to stop screaming.

At last it was done.  He leaned back against Thranduil as the dizziness intensified.  He was dimly aware that his heart was pounding, far too fast, and knew he was gasping for breath.  He realised that he was still grasping his father’s hand in a death-like hold, and slowly released the grip.  He tried to will himself into a calmer frame of mind, but found he was watching Elrond and Calmacil as they inspected his leg.  Calmacil reached out to gently feel the jagged gash and splintered bone.

The pain was excruciating.   Legolas gave a sharp cry, arching his back in agony, trying to pull away from the touch.  Then the shadows, hovering on the edges of his vision, swooped down and engulfed him in darkness.  He was too tired to fight it, and allowed the dark to claim him, relaxing into the blessed relief of freedom from pain.

~~**~~

Thranduil tensed as Legolas convulsed once, then went limp in his arms.  His fingers automatically felt for and found a pulse, though it was beating far too rapidly.  He cradled his son, much as he had done when Legolas was first born, and dropped his head to place a kiss on the cold cheek, ignoring the guards that surrounded them.  None doubted the fierce love between the Elvenking and his only child, but few had seen it demonstrated so openly.

He raised anguished eyes and watched as Calmacil and Elrond worked together, cleaning, binding and splinting, stemming the blood flow and immobilising the shattered bone.  After what seemed to Thranduil to be an extremely long time, Calmacil called two of his healers over, and Legolas was moved, with infinite care, onto a stretcher.

“We can move him back to Lasgalen now,” Calmacil explained.  “His leg is badly broken, and it will be some time before he is able to walk again.  But there are other complications as well.  He was trapped for some time, and poisons can build up and are released in to the bloodstream.  Whenever he is conscious he should drink as much as possible, to flush the toxins out, but I fear he is likely to be very ill for a few days.”

Thranduil paled even further, and knelt next to the stretcher again.  Tenderly, he brushed a strand of lank, dust-encrusted hair from his son’s face before looking up at Calmacil again.  “I thought when we got here, and released him, the worst would be over.”

Calmacil shook his head sadly.  “No.  The worst is just beginning.”

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  I got information about crush injuries from my First Aid manual, and from the internet.  I hope it’s accurate!

Chapter Five –  Night Draws Near

Still waiting anxiously by the cave mouth, Elrohir heard the faint sound of many feet approaching through the tunnels, and saw a growing light below.  Arwen’s voice rang out in joy and relief.  “Ada!”

“Father’s there, and Thranduil.  It should be all right now,” he relayed to the warriors who had come back with Elladan.  He turned to his twin.  “I’m glad you’re back, El.  I felt so helpless, stuck up here and not being able to do anything!  Arwen had to do everything, and I couldn’t lift a finger to help her, or Legolas.”

Elladan smiled consolingly.  “Don’t worry.  I expect she felt better just knowing you were here.”

“Maybe.  I just wish I could have done more.  But I’m glad to see you – I was beginning to get worried.  Arwen thought you’d met a spider.”

Elladan shook his head ruefully.  “Not a spider, no.  Something worse.”

“Worse?  El, are you all right?”  Elrohir looked at his brother anxiously, but he appeared unscathed.  “What happened?”

“I met Lanatus.”  The simple statement conveyed a huge range of meaning.  The warriors surrounding them chuckled, all well aware of the archivist’s morose, pedantic manner. 

Elrohir relaxed, and even smiled.  “Lanatus?  I don’t expect he was much help, was he?”

“Not really.  He had the nerve to accuse us of abandoning Arwen and Legolas deliberately!”  Indignation coloured Elladan’s voice.  He was fiercely protective of his brother and sister, and the implication had infuriated him.  “Oh, that reminds me, I brought this for you.”  With a flourish, Elladan produced a boot from the pack at his feet.  “I remembered that you dropped yours down to Arwen.  You won’t want to walk back to Lasgalen with one foot bare.”

Elrohir took it, rather bemused.  “Where in all of Arda did you manage to find one boot?”

Elladan looked – shifty was the only word to describe his expression.  “There was a pair just outside Lanatus’s door.  You know how he never wears outdoor boots in his own quarters.  So I took one.”

“You stole Lanatus’s boots?”

“Only one! And I didn’t steal it,  I borrowed it.  There’s a difference.”

“There is?”  Elrohir sat on the snowy ground and pulled the boot onto his foot.  He sighed.  “It’s the wrong one, you idiot!  If you’re going to steal – pardon me, borrow – a boot, you could at least get the right one!   Anyway, why didn’t you take them both?”

Elladan shrugged.  “You know how fastidious he is.  How everything has to just so; in precisely the right place.  Can you imagine how furious he’ll be when he can only find one boot?”

There was another laugh from one of the guards standing by the cave mouth, listening.   It seemed there was little sympathy for Lanatus.  His dismal attitude and intolerance for anything that deviated from his own narrow world had not made him popular. 

“Elladan, you’re impossible!”  Elrohir stood, and looked down at his ill-matched footwear.  “I look ridiculous.”

Elladan grinned maliciously.  “But it’s better than nothing, little brother.  And I always said that you dance as if you had two left feet!”

The guard spoke up.   “My lords, your father says we will not be needed here.  We are to return to Lasgalen.”

“Good.”  Elrohir glanced back at the cave entrance, then ahead in the direction of Lasgalen.    “I want to see Legolas.  And Arwen.  Come on, El.  Let’s hope Lanatus doesn’t catch you!”

They set off, as Elladan muttered something under his breath.  “Catch me, little brother?  I’m not the one wearing his boot!”

Turning, Elrohir glared at his twin with exasperation.  Elladan had an odd way of dealing with his anxieties.  He hid his deep concern under a mask of frivolity and jokes.  To outsiders, it could lead to the impression that he did not care – and few realised just how wrong that impression was.  Elrohir could tell that beneath the light hearted banter, Elladan was desperately worried about both Legolas and Arwen.

He shrugged, then winced with pain.  Now that he knew Legolas and Arwen were being cared for, he had time to notice the growing pain in his shoulder, wrenched when Elladan had saved him from falling.  It was difficult to move his arm, and his hand and fingers were growing numb.  Surreptitiously he prodded his shoulder, then dropped his hand to support his elbow unobtrusively.  It hurt.  A lot.  Although it would not help anything to admit that just yet, Elrohir knew it would require some rather unpleasant treatment.

Elladan noticed his pallor.  “El?  Are you all right?”

Elrohir nodded tersely.  “Fine,” he said tightly.  “Come on, let’s get back.”

The group made their way swiftly back to the palace, the guards from Lasgalen easily able to move through the forest, although the heavy snow had obliterated all landmarks.  Elrohir was surprised to find just how close they were to Lasgalen – their explorations of the tunnels had led them for miles through the maze of passages, and he had completely lost his sense of direction.  

In a very short space of time, they were crossing the bridge.   Although the doors had been closed again against the storm, someone had been watching for them, for the doors swung open as they approached.

Elladan and Elrohir were directed to the infirmary to alert Calmacil’s staff and report the instructions that he and Elrond had relayed.   Celebrían and Mireth were already overseeing the preparation of Legolas’s rooms – it had been decided that he would have a little more privacy and comfort during the long weeks of convalescence there, rather than in the infirmary.   Finally finished, the twins returned to the hallways, hovering anxiously by the tunnel that lead down into the caves.  After what seemed like an endless wait, the rescue group finally appeared. 

They negotiated the narrow passages with great care, mindful of their precious burden.  Elrohir, although he had known something of what to expect from Arwen’s comments, was shocked, and he heard Elladan gasp beside him.  Legolas looked dreadful.  He was more than pale, and his skin, even in the flickering torchlight, had a greyish tone.  One side of his face was caked with blood from a deep gash, and his hair was matted, filmed with blood and dust.  His leggings – what remained of them – were soaked with blood, and had been cut away to expose his splinted, bandaged leg.  Thranduil, although uninjured, looked little better, pacing beside his son, clasping Legolas’s hand tightly.  Elrond and Arwen brought up the rear of the group.  As they finally emerged, Arwen caught sight of her brothers, and darted across the hall, hugging them both tightly.

“El, I’m so glad to see you!” she declared.  This time, it seemed, ‘El’ meant both of them.

“And you, Arwen,” Elladan told her, returning the embrace.  “Are you all right?  Are you sure?”  He held her at arm’s length, and studied her carefully.  She, too, was covered in dust, her hands scratched and filthy, with  very faint traces of tear marks in the dirt on her face. “El told me how brave you were.” 

She shook her head.  “I wasn’t, not really.  I was so scared.  I thought – ”  she glanced around, but the stretcher party, accompanied by Thranduil, Calmacil and Elrond, had disappeared towards the infirmary.  “I thought he was going to die,” she whispered.  “There was so much blood, and he kept – drifting away.  I was so glad you were there, El,” she added, transferring her attention to Elrohir.  “You told me what to do, and helped me to be brave.”  She hugged him again, even more tightly.

Neither his brother or sister missed Elrohir’s stifled gasp.  “El?  There is something wrong, I knew it!  What is it?”  Elladan insisted.

“My shoulder is dislocated,” Elrohir told them faintly.  The blast of pain that engulfed his whole arm and shoulder had left him feeling light headed.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Elladan asked furiously.  “Oh, El, I’m sorry, I know it was when I caught you.  I never meant to hurt you!”

Elrohir pushed him away.  “It’s not your fault,” he managed, cradling his arm again.  However he did not protest as Elladan seized his other arm and pulled him towards their quarters, as Arwen trailed behind.

“Come on.  Father needs to see you, now!  And if he can’t, we find one of the other healers.”  Elladan spoke firmly, and Elrohir meekly allowed himself to be hauled up the stairs.  Sometimes when Elladan assumed total control of a situation, Elrohir rebelled furiously.  At other times he fell in with the plans without a word of complaint.  This was one of those other times.

They met Elrond and Celebrían as they were leaving Legolas’s rooms.  Elrond looked weary and deeply concerned, but his face lightened as he saw all three of his children, alive and whole.  His gaze sharpened as his healer’s eye caught Elrohir’s odd stance, the way he supported his left arm.  “Elrohir?” he questioned.

“His shoulder’s dislocated, father, and he needs you to set it,” Elladan explained.

“El, I can speak for myself!”  Elrohir protested hotly.

Elrond stared at his sons, and they fell silent.  At his side, Arwen was tightly wrapped in Celebrían’s embrace.  Her mother soothed her, whispering soft words of reassurance as Arwen finally succumbed to her pain, worry and fright, and sobbed quietly in her arms.

“You go with Elrohir,” Celebrían said to her husband.  “I can look after Arwen.”  Still murmuring gently, she led Arwen back to their rooms.

“Come, then.  Let me look at your shoulder.”  In the room the twins shared, Elrond directed Elrohir to sit on his bed.  “Take off your tunic so I can see,” he instructed.

Elrohir tried, but was unable to raise his arm.  “I can’t.  I can’t move my arm, it hurts too much,” he admitted.

“Never mind.”  Elrond took a small, sharp knife, and deftly slit the tunic from hem to neck at the front and back, then peeled both halves away.  He looked closely at Elrohir’s shoulder, then placed one hand on it.  Elrohir felt a familiar warm tingle at his father’s touch, and the pain in his shoulder eased a little.  But when Elrond moved his arm a little, Elrohir again tensed and flinched slightly.  “Tell me what happened, and exactly how that feels,” Elrond told him.

Elrohir had spent enough time at his father’s side, learning about healing, to know that pretending helped no one.  “It was when I fell.  I thought that was it, but somehow Elladan managed to throw himself forward and catch my wrist.  The sudden jolt did something to my shoulder.  It didn’t seem too bad at first, or at least I didn’t notice it, but the pain has grown worse.  My fingers feel numb, and it’s difficult to move them.  And it’s not your fault, El, so stop that!  If you hadn’t done what you did, I think I’d be dead.”

Elrond sighed.  “It is as I feared.  It has been too long since you did this, and the muscles have become stiff, especially with the cold.  I cannot do this with you awake, you are too tense.” 

Elrohir nodded reluctantly as Elrond mixed some powders into a cup of water, and gave it to him to drink.  He drank the concoction quickly, grimacing at the taste.  He leaned back against the pillow, waiting for the drug to take effect.  “Father?  How is Legolas?  How seriously was he hurt?”

“Seriously enough.  His leg is very badly broken, and he was trapped for a long time.  The next few days will be hard for him – and for Thranduil.  But he is in good hands with Calmacil.”

Elrohir’s eyes were beginning to glaze from the swift-acting peles, and he yawned.  “I hate peles,” he mumbled.  “It always makes me feel so – so …”  his eyes fluttered closed, and his head drooped sideways to rest against Elladan.

“So what, little brother?”  Elladan asked softly.  He looked up.  “Father, are you ready?”

Elrond nodded.  “Yes.  Would you go to the infirmary and borrow one of Calmacil’s staff?  I will need another pair of hands.”

“Let me do it.  You just need someone to hold him, don’t you?  Then let me.  Calmacil’s staff will have their hands full tonight.”  He sat behind his brother, wrapping one arm around his waist, and placing the other on Elrohir’s chest to hold him steady.  Elrond lifted his arm, pulling and twisting it slightly.  Even unconscious, Elrohir moaned slightly as his arm was moved.  Elladan swallowed, and tightened his grip.  “Ssh, little brother,” he murmured.  “You know we will not harm you.”

At last, with a final manipulation, Elrond felt the shoulder joint relocate, and he smiled with satisfaction.  “Good,” he whispered.  He smoothed Elrohir’s dark hair, and tied a sling to support his injured arm.  “Thank you, Elladan.  I expect he will sleep through the night now.  If he does wake, tell him to stay in bed until I return.  The medicines I used will make him feel a little shaky if he tries to stand.”  He stood and stretched, sighing with weariness.  “I need to see Arwen, then I need to sleep.  And in the morning,  I will see how Legolas is.  Goodnight.”

Placing a light blanket over his son, he glanced down at Elrohir’s feet.  “Elladan, why is your brother wearing odd boots?”

Elladan gave a tired grin.  “It’s a long story.  I’ll tell you in the morning.  Goodnight.”

To Be Continued

Chapter Six –  The Longest Night

The room was in near darkness, lit only by a small fire of logs flickering in the grate, and a candle burning on Calmacil’s workbench.   Thranduil watched with one eye, idly, as the healer moved quietly to and fro, examining his potions and remedies, counting bandages.  There seemed to be a certain tension in his actions as he checked his supplies yet again.  As if aware of the king’s scrutiny, he turned, and glanced across the room to where Legolas lay.  Thranduil, though, had returned to his vigil as he sat at the side of the bed, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on his son’s face. 

Thranduil supposed it was merciful that Legolas had not regained consciousness during the long, tortuous return to Lasgalen.  The constant jolting of the stretcher, and the way it had to be twisted, turned and lifted as the rescuers negotiated their way through the narrower passageways, would have made the journey an unbearable agony for him otherwise.  But they had returned some time ago, Legolas was safe in the sanctuary of his own room, and he had still not awakened.  Again, both Calmacil and Elrond had assured Thranduil that this was also for the best, that Legolas would be in severe pain both from his shattered leg, and from the toxins coursing through his body now that the crushing weight had been removed.

That was small comfort.  It was heartbreaking to see Legolas so unnaturally still and lifeless, so pale.  One hand lay limply in his, and Thranduil caressed the long fingers, his thumb massaging the palm.  He murmured soft, nonsensical words over and over, that he, at least, found comforting.  It seemed he was not the only one to find some small reassurance in the action.  The lax fingers curled slightly, tightening their grip, and Legolas turned his head slightly, a grimace of pain creasing his expression.   With his free hand, Thranduil reached out, brushing the tips of his fingers very gently against his son’s face, drifting down to cup the curve of his jaw.  “Legolas?  Can you hear me, elfling?” he whispered softly.

There was the faintest of nods, and Thranduil squeezed his hand again.  “Good.  How do you feel?” he questioned.

There was a pause before Legolas responded.  His eyelashes fluttered, but did not lift, and he moistened his lips before replying.  “Thirsty,” he murmured faintly at last.

“Yes, of course,”  Thranduil agreed.  “Here, drink this.”  Disengaging his hand, he shifted his grip and slid one arm beneath Legolas’s shoulders, lifting him slightly.  Legolas flinched slightly at the touch, and he gave a soft cry, his body tensing.   His eyes flickered again, and this time opened slowly, blinking several times before gradually coming to rest on Thranduil.  He gave a very faint smile, and his hand groped blindly, finally gripping a fold of Thranduil’s robe.  Calmacil appeared at his side, and helped to support him, while Thranduil picked up the cup that stood, ready, beside the bed.  It contained a strong sedative and pain killer, and would send Legolas beyond the reach of pain for a few more hours.  Slowly, with much encouragement and prompting, Legolas sipped at the bitter mixture.  He was only semi-conscious, his eyes closed again, and his head kept sliding sideways against Thranduil’s shoulder, before he eventually drained the contents.  But before it could take effect, Calmacil filled the cup again, this time with water from a covered pitcher.  It was vital that Legolas drank as much as possible, while he was still conscious enough to swallow, to flush the accumulated toxins from his body.  Thranduil managed to coax him to drink two cups before Legolas turned his head away weakly.

“Please, no more,” he breathed.  A spasm shook him as he retched, his stomach trying to rebel against the fluid.  Calmacil sank down beside him on the bed, placing one hand on Legolas’s head, the other on his chest, as he drifted into a light healing trance. 

“Be still, elfling, do not fight this.  Calm yourself, no harm will come to you.  Rest now, and sleep.  All will be well.”   Calmacil repeated the mantra over and again, and slowly Legolas slipped into sleep once again, his breathing slow and shallow.

Thranduil had tears in his eyes as he gently removed his arm, and laid his son down carefully on the bed.  It hurt to see Legolas so weak and ill, in so much pain.  “Calmacil?  How bad is this going to be?” he asked flatly.  “I want to know.”

Calmacil nodded, then drew Thranduil away from the bed, closer to the workbench.  “Very well,” he said in a low voice. 

Thranduil glanced back at the bed.  “There is no need for this,” he said sadly.  “He cannot hear us.”

“Perhaps not.  But it can be very difficult to tell when he is aware enough to understand.  He does not need to hear this.”

“Hear what?  Calmacil!  Tell me.”

Calmacil sighed.  “At the moment, his leg is the least of my concerns.  That will heal, eventually, but it will take a long time.  For now, I am more worried about the side effects.  As you saw, he is in great pain everywhere.  He is nauseated, and it will be difficult for him to accept even water.  But he must drink, as much as possible, or …”

“Or what?  Calmacil, what else could happen?”

“Or his whole body could simply stop working.  I have seen it once or twice before, long ago.  You remember when your father had these caverns built?  The dwarves who were working in the deeper regions came across an underground stream, and the tunnel collapsed.  We rescued them all, eventually, but two of them subsequently died, for all their injuries did not seem that severe.  There was nothing we could do.”  Calmacil looked saddened at the memory.

Thranduil tensed.  “You mean he could die?  He has a broken leg!”  He sounded utterly disbelieving, and turned to stare in anguish at Legolas.  When he looked back at Calmacil, his eyes were wide with fear.  “He cannot,” he whispered.

Calmacil returned the look with almost equal anguish.  Raising one hand, he gripped Thranduil’s shoulder tightly.  “Not if I can help it.  You know I will do everything I can.  I – I do not wish to fail you again.”  The shadow of a never-forgotten guilt flickered in his eyes.

Thranduil shook his head.  “You have never failed me.  You will not now.”  But he spoke almost absently, and returned to Legolas’s side, sitting now on the bed itself.  He stroked Legolas’s head very tenderly, fearing to cause him yet more pain, then took one hand between his own.  “Oh, Legolas,” he murmured.  “I am so sorry.  I should never have sent you into those caves.  I never meant to cause you harm!  Forgive me, little one.”

There was no flicker of response, and Thranduil leaned back against the ornately carved bed head dejectedly.  He still clasped Legolas’s hand in his, remembering the tiny hand that had once fitted into his palm, the tiny fingers with their determined grip.

Some hours later, Legolas began to stir again, emerging from the realms of misty oblivion as the pain and discomfort began to override the waning effects of Calmacil’s drugs.  At his first movement and faint moan of pain, Thranduil jerked back to awareness.  Exhausted by worry and fear, he had slipped into a light sleep, but was now awake and alert. 

“Legolas,” he said quietly.   Legolas did not appear to respond, but moved restlessly again, and muttered something unintelligible.  Suddenly his eyes snapped open, and he looked straight at his father, but without recognition.  Before Thranduil could react to this worrying new development, the truth dawned.  No, he realised, Legolas was not looking at him, but rather past him, into the shadowy darkness.

Legolas widened his eyes, and he moistened his lips before swallowing.  “No,” he murmured.  Involuntarily, Thranduil turned to see what it was Legolas was looking at, but there was nothing there.  Calmacil’s candle flickered gently in some current of air, causing the shadows to sway and move as if alive.  Legolas peered at them fearfully, and he shook his head.  “There’s something there,” he muttered.  “Can you see it, Arwen?  I can hear it, moving in the dark.  It’s there…”

Thranduil realised that his son was not seeing anything in the room, but was caught in some evil memory of darkness.  He tightened his grasp on Legolas’s hand, but before he could say anything of reassurance, Legolas tensed and cried out again.  “No!” he gasped.  “Arwen, get out of the way!  It’s going to come down again!”  He raised his hands, as if to ward off something that threatened.  Thranduil caught at them,  capturing both hands in one of his, and soothing Legolas with the other.

“Hush.  It is all right, Legolas, you are safe now.  Have no fear.  I am here, and you are safe.  Safe. You are in your room, and safe now.  Hush, elfling, hush.”  Slowly, Legolas quietened, sinking back into sleep, and his racing heart slowed.  Equally slowly, Thranduil relaxed,  releasing his grip, and he stopped stroking the dulled golden hair.  What terrors had Legolas – and Arwen – endured while trapped in the cavern?  Was Arwen, too, plagued by nightmares? 

After a few minutes, Legolas’s eyes drifted open again, and he again regarded his father.  This time, though, there was awareness there, and his lips silently shaped a word.  “Adar.” 

“Yes, I am here, little one,” Thranduil told him.  “I want you to drink this.”  He raised Legolas’s head slightly, and helped him to drink again, first a cup of cool water, then another of the sleeping potion and pain killer mixtures, finally another cup of water.  “Well done.  How do you feel now?”  he asked.

Exhausted, Legolas lay back, drained by the exertion.  “It hurts,” he whispered, summoning his strength.  “It hurts so much, everywhere.  Why?  I thought it was just my leg that I’d injured.  It hurts, Ada.”  He reverted to the old childish name again, as tears of pain and weariness spilled from his eyes.  Helplessly, he gave in to them, too weak to fight.

“I know.  I know,”  Thranduil soothed, offering what comfort he could.  “It will soon pass.  Sleep now and rest, elfling.”   As his son’s tense body relaxed again, Thranduil looked up to meet Calmacil’s steady gaze across the bed.  He sighed.  “How much longer must he suffer this?” he asked.

“A day or two.  It will not be easy.  But you are doing well, both of you – at the moment, what you are giving him is far more potent than anything I can offer.  All I can do is to provide medicines to make him sleep, to take him beyond the reach of pain.  Your love and support will do much to help him endure this.  And he will survive it, he is strong and determined.  He has your stubborness!”

Thranduil nodded, and gave a weary smile.  He clasped the limp hand against his chest once more, though whether the comfort of the contact was for his benefit or his son’s, he could not have said.

To Be Continued

Author’s Note:   Many, many thanks to Nilmandra for her invaluable help on the effect of crush injuries on a victim.  Thank you, nîn mellon!

Chapter Seven – Dawn

Elrohir awoke slowly, coming back to awareness gradually.  He blinked sleepily, and gave a soft sigh as he stretched, still drowsy and half asleep.  The sudden sharp ache in his shoulder brought him fully awake, and he opened his eyes to near darkness. 

It was still night, and pale moonlight illuminated the room faintly.  Pushing himself upright, he looked around, and saw Elladan, laying with his back to him, asleep on the other side of the room.  The pain in his shoulder had now eased to a dull throb, and he adjusted the sling which had been placed to support his arm.   Clearly his father had displayed his usual magical touch in healing his shoulder, and he was grateful for the cessation of the stabbing pain which had been the last thing he remembered.  However, his father’s enthusiastic use of peles had, as usual, left him with a slight headache, and a foul taste in his mouth. 

Elrohir knew that a drink of cold water, and a little more splashed on his face would probably cure his ills, so he pushed the covers back and as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb Elladan, slid from the bed.  He felt a little unsteady, but put it down to the after-effects of the peles.  He stood still for a moment, his free hand resting on a chair back, then padded across to the bathing room.  Before he had got halfway across the room he suddenly stumbled, and even as he tried to regain his balance, his legs completely gave way beneath him.  He fell, ending up half kneeling, half sitting, in an undignified heap on the floor, and gave a gasp of pain as the impact jarred his shoulder.

Behind him, he heard a muttered complaint as the noise woke Elladan, then his brother shot out of bed.  “El!  What’s the matter?  What are you doing out of bed?”  Elladan knelt anxiously at his side.  “Are you all right?  What happened?” he asked.

Elrohir nodded.  “I’m fine,” he said, a little bewildered.  He tried to stand, but found his legs would not respond.  In an attempt to ignore his sudden fear, he continued,  “I just – fell.  I don’t know why.” 

“I do,”  Elladan told him cheerfully.  “Come on; let’s get you back to bed.”  Pulling on Elrohir’s uninjured arm, he hauled his brother to his feet and helped him the few steps towards the bed, steadying him as one leg buckled, and he nearly collapsed again.

Elrohir, back on the bed, regarded his twin suspiciously.  “What do you mean, you know why?” he asked warily.  “What’s wrong?  El, I can’t walk properly!”

“It’s just the medicines father gave you,”  Elladan explained quickly.  “As well as the peles, there was one that relaxed your muscles, to make it easier for him to fix your shoulder.  He said you’d fall over if you tried to stand!  He made me promise to make you stay in bed, but I don’t think he expected you to wake up just yet.”

Elrohir relaxed at the straightforward explanation.  “Well, I wish he’d told me that!” he complained.  “I was only going to get a drink.  The peles has given me a headache.”

“It always does.  Let me get you some water.  Stay there!”  Elladan ordered, as he disappeared into the other room, and returned moments later with a cup and a jug, filled to the brim with water.  He filled the cup, and handed to his brother.  “Can you hold it?”

“Of course I can!”  Elrohir all but snatched the cup from Elladan, splashing the contents a little.  He found he had to concentrate to close his fingers around it, but at least he did not drop it.  He drank, then sighed as he put the cup down carefully, his hand shaking a little. “Thank you, El.  Did Father say how long this is likely to last?”

Elladan shrugged.  “I think he expects it to be gone by morning, but he said he wants to look at you first.  How’s your shoulder?”

“Better,” Elrohir said, rubbing it slightly.  “It still aches a bit, but it’s a lot better than it was.”  He turned his hands over, inspecting them.  They too were healing, though still a little tender.  There had been deep lacerations across the palms, ingrained with dirt, and his fingertips had been scraped raw, the nails torn and broken from where he had tried desperately to cling to bare rock.  Now they were clean, the dirt washed away, the nails were trimmed, and a light salve had been rubbed into the raw skin.  “He did my hands as well,”  Elrohir commented.

“I did that,”  Elladan said.  He gave a sympathetic smile.  “Poor Father, he was torn in every direction.  He wanted to look after you, and Arwen, and see to Legolas.  In the end, after he’d done your shoulder, he had to go to Arwen.  She woke up with a nightmare – I can’t say I’m surprised.  So I saw to your hands – I thought it would be easier while you were asleep.  It looked painful.”

Elrohir inspected his hands again, then looked up at his twin with a smile.  “It was.  You know what grazes are like.  Thank you, El,” he said again.  “Is Arwen all right?  You said she had a nightmare.”

“I think so.”  Elladan crossed the room again, returning to his own bed.  “Mother was going to stay with her tonight, but I don’t expect she’ll wake up again.  Not if Father has anything to do with it!”

Elrohir smiled.  At home in Imladris, he and Elladan had had their own rooms for many years now, and he relished the privacy it gave him.  But there were drawbacks, too.  Late night discussions like this, when they had talked about anything and everything, both on the edge of sleep, were one of the things he missed most.

He yawned, fighting the remnants of the last dregs of the peles.  “El?  Do you think Legolas is going to be all right?  Did Father say anything else?”

“He didn’t say anything to me.  But he was worried, wasn’t he?”  Elladan sighed.  “I suppose we will find out more in the morning.  There’s nothing we can do now.  We’d better go back to sleep, little brother.  Goodnight.”

“Don’t call me that!”  Elrohir protested, for what was probably the thousandth time.   “We’re twins,” he explained, yet again.  “That means that our conception was the same time.  So you’re exactly the same age as me!  Just because you were born a few minutes earlier makes no difference, you know.”

“I know,”  Elladan responded sleepily.  “But it always annoys you so much.  Goodnight, little brother.”

Elrohir gave a snort of exasperation, and would have responded.  But he was more than half asleep.  He fell into dreams still trying to think of a suitable retaliation.

By morning, the headache had gone, although his shoulder still throbbed.  He was impatient to rise, but Elladan proved unexpectedly stubborn in refusing to allow him to move.  “Father said you weren’t to get up until he said so,”  Elladan repeated wearily.  “I told you that!  Why are you always so difficult?”

Elrohir scowled.  “Well, go and get him then.  But if you’re not back in a few minutes, I’ll come and find him myself!” 

Elladan glared back at him.  “Yes, and  probably fall down the stairs as well if the drugs haven’t worn off!  El, please wait until I come back.  I’ll be as quick as I can.  Just stay there!”

Elrohir waited impatiently, but Elladan had barely left before he returned with their father.  “He was already on his way,”  he explained.

Elrond placed his hand on Elrohir’s shoulder, sensing the healing muscles and tendons beneath.  Warmth spread from his touch, and Elrohir again felt the discomfort ease.  “How does that feel now?”

“Much better than it did last night.  But it still hurts if I move my arm too much,” Elrohir admitted.

“Then try not to move it, at least for a day or two.  You will know when it eases.  Now, let me see if the drugs have lost their effect.  Grip my hand.”

Elrohir took his father’s hand, squeezing it as hard as he could.  When he released his grip, Elrond’s fingers were white.  “Well, there is no weakness there,” he said calmly.  “Now close your eyes and hold out your other arm.”

Elrohir obeyed,  making a remarkably rude gesture at Elladan as he heard his twin give a snort of laughter.  His father ignored it, but merely said, “Now touch your nose …  good.  Your coordination is not affected.  In that case, I see no reason why you cannot get up.”

His delight in this pronouncement was tempered by the sheer awkwardness of having one arm immobilised by the sling.  The greatest frustration was his difficulty in doing even the simplest task.  Attempting to do anything one-handed was awkward, but if he moved his injured arm even a little, a jolt of pain stabbed through his shoulder.  He could dress – slowly – and could even fasten the lacings with care.

Yet some things were beyond him.  After brushing his hair, he threw the brush down with a growl of impatience.  “El?  Would you – ” he began.

“Help you braid your hair?  Yes, of course, little brother.  I was just waiting for you to ask.”  Elladan gave him a broad smile.  “It will be easier if you sit down.”  Swiftly, Elladan plaited his hair into the style Elrohir usually favoured, then produced a mirror with a flourish.  “You see?  As good as ever.  And remember, any time you need help braiding your hair while your arm still pains you, let me know.”

Elrohir sighed.  “Thank you, El.  I just wish I could do things for myself!  Come on, I want to see if Arwen’s all right, and if Father knows anything else about Legolas.”

There was little news.  Arwen was restored to her usual self, if a little self-conscious of her tears the night before, and Elrond reported that Legolas was much the same, and still not well enough for anyone to see him for more than a few minutes.  The day dragged.  There was little to do; a storm raged outside, and an atmosphere of gloom pervaded Lasgalen.  Eventually, Elladan and Elrohir joined with the warriors who had also been mapping the tunnels and passages,  and they set to compiling a map as Thranduil had originally planned.  There would be something to show for it, at the end of this disaster.

Meanwhile, Calmacil and Thranduil maintained their mostly silent vigil.  Elrond joined them, and he and Calmacil conferred quietly, knowing all they could do was wait.  Legolas alternated between sleep and deep unconsciousness.  At times, as the drugs wore off, he would stir restlessly, sometimes trapped in nightmares or hallucinations.  He would shy away from a touch, or stare unseeingly into the shadows of his room, murmuring about the darkness.  Finally, in the evening, he regained consciousness again, appearing at first a little more lucid.  However, as Thranduil offered a little more of the medicines, Legolas flinched away in distress. 

“No.  No more.  Please …”  He looked around, a little desperately, an expression of extreme discomfort crossing his face.  Calmacil, experienced in the needs of bed-bound patients, appeared at his side, holding a squat, oddly-shaped bottle, flat sided, and with a short, wide neck.  Legolas snatched the bottle from him, and it disappeared beneath the sheet.  He leaned back against the piled-up pillows with a sigh of relief.  “Thank you, Calmacil,” he breathed.

Calmacil watched him with a sense of relief nearly as great as his patient’s.  “Good,”  he nodded.  “Very, very good.”  He smiled at Thranduil.  “Everything is working exactly as it should,”  he explained.  “Now I know he will recover.”  This time, when Thranduil offered the cup containing  the sleeping draught, Legolas did not protest, but drained the contents quickly.

He grimaced.  “I thought it would taste better as I got used to it,” he whispered.  He shifted in discomfort, and leaned against his father as Calmacil rearranged the pillows, struggling to stay awake, but the drugs and the continuing pain in his leg were overwhelming him again.  As he drifted into sleep, he felt Thranduil’s strong arm around him, protecting him, warding off all evils.  He slept, peacefully.

Early the next morning, Calmacil was startled awake by a gentle tap on the door.  After a very short pause, it was repeated.  Shaking himself awake, he staggered to the door and opened it to Elladan and Elrohir, easy to distinguish for once because of the sling on Elrohir’s arm.

“Good morning, Calmacil.  I wondered how Legolas is today.  Can we see him, do you think?”  Elladan had started the request,  but halfway through, the conversation segued seamlessly between them, until Elrohir was speaking at the end.

Calmacil glanced behind him, then nodded.  “I see no reason why not.  He is asleep at the moment, though, so please do not wake him.”

The twins crossed the room silently, and greeted Thranduil, who again looked as if he had not slept all night.  Elladan had seen exactly that expression of helplessness, exhaustion and fear on his own father’s face when Elrohir had been seriously injured in a fall from the rooftops of Imladris when they had been much younger.  Elrond had kept a silent watch over his son in just this way.

“How is he?”  Elrohir asked quietly.

“A little better, according to Calmacil.  At least he is just asleep now,  and no longer unconscious.  But it will be several days before he is able to move from here.”

Elladan and Elrohir perched together on a chair beside the bed, seated on one arm each, and looked at Legolas.  He was very pale, and the bruises and scratches on his face and hands stood out in startling contrast.   Long, dark lashes showed up starkly against the pallor, but although his eyes were still closed, there was a subtle difference from the blank unconsciousness of the day before.

“What about his leg?”  questioned Elladan.  “Will it heal properly?  Will he be able to walk?”

Calmacil appeared behind them.  “It will heal in time,” he assured them.  “He may have a limp for several months, and some scarring, but he is lucky.”

“Lucky?”  they echoed in incredulous unison.

Calmacil smiled.  “Yes, lucky,” he repeated lightly.  “He has two of the best healers in all of Arda here to care for him.  Between us, your father and I will ensure he recovers now.”

Although they had been speaking very quietly, their voices gradually penetrated Legolas’s sleep – a further sign that he was indeed a little better.  Slowly, his eyes opened, and he focused on his visitors.  But then, with a soft sigh, he turned away again.

Thranduil was immediately alarmed.  “Legolas?  What is it?  Are you in pain?”  He was about to call Calmacil, but the healer was already at his side.

“Father?  Was I struck on the head as well?”  Legolas asked softly.  “For my vision is faulty.  I fear I can see double.”

Thranduil smiled in response, immensely relieved that Legolas was able to make a joke, even one so feeble.  “Alas, I fear your eyes see truly.  There are indeed two.”

Elladan smiled.  “Well, we’re pleased to see you as well.  Aren’t we, El?”

Elrohir nodded.  “Although I think perhaps you did strike your head – clearly your wits have been affected.  You can usually think of a far better insult than one so well-worn!”

Legolas gave a half-laugh, but it changed to a grimace of pain.  Silently, Thranduil handed him a cup containing watered wine, mixed with sleeping herbs, which Legolas drained without a murmur – a clear indication of his agony.  “My wits are addled,” he agreed.  “Between them, your father and mine seem determined to keep me drugged senseless.  I don’t think my mind will ever be clear again!”  He blinked as the draught began to take effect.   “Where is Arwen?”  he asked with a yawn.  “I wanted to thank her.  I wanted – ”  He was struggling now to stay awake. “I wanted to say thank you,” he murmured, as his eyes closed again, and the expression of pain eased.

“We’ll ask Arwen to come again a little later,”  Elrohir said to Thranduil.  “I know she’ll be relieved to see him looking a bit better.”

“Yes,”  Elladan agreed.  “I could tell how worried she was when she looked in earlier.”  He stood, glancing down at Legolas one last time.  “I’m glad you’re a little better, Leg’as,”  he said softly.

Elrohir nodded.  “We’ll come back later,” he promised.  “Goodbye.”

As the twins left, Calmacil approached Thranduil with another dose of his potion.  “I am going to invoke my healer’s prerogative,” he announced.  “I want you to rest.  Either voluntarily, or not.   I insist on it.  He is sleeping now, and will be well.  Now that the danger is over, you will rest.”

Thranduil did not even argue.  Legolas’s bed was large – as a child he had been a restless sleeper.  There was more than enough room for two.  He lay down at his son’s side, and was asleep almost immediately.

To Be Continued

 Author's Notes:  Ithilien requested an explanation of what's wrong with Legolas (apart from the broken leg).  As I understand it, when someone is trapped for a period of time, the lack of blood flow causes lactic acid and electrolytes to build up in the crushed muscles.  When the patient is freed, the chemicals are also released as blood circulates again, causing great pain.  They can then clog up all the major organs, leading to damage or death.  Crush injury syndrome or multiple organ failure is apparently a real hazard in such accidents.  His sypmtoms are nothing to do with the rocks themselves, just the fact that he was underneath them for rather a long time.

Legolas is lucky - he's got two pretty good healers looking after him.

Nilmandra sent me this information a month ago, and I think I have the basics.  If any of it's wrong, it's my memory at fault, not her!

Chapter Eight – Memories of Darkness

Calmacil warded off all visitors for the rest of that morning, leaving Thranduil and Legolas to sleep.  Thranduil was clearly mellowing – at one time it had been necessary to surreptitiously drug him to force him to rest.  Though rather unethical, Calmacil had never had any qualms about it.  There were some times when such things were necessary.

He even managed to rest himself, dozing lightly in the chair next to the bed.  Now that he was confident that Legolas would recover – and for a while he and Elrond had been anything but certain of that – he did not need to monitor Legolas’s condition constantly.  It was sufficient that his outstretched hand rested lightly on Legolas’s shoulder – he would know instantly if his patient stirred or awakened. 

The sound of a soft knock woke him, then Elrond was standing by the bed.  “How peaceful you all look,” he commented quietly.  “My sons told me that they had spoken to Legolas.  Now Arwen is pestering me to let her see him as well.  I came to see if he was awake – but as it is, we can return later.  I will leave you now.”

Before Elrond could take his leave, Thranduil, always partially on his guard, awakened suddenly.  He blinked and sat up smoothly, a little discomfited to have been, quite literally, caught napping.

“My apologies,”  Elrond told him.  “I did not mean to disturb you. Arwen can come back later.”

“No,” Legolas murmured, also awakening.  “Tell her to come back now.  I told Ellahir I wanted to see her.  Is she outside?”  He blinked and shook his head, a little disorientated by the medication.  “I want to see her,” he repeated.

Elrond glanced at Thranduil for confirmation.  “Are you sure?  I had no intention of awakening you all.”

Thranduil looked questioningly at his son, then nodded.  “Of course.”

Arwen, hovering by the door, did not wait for a further invitation, but approached, a little hesitantly.  “I wanted to come before,” she explained.  “But they wouldn’t let me.  Then, when they did, you were asleep.”  She sat carefully on the edge of the bed, and hugged Legolas.  “Are you really all right?  Elladan and Elrohir said you were looking better.”

“I feel a lot better than I did.  If your father and Calmacil would just stop dosing me with their potions, I’d feel even better!  Arwen – thank you.  For everything.  Just having someone to talk to … thank you.”  He moved restlessly again, then continued, “What about you?  Are you all right?  I thought …”  he paused, frowning with the effort to remember.  “Weren’t you hurt when the rocks fell the second time?”

She shook her head.  “It was nothing.  Just a bruise on my back.  Ada’s already seen it.”

“What do you mean?”  asked Elrond sharply.

“The rocks fell a second time?”  Thranduil added.

Legolas and Arwen exchanged a glance and laughed.  For a moment, the two anxious fathers had sounded remarkably like the twins.

“Legolas, I still do not know exactly what happened in the caves,” Thranduil continued.  “Can you tell me now?  And what is this about the rocks falling again?”

Legolas explained, as best as he could recall events, everything that had happened.  “There are some parts it’s hard to remember,” he admitted.  “Everything seems rather – blurred.  As if it happened to someone else.  But I remember the rocks falling.  And do you know what Arwen did then?” he demanded.

“Legolas, no!  Please don’t!” she protested in embarrassment.

Legolas ignored her pleas, and continued, “I was trapped; I couldn’t move at all.  The stones were falling all around me – I was scared.  I really thought I was going to be killed.  Then Arwen, she leaned over me.  Elrohir and I both shouted  at her to move, but she wouldn’t.  She said she wasn’t going to leave me.”

Arwen’s ears were pink, and she would not look at Legolas or her father.  Elrond lifted her chin with one finger and smiled at her.  “That was rather foolish of you, but extremely courageous.  Well done, my dear.”

“It was one of the bravest things I’ve ever seen.  Thank you, Arwen.”  Legolas kissed her cheek, and she blushed again.  As he moved uncomfortably yet again, Calmacil watched carefully, noticing his tension, and the lines of pain around his eyes.

“Is your leg hurting again?  Do you need some more of the medicines?”

“It is hurting, yes – but I don’t want to take anything for it yet.  I can put up with it for a little longer,”  Legolas told him.  “I don’t want to sleep all the time!”   Despite his words, he yawned, scowling as the others tried not to laugh.

Calmacil crossed to the table he was using as a workbench, picked up a small bottle, and poured a little into a cup of wine, topping it up with water.  “Try this.  It will ease the pain a little.  It is not quite as effective as the peles, but does not induce sleep.  Remember, though, that you will need to rest and sleep far more than normal as you heal.”

Legolas took the goblet, sniffed it, then took a cautious sip.  “At least it tastes better than the peles,” he agreed.  “When will I be able to get up?  I hate being confined to bed like this!”

“Not for several days yet,” Calmacil told him firmly.  “Do not even consider it!  If you fell, you could do irreparable damage, and at the very least have a permanent limp.”

Legolas gazed at Calmacil, reading the stark truth of his words.  Behind Calmacil, Elrond was nodding his agreement.  Reluctantly, Legolas nodded.  “Very well, I’ll stay here.”  He sighed.  “This is going to be the longest week of my life!”  He took another drink of the wine Calmacil had given him, relaxing a little as the pain eased, and turned to his father.  “Did you find whatever it was that lived down in the caves?  I never did see it properly.  What was it?”

Thranduil looked at him oddly.  “What do you mean, elfling?  We found nothing.”

“There was something there, lurking in the shadows.  I saw its eyes – at least, I think it must have been its eyes.  Arwen?  What did you think it was?”

Startled, Arwen shook her head, her eyes wide.  “There was nothing there, Legolas,” she whispered.

He looked at her in surprise.  “Of course there was!  It was quite big, whatever it was.  And dark.  It blended in with the shadows.  But you must have seen something!”

Before Arwen could answer, Thranduil spoke.  “There was nothing.  The warriors who accompanied me stayed to see if it would be possible to seal off the cave.  If there had been anything there, they would have seen it.”  He sounded troubled.

“It was there!”  Legolas insisted.  “I saw it.  I heard it.  It was moving …”  He shivered at the memory.

Thranduil moved a little closer, putting his arm around his son.  “You said something similar last night.  You half-awoke, and seemed to be able to see something in the shadows cast by the candle flame.  You were only semi-conscious.  Calmacil said – he said it was a hallucination.”

“He thinks I imagined it?”  Legolas asked indignantly.

“Yes,”  Thranduil confirmed gently.

Calmacil nodded.  “When we arrived, you had been trapped for some time.  You were not quite – rational.  I think a combination of the blow to your head, the pain, and the blood loss, caused you to hallucinate, and see things that most definitely were not there.”

Legolas stared at the two healers; then at Arwen and his father, who both seemed rather stunned by this revelation.  Then he sighed, and dropped his face into his hands.  “It seemed so real,” he whispered.  “I thought it was there …”

“I know you did,”  Elrond told him, speaking for the first time.  “Such things appear as real and substantial as any one of us.  Do not fear for your mind, elfling,” he added shrewdly, guessing what Legolas’s main fear was.  “It was simply a result of your injury.  I know when Elrohir had a serious knock to his head he became quite convinced that there was a line of purple cats parading through his room.”

Arwen smiled at her father’s words – she had been looking rather concerned.  “I remember that.  I wanted to see them as well!”

Legolas managed to smile.  Although his father still looked rather worried, both Calmacil and Elrond – whose opinions he valued most in this matter – were supremely unconcerned.  And he had to admit that Elrohir was reassuringly sane – most of the time.

He drank from the cup that Calmacil gave him, recognising the bitterness of peles again, but did not protest.  He did not want to dwell on the thought that his mind had been playing tricks on him, not now, not yet.  Relaxed by the soothing presence of his father, he was already falling into dreams as Arwen and Elrond left.

To Be Continued

Chapter Nine – Conversations and Understanding

When he next awoke, Legolas was startled to realise that it was shortly after dawn.  Surely it had only been late afternoon when he had been speaking to Arwen?  It was strange, and a little worrying, to find he was spending so much time asleep.  Turning his head, he could see there was no sign of Calmacil, but his father was still there, asleep now, reclining in a deep padded chair that had been dragged over to the bed from its usual place by the window.

As he lay there, gathering his thoughts, Legolas became aware of two things.  One was that although his leg still throbbed painfully, the sharp agony of the previous days had eased.  The other was that his mind was the clearest it had been since the cave-in.  He wondered hopefully if it meant that he was beginning to recover.  Lifting himself with his arms, he pushed with his uninjured foot and managed to move himself further up the bed until he could sit, leaning back against the pillows.  He was rewarded by a sharp flare of pain from his leg as he dragged it along, and he hissed softly, closing his eyes as the room began to spin again.  The effects of his injury and the drugs had not yet worn off.  Taking a deep breath, he slowly opened his eyes again, and gradually the pain and dizziness faded.  He felt a sense of triumph at having been able to do even so small a thing for himself, and cautiously leaned over to pick up a cup that stood on the table by the bed.  Sniffing it carefully, he decided it was no more than plain water, and drank gratefully.

After setting the cup down again, he gazed around the room.   Legolas began to realise that he must have been very seriously ill and injured, if the constant presence over the last few days of his father’s most skilled healer was any indication.  And as far as he could remember, Elrond too seemed to have been in frequent attendance. Calmacil’s absence now had to be another good thing, for it must surely mean that he had decided his patient was finally well enough to leave unattended. 

Legolas realised that he was not too sure what other injuries he had managed to sustain, and rather gingerly began to explore.  A dressing on his head concealed what felt like a long cut and bump when he prodded it through the light bandage.  His chest was bare, unbandaged, but adorned with some spectacularly colourful bruises – it was no wonder that breathing was still a little painful.  Finally he pushed back the blankets to inspect his leg.  A lightweight frame had been placed over it to keep the weight of the blankets off it, and through the struts of the frame he saw for the first time just how much damage had been done.

His leg was mottled black and blue with bruising, and a long jagged gash, held together with a row of stitches, ran the length of his shin.  There were countless other smaller cuts and scrapes. Two sturdy splints had been bound to his leg just above the knee, and again at his ankle and foot, rendering the lower part of his leg completely immobile.  He felt a little sick – it looked even worse than he had imagined.  He leaned forward to prod cautiously at the bruises, then jumped at the sound of his father’s voice.

“Leave it!  Calmacil said he would tie your hands to the bed if you tried to touch his handiwork,”  Thranduil told him sternly.  The harsh words were belied by the smile on his father’s face, and the way he leaned forward to embrace his son.  “You look a little better, I think.  How do you feel this morning?”

Legolas considered the question.  “Better, I think,” he agreed.  “I don’t feel so – hazy.  And I think I may be able to keep my eyes open for more than a few minutes at a time.  I hope so, anyway.  But how long am I going to have to stay here?”

“For some time yet.  Do you really think you can move?  How does your leg feel?  And I want the truth,”  Thranduil added firmly.

“It still hurts.  A lot,”  Legolas admitted.  “But at least it’s bearable now.  And I know I can’t go anywhere yet, but what am I going to do?  Father, if I have to stay here for the next few days, it will be so boring!”  Accustomed to an active life, riding, training, practicing his archery skills, and the simple freedom to roam at will, he was horrified at the prospect of his enforced immobility.

Thranduil nodded in sympathy.  “I understand.  I know how you must feel about this – but I have an idea that may help.  I need to talk to Tionel first.  Will you be all right here on your own for a while?”

“I’m not likely to go anywhere, am I?”  Legolas asked glumly.  “And I promised Calmacil I would not try to walk until he said.  Go, father.  Talk to Tionel.  Anything you can think of will help!”  He studied his father closely, and frowned.  “Have you been here the whole time?  Sleeping in that chair?  You look tired.”

His father gave a slow smile.  “Thank you, elfling.  Yes, I have been here all the time – I was a little concerned.  But tonight, perhaps I will rest in my own bed again.”  He rose, stretching wearily, and leaned forward to kiss Legolas before he left.

Finally left alone, Legolas picked up a book that lay on the table beside his bed, but did not immediately open it.  He gazed out of the window that lay to his right, staring at the leafless tree tops as they swayed in the breeze that generally followed the river.   But it was not even the bare branches which he saw.  Instead, his mind was filled with the darkness of the caverns, which overwhelmed his thoughts.  He was faced with two choices.  Either he had imagined the skulking creature in the deepest recesses of the caves – and it had been so real; he could still see the soft glow of its eyes and hear the rasp of its breathing – or  he was telling the truth; it had really been there, but no one believed him. 

Frustrated, he pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes and tried to think.  The thing had been there.  He had seen it and heard it.  But where had it come from?  How was it possible that no-one else had seen it?  But if it was real, then the thing was still there, lurking in the caves, perhaps preying on the unwary.  Alternatively, he had imagined everything.  The thought filled him with fear.  If his mind was failing, how could he trust his own thoughts and feelings?  Would Thranduil ever be able to trust him again – how could his father possibly rely on his judgement or opinions? 

However, he knew that constantly pondering ‘what ifs’ would solve nothing, and would only add to his sense of frustration.  Perhaps he should ask Elrohir?  Elrond had mentioned that he had had a similar experience once – Elrohir might be able to give him some advice on dealing with the confusion of his memories.  Trying hard not to think on the matter any longer, Legolas opened the book that still lay by his side, and tried to concentrate on the tale of the Fall of Gondolin.

He had reached an account of the first attack of the host of Morgoth when there was a tap at the door, and Elrohir entered.  Legolas looked up with a smile, setting the book aside, then glanced at the closed door, a little surprised at his single visitor. 

“Am I disturbing you?”  Elrohir asked.  “I wanted to talk to you, but I can come back later if you like.”

“No, please come in!”  Legolas said fervently.  “I am bored to distraction here.  At the moment I would welcome even my old tutors – well, most of them.  But where is Elladan?”

Elrohir raised an eyebrow.  “We do occasionally do things separately,” he explained dryly.  “At the moment he is attempting to avoid one of those old tutors of yours – Lanatus.  He found a pressing need to exercise Nimelen in the forest.  As it is still bitterly cold outside, I declined to join him.”

“Why is he avoiding Lanatus?”  Legolas queried.  “Not that I can blame him, but is there any particular reason?”

Sitting carefully at the end of the bed, Elrohir explained about the shoe.  “Lanatus is furious, but cannot prove anything. He cornered me a few days ago, but I was able to swear that I was still at the cave when it disappeared.  El has managed to evade capture so far, which is just as well, as he cannot deny anything!  Lanatus is not amused.”

“Hopping mad, in fact,”  Legolas suggested with a grin.

Elrohir gave a snort of laughter.  “You could say that!”  He sobered slightly.  “But what of you?  You look better – you sound better.  And the jokes are getting better, too.  That has to be a good thing.”

“I do feel better.  Well enough to start feeling frustrated about being stuck here for so long.  Now that I am not being drugged insensible, or falling asleep every five minutes, it is so tedious.  I find I’m even glad to see you!”

Elrohir looked suitably horrified.  “As bad as that?  You must be bored!  You’ll even be glad to see Elladan soon!”

“I’m not that bored!”  Legolas protested.  “But thank you for coming, Elrohir.  There was something I wanted to ask you.”  He hesitated, aware of Elrohir waiting patiently.  “When Arwen and I were in the cave, I saw something, hiding in the shadows.  Or I thought I saw something – I’m not sure now if it was really there.  I think it was, but Arwen didn’t see anything.  How much of the cave could you see from where you were?  Did you see anything?”

“I could see quite a bit of it, but not right into the far corners.  There was nothing there that I could see.”

Legolas sighed.  “I thought you’d say that.  Everyone tells me there was nothing there, that I imagined it.  But it was there, I know it!  I could see it; I could hear it – a whispering, rustling sound.  But no one believes me.”

“I know.  That was partly why I came to see you – because I know what you mean.  I believe you.”

Legolas looked startled.  “You do?  But you just said you couldn’t see anything there!”

Elrohir shifted slightly on the bed, running one hand through his hair.  He drew one knee up and rested his chin on it.  “I don’t think that there was anything there, but I believe that you saw it.”  He shook his head in frustration.  “I’m not explaining this very well.  What I’m trying to say is that I understand what you mean.  It happened to me once, some years ago.  I fell off the stable roof  and cracked my head on the cobbles.  I was unconscious for over a day.  When I woke up, I could see mother and father and El all sitting beside me – I think they were rather worried.  But I could see something else as well.  I could see cats – purple cats, walking all around the room, climbing on the chair, over the bed and then back out of the door.” 

“And they weren’t really there?”

“How could they have been?  I don’t think there are that many cats in Imladris.  There are several around, and a little black one that curls up in my wardrobe if I forget to close the door; but none of them are purple.  They weren’t really there, I know they weren’t, but I saw them.”  Elrohir laughed a little at the memory.  “They seemed as real as you are now,” he added.

Legolas gave a slight smile.  “Thank you – I think,” he said.  “It helps.  I was afraid …” he stopped.

“You were afraid you were going mad?”  Elrohir asked bluntly.  Legolas nodded wordlessly.  “I know.  I couldn’t understand why no one else could see the cats, either.  Not even Elladan believed me.  But in the end my father convinced me it was an effect of the injury, that they weren’t real.”

“Why cats?”  Legolas asked.

“Why purple?  Elrohir retorted.  “It made no sense – which is why I think it was easier for me to accept, in the end, that it was a hallucination.  But I know what it’s like to have seen something like that, something that isn’t really there.  I know what it’s like when no one believes you or understands. I know how real it is.  If I close my eyes, I can still see them.”

Slowly, Legolas nodded.  Elrohir’s straightforward, not wholly coherent explanation, made sense to him, and reassured him far more than the careful details Calmacil and Elrond had described.  “Your father said something about the cats earlier.  It was why I wanted to talk to you.  Thank you, Elrohir – it’s helped me realise there wasn’t anything there, but I don’t feel so bad about it now.”  He stifled a yawn.  “I’m sorry!  That was rather rude!”

“Don’t worry.  I’m going now, anyway.  I told father I was coming, and he said I wasn’t to stay long.  He’ll have my ears if he thinks I’ve tired you out.  Besides, I want to see if Lanatus has caught up with El yet!”  With a wave, he left.

As the door closed behind Elrohir, Legolas picked up his book again and continued the tale.  But before long his head started to nod, and the book slipped from his grasp as he again drifted into sleep.

To Be Continued

Chapter Ten – Distractions

Thranduil returned to Legolas’s room shortly after Elrohir had left.  He had put his suggestion to his Steward, Tionel, who agreed that it was an excellent idea – it would simultaneously be useful experience for Legolas, a distraction from his injuries, and a way to reduce the workload that had built up while Thranduil kept vigil at his son’s bedside.  As he entered the room, he smiled at the sight that met his eyes. 

Legolas had fallen asleep again, and lay back against the supporting pillows, his head tilted to one side.   A book lay at his side, and Thranduil moved quietly to the bed, gently removing the volume from his son’s lax fingers.    He had lost count of the number of times he had done this in the past; how often Legolas had fallen asleep at night while reading – usually long after he was supposed to have settled down.  When Legolas had been an elfling, it had become an automatic part of Thranduil’s own night-time routine to look in on his son for a second time, remove the book – first carefully marking the place – and extinguish the candle left burning on the bedside table.  He still vividly remembered the night that Legolas, attempting to read a particularly fine print, had held the candle in his hand so that he could peer more closely at the tiny lettering.  Sheer luck had caused Thranduil to arrive seconds before the bed caught alight.

Now, he brushed a strand of lank hair – it needed washing – away from his son’s face, so gently that Legolas did not stir, and silently directed the guards who accompanied him to move a deep chair, padded with cushions and blankets, to a spot by the window, along with a low stool and an old table.  The task accomplished, Thranduil returned to sit by the bed and simply waited.  He picked up the discarded book and began to read.

Some time later, Legolas began to stir.  His eyes flickered and he murmured something, giving a slight smile as his eyes opened fully and he registered his father’s presence.  Then he grimaced.  “I fell asleep again,” he said in disgust. 

“Aye, you did,” Thranduil agreed.  “You need the rest.  But I – ” 

“Rest?”  Legolas interrupted bitterly.  “I have done nothing but rest since I was injured!  I don’t want to rest, I want to be able to stay awake.  I want to be able to hold a conversation with someone without drifting off half way through!  Did you know Elrohir was here earlier?” he demanded.  “He left because he didn’t want to ‘tire me out’ – as if I was an elfling or an invalid!  I don’t want to sleep all the time, but when I am awake I feel so frustrated because I can’t do anything for myself – do you know how humiliating that is?”

Thranduil did not answer, reflecting that just at the moment, Legolas was indeed an invalid – although he did not intend to point it out.  He nodded sympathetically and moved to sit on the bed next to his son.  Legolas continued: “My leg hurts, and my chest hurts – I hate being trapped here like this!  I hate being so bored all the time.”  Thranduil still did not say anything, but placed an arm around his shoulders, gently rubbing his back in wide circles.  Legolas gave a long sigh and drew a deep, slightly wavering breath, releasing it slowly.  “I’m behaving like a spoiled elfling, aren’t I?” he muttered.

“Just a little,” Thranduil agreed with a smile.  “But I think you are entitled to.  I know what this must be like for you.  I know how helpless you feel.”

“Do you?”  Legolas still sounded bitter, and rather sceptical.  He looked up, noticing the chair and table that had been placed by the window.  “People come and go all around me, and I’m not even aware of it,”  he pointed out, and sighed again.  There was a pause. “I’m sorry, adar.  It wasn’t fair to take everything out on you.  Forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive,” Thranduil assured him.  “It is better for me to hear it than anyone else.  And sometimes these things need to be said – honesty is better than pretending you are completely well.”  He hugged Legolas again.  “Now, I was about to tell you that I have had a few ideas.  Calmacil said that if we are careful, you can be moved to a chair.  Perhaps somewhere by the window would be a good idea?”  He watched as Legolas’s gaze moved to the chair by the window, and his expression visibly brightened.  “Although,” he added idly, “I am not sure I agree.  A few more days in bed may be advisable, just to be sure.  Especially if your leg and chest still cause you pain.”

Legolas looked stricken, and he turned a horrified glance on his father.  “Adar, no!” he protested.  “If Calmacil says …”  He stopped, catching Thranduil’s eye, and continued dryly:  “If Calmacil thinks I should move, we should abide by that decision and defer to his expert knowledge.  I can tolerate the discomfort of sitting by the window and looking out over the forest  for a while.”  His eyes drifted longingly to the bare treetops visible through the window.

“My thoughts precisely, elfling.”  Rising, Thranduil went to the door, looking out into the hallway.  He returned with Tirana, one of Calmacil’s assistants, who greeted Legolas warmly, then became very professional.  She removed the bandage on his head, inspected the cut, and peered into his eyes.  Then she placed her hands on his chest and ribcage, instructing him to breathe.  Finally she twitched aside the covers and looked closely at his leg, checking the splint and the stitches, although she did not actually touch his leg itself. 

At last she stepped back, apparently satisfied.  “Well,  I think you can be moved,”  she announced.  “But be careful – he is not to put any weight on that leg at all!” she added sternly to Thranduil.

“Yes, my lady,” he said meekly, ignoring Legolas’s amusement.  He returned to the door and summoned the guard who waited outside.  Under Tirana’s watchful eye, Legolas moved carefully to the edge of the bed, his leg extended, and draped his arms across the shoulders of his father and the guard.  As one they rose, hoisting Legolas into the air, his feet dangling uselessly between them.  He was carried across the room to the window, and deposited gently in the chair, while his injured leg was carefully supported on the footstool.

Thranduil watched his son carefully as Tirana fussed around him, making sure that Legolas had come to no harm.  He looked rather pale, and was biting his lip.  “What is it?  Does your leg hurt?” she asked.

He nodded miserably.  “It aches,” he admitted.  “But it did before; it’s not because I moved!” he added quickly.

“I can do something about that.  Is there anything else?”

Legolas closed his eyes and swallowed.  “I feel dizzy.  But I think it will pass soon.”  Clearly, he did not want to risk being moved straight back to bed again.

Tirana did not appear too concerned by the admission.  “You are bound to.  This is the first time you have moved from your bed for five days,” she pointed out.

His eyes snapped open, and Legolas stared at Tirana, aghast.  “Five days?” he repeated, sounding horrified.  “Is that how long it’s been?  I didn’t realise.”

“Five days,” Thranduil confirmed bleakly.  It had been five long, worrying, wearying days; five days when he had not left his son’s side, sleeping fitfully in the chair or sharing the bed; five days when he had petitioned the Valar to spare Legolas, reminding himself that his son was strong and could survive this.

Tirana, who had been mixing something, returned to Legolas’s side.  “Calmacil told me to give you this,” she told him.  “It does not contain peles, so will not make you sleep, but it will ease the pain.  Drink it.”  She held out the cup.  Legolas downed it in one gulp, a sure indication of how much his leg was still hurting.

“Thank you.”  He waited until Tirana and the guard had both left, lifting his face to the pale winter sunlight, and drawing a deep breath of the cold air.  “Was this your idea, father?  Your idea that might help?  Thank you.  I think I feel better already!”  He looked at Thranduil, still slightly ashamed.  “I’m sorry about earlier,” he said again.  He closed his eyes once more and smiled, again breathing deeply.  “I can feel the breeze.  I can see the trees.  I can hear the sounds of the forest!”  The lines of pain around his eyes began to fade, as he revelled in the soft murmur of the leaves.

“It is a part of my idea.  There is more, when you feel ready.”

Legolas looked at his father curiously.  “You seem very secretive.  What is it?”

Thranduil tapped a sheaf of papers on the table.  “The rebuilding work on the docks and fishing fleet at Esgaroth.  The initial reports and damage assessments have been sent, and the first orders and requisitions submitted.  If you agree, I would like you to be responsible for the whole project.”

Several weeks previously, a sudden vicious winter storm – the ‘worst in living memory’ according to the fishermen – had destroyed the docks and half the fishing fleet of the town, built on piles over the lake itself.  In recognition of aid given and past alliances, Legolas had pledged help in the restoration work.

Legolas appeared surprised.  “Me?  But why?”

His father smiled.  “You proved that you are more than capable of dealing with the Master.  And the promise of help was originally your idea anyway.  The documents are here,” – he indicated the pile – “and  there is paper and parchment, pens and ink.  Ask Tionel if there if anything else you require – or if you need help.  Will you do it?  It is certainly a task I could gladly do without.”

Legolas nodded enthusiastically.  “Yes, of course!”  He pulled the uppermost sheets towards himself, and began to read the first document.  “What do they need?”  As Thranduil left, Legolas was muttering to himself, making swift notes on a blank page, and skimming through the other reports.   Thranduil nodded to himself, feeling satisfied at the success of his plan.  The assignment would keep Legolas occupied while he recovered from his injuries, stave off his uncharacteristic depression, and firmly establish his role as Thranduil’s deputy.

Over the next few days, Legolas’s spirits returned to normal, and his leg continued to heal.  Although he still fretted at his dependence on others for many things, and at his restricted movements, he enjoyed the task.  Thranduil had to admit he was making an impressively good job of it, liaising with the army commander Orionë over which novices could be sent to Esgaroth to help with the rebuilding.  “They’ve asked for manpower to rebuild the docks,” Legolas had reported with a grin.  “Do you think elfpower will do instead?”

Elladan, Elrohir and Arwen were frequent visitors, either together or separately, and Arwen in particular spent several hours with him.  The first bonds of a close friendship between them had been forged while they had been trapped in the cave, and Legolas, who had previously spent far more time with the twins, found that he had a great deal in common with their younger sister as well.

At long last, Calmacil decreed that his leg was sufficiently healed for the next stage of treatment.  The bruises and swelling had gone down, the innumerable cuts and gashes had faded away, and the long cut where Calmacil and Elrond had pieced together the shattered bone had healed cleanly. 

“Good.”  Calmacil sounded satisfied.  “Now that the cuts have healed, I can remove the splint, and put your leg in plaster.  You will be able to move a little more easily then, and will have more freedom.”

Thranduil hovered anxiously as the bandages were cut away and the splint was carefully removed.  His son’s leg looked curiously bare without the strengthening supports.  “Now, I need to take out the stitches,” Calmacil continued.  “You will probably feel a slight stinging sensation.”  He worked swiftly, his hands simultaneously firm yet gentle, a knack unique to healers.  He ran a finger along the long scar that remained, watching Legolas carefully as he flinched slightly.  “How does that feel?”

“It still hurts,”  Legolas admitted apprehensively.   “Does that mean you won’t be able to do it?”

“No, not at all,” Calmacil reassured him.  “The cast will protect your leg, and support it while the bone continues to mend.  But I am afraid you will need this.”  Rather apologetically, he offered Legolas a cup.

Legolas sniffed it warily.  “Peles,” he stated flatly.  “Why do I need it?” he added resentfully.

“I am sorry.  It is vital that you remain absolutely still while I put the bandages on your leg, and while the cast hardens.  This is the best way to make sure.”  Legolas grimaced, but drank the contents in one gulp, and then lay back.  He was clearly growing accustomed to the potions Calmacil had forced on him. 

He watched, blinking a little, as Calmacil deftly began to encase his leg in plaster, starting at the foot and working upwards.  “I hope that when I wake up I’ll finally be able to walk,” he remarked, his speech slightly slurred from the peles.  “Have you got me some crutches?”  As Thranduil nodded, Legolas smiled, his eyes finally closing.  “Good.  I want to go down to the caves,” he mumbled.  “I want to see what’s down there.”  He yawned, leaning against Thranduil’s supporting arm.  “I want to see if there really is anything … there …”   He slept.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  The story of the storm at Esgaroth, and just why Legolas promised help to the town, is told in ‘Mid Winter Gifts’.

Chapter Eleven – First Steps

Legolas awoke slowly, aware of slight noises on the edge of his hearing.  There was the rustling of paper, the whisper of cloth, and the sharp tink of glass jars knocking together.  There were low voices as well, and the occasional laugh.

His eyelids felt heavy, and it took some effort to force them open.  Blinking, Legolas squinted at the brilliant sunlight flooding the room and turned his head, away from the brightness and towards the sounds he had heard.  Calmacil and Tirana were clearing the worktable they had been using, carefully packing jars and phials away in a deep, sectioned box, rolling bandages, and storing the cups and measuring jugs they had needed.  Memory of the previous evening came back to him, and he moved his leg experimentally.  The weight of the cast he had expected, but he was dismayed to find that his leg ached fiercely, as badly as it had in the days when he had first been allowed out of bed, propped up in the chair.  He could not quite stifle a groan of frustration, and Calmacil turned, smiling as he saw his patient watching.

“Good afternoon, elfling!  Awake at last?”

Legolas scowled at that comment, and did not respond immediately.  It was the fault of Calmacil and his drugs that he had slept for so long, after all.  From the position of the sun it had to be after mid day.  He pushed himself a little more upright, and reached for the cup on the table beside him.  Taking a sip of the watered wine – when would he be permitted to drink it in its full potency again? – he cleared the roughness from his throat.  “Good afternoon,” he replied at last.  He watched as Tirana placed the last bottle in its box and closed the lid before wiping the surface of the worktable.  “Please don’t misunderstand me,” he said with a smile, “but I’m delighted to see you leaving.”

“I imagine so,” Calmacil agreed.  “Now that you can move from here, you can come to the infirmary like everyone else when it is time to remove your cast, or if there is anything else you need – no more special treatment.  I left some of the rusth – just add a little to wine or water if you need it.  I expect your leg hurts?  It will for the first day or two, especially if you overdo it.”

Nodding, Legolas pushed the sheet back to look.  The cast ran from his foot – only the toes were exposed – and up his leg, ending just below the knee.  He put one hand on it experimentally. It felt hard and smooth, and when he knocked on it with his knuckles it sounded dull and solid. 

Eager to stand and finally move under his own power, without having to be carried, he sat up, carefully moving his legs to the edge of the bed, and reached for the crutches propped at one end.    They had been carved from a single piece of wood apiece; Y-shaped at the top to fit under his arms, and padded with a soft material for comfort.  About halfway down there was a further spur of branch to use as a hand rest.   Bracing himself, he took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet.  He stood, a little unsteadily, balanced on one leg and supported by the crutches.  He suddenly felt absurdly nervous – it would be the ultimate humiliation if he fell and landed flat on his face in front of Calmacil and Tirana; not to mention painful.  He had already endured enough indignities at their hands as they had tended to him.

“Move the crutches a little in front, and transfer your weight to them,” Calmacil instructed him calmly.  “Then swing yourself forward.”

With a tense nod, Legolas did so, and lurched forward a little awkwardly.  One step.  Then another.  It was harder than he had imagined, and he had to stop partway to adjust his grip on the hand rests.  He felt a ridiculous sense of triumph when he finally reached the window and turned, very carefully.  “I did it!” 

His father was also there, looking as delighted as Legolas himself felt.  “Well done, elfling!” he praised.  “Can you come back?”

The return was a little easier, as Legolas settled into a rhythm and learnt to coordinate the unfamiliar movements.  He knew it was not particularly graceful,  and his slow, clumsy pace felt strange.  Calmacil watched critically, finally nodding in approval.  “Good.  I will leave you to practise.  Do not overdo it – and do I need to remind you to be careful?   If you fall you will undo all the healing.”  

He left, following Tirana, and Legolas resumed his careful pacing.  Reaching the window for a second time he sank down onto the cushioned ledge, not bothering to conceal his sigh of relief.  He felt exhausted, his arms were leaden, his leg ached, and he was gasping for breath. Thranduil sat next to him on the ledge.  “Are you well, little one?” he asked in concern.

Legolas nodded wearily.  “Yes.  I just had no idea how difficult this would be!  I feel as if I have just spent the afternoon on the training grounds instead of walking around my own room.”

After his father had left to attend to his own affairs, Legolas spent the rest of the afternoon practising.  Practising how to stand up, how to sit down, how to stand still without wavering, how to walk without stumbling and lurching like a drunkard.  He had just completed another circuit of his room when there was a knock at the door.  Legolas was just about to tell the caller to come in, when he moved towards the door and opened it himself.  Elladan and Elrohir stood there, and the surprise on their faces was worth all the discomfort he felt. 

“We came to see how you were managing,”  Elrohir began.

“Which seems to be quite well!”  Elladan finished.  “It’s wonderful to finally see you up!”

“Is there anything we can do?”  Elrohir added.  “Anything we can do to help?”

Grinning, Legolas shook his head.  “No.  Just stay and talk to me.  Oh – there is something, actually.  Would you move those chairs, and that table,” – he pointed with his crutch – “over there, and arrange them in an obstacle course?”

Elladan lifted a chair, then paused.  “Why?”  he asked curiously.

Legolas moved to his bed and sat down gratefully, rubbing his hands.  They felt sore from the constant pressure of the hand grips.   “Because I want to go downstairs tonight.  I’m going to have dinner in the great hall.  And I want to be able to do it properly, and move around all the benches and people easily, without wobbling and stumbling.  I need to show everyone that I’m still alive!”  He had been confined to his room for long enough, and was determined break free.  But his pride would not allow him to appear before his father’s people faltering and hesitant.  He already knew that everyone would be watching him, and was determined to be able to move confidently and surely across the hall.

Elrohir took the chair his twin still held, and placed it near the others.  “I know what you mean,” he said.  “You don’t want people feeling sorry for you.”  The two watched as Legolas carefully negotiated the barriers Elrohir had set, offering helpful – and sometimes not so helpful – comments. 

Finally, Legolas was satisfied that he was sufficiently proficient with his crutches not to embarrass himself.  He sat next to the twins, leaning the crutches against the mattress.  His arms ached, his leg hurt, and he felt amazingly tired, but could not help feeling pleased with himself.  At least now he should be able to avoid making a fool of himself.

“How long is it until the evening meal?”  Elladan asked.

“About two hours.  Why?”

Elrohir hesitated.  “Well – you’re going to hate me for saying this, but you look tired.  Why don’t you rest for a while?  We can come and get you later.  It would be better than falling asleep over dinner.”

Legolas had been about to make an automatic protest over the issue of ‘rest’ when he paused.   Elrohir had a valid point, he knew.  He was tired.   And although he was no longer fearful of falling, it would do little for his dignity if he did fall asleep in the hall.  “Maybe,”  he hedged.  “Can you come back in about an hour?  And promise me one thing.  If I am asleep, wake me up.  Promise me.”  They nodded, then left, and Legolas leaned back, positioning a pillow to cushion his back against the carved headboard.   He reached towards the table and poured a cup of water from the covered pitcher, adding a dash of Calmacil’s rusth after only a momentary hesitation.  He did not intend to sleep if he could help it, but the promise he had elicited from the twins reassured him – just in case.

Gradually, the rusth began to take effect,  and resting his leg and taking the strain off his arms also eased the pain.  Legolas found his thoughts drifting, as they often did now, to the caverns below his home.  Had he really seen anything there?  It had seemed so real, but the explanations Elrohir and Calmacil had given him were equally plausible.  He had already decided that there was only one way to find out, and that was to see for himself.  Now that he was moving about freely again, he intended to return to the caves at the first opportunity, and look.

Before that, however, there was another matter to attend to.  What was he to wear tonight?  For the last few days he had simply worn long sleep tunics which hung to his knees; simple to take on and off and which did not interfere with the splints on his leg.  He was not going to appear publicly in one.  Running though the options in his mind, he decided on a combination of moss green and chestnut brown, the woodland colours he favoured.  Grabbing the crutches again, he made his way to the wardrobe and searched the shelves, not wanting anything too formal or ostentatious.  He found trousers, a tunic, and a leaf-green under-shirt, and threw them onto the bed.  He was half-dressed when there was a soft knock at the door.  Before he could call out, it opened, very quietly, and a voice whispered, “Is he asleep?”

“No, I’m not!” he responded, and the door opened fully. 

“Are you ready?”  enquired Elladan.

“Nearly.  Just give me time to finish dressing.”  Legolas sat on the bed to pull on the trousers. They were of velvet, in a warm shade of brown, and close fitting.  It was quite obvious he would not be able to wear them as they were.  “El, would you pass me my knife?”  Taking the knife Elrohir handed to him, he slit the back of one leg from the knee downwards, and eased it over the bulky cast.   Standing, he tugged the tunic straight, and glanced at his reflection in the mirror.  “Well?”  he asked the twins.

They studied him solemnly.  “Very smart,” Elladan declared finally.  “You will soon have all the maidens swooning over you again, and vying for your hand.”

“They will be queuing to offer you sympathy and comfort, eager to fetch anything you may desire.  You will not have to lift a finger for days!” Elrohir teased him.

“Do you think so?”  Legolas asked hopefully.  “I deserve some benefit from all this!”  They made their way from the room and along the hallway, the twins adjusting their pace to match his slower steps.  At the top of the steps he paused.  This was the only part of the endeavour that worried him.  “Stand back,” he warned.  “Let me do this on my own.  It’s the only thing I haven’t practised yet!”

Elladan raised his hands and moved back.  “Very well, we won’t help,” he agreed.

“But we don’t promise not to catch you if you fall,” Elrohir added cheerfully.  “Father would kill us if we let you break your other leg.”

Slowly, and very carefully, Legolas negotiated the stairs, one step at a time, placing his crutches on the next step down, then hopping forward.  He noticed that the twins had casually moved slightly ahead, and were strategically positioned a few stairs below him – just in case.  He managed the steps without incident, and at the bottom was met by Arwen, who had been watching intently.

She smiled in greeting, then hugged him.  “It’s wonderful to see you up at last!” she exclaimed.  “I didn’t know you were coming down here.”

“Your brothers were the only ones who knew,” he explained.  “I haven’t told my father, either.  I want to surprise him.”  They made their way along corridors and hallways, and down further flights of stairs towards the main hall.  The doors stood open, and many people were already there.  The weekday meals were informal affairs, with no set starting point, and people came and went throughout the evening.  Long tables ran the length of the room, and people sat where they wished.  A further table was set cross-wise at the far end, and here Thranduil sat.  Elrond and Celebrían were already with him, and all three looked up as the noise and chatter in the hall faded away. 

Legolas made his way slowly up the length of the hall, aware of all eyes on him.  He was flanked by Elladan and Elrohir, and Arwen walked just behind him.  At the end of the hall he rounded the table and approached his father.  “Good evening, Adar,” he said formally.  Thranduil’s eyebrows quirked, and he smiled in response.  Behind him, Celebrían was also smiling, and Elrond was trying not to laugh.

As Legolas sat in the chair next to his father, everyone in the hall broke into applause.  He flushed slightly, surprised at his reception.  “Good  evening, elfling.  I think they are pleased to see you again,”  Thranduil pointed out.  “You made a very impressive entrance.”

By now, his escort had greeted their parents and taken their own seats.  Legolas glanced down, a little surprised to see that a place had been set for him at the table after all.  “How did you know I would be here tonight?”  he asked.  “I didn’t say anything – I was going to surprise you.”

“How did I know?  Because I know you, of course.  You are too stubborn to give in.   How long did it take you to learn to move so smoothly?  You were weaving and wavering in all directions when I last saw you.”

Legolas smiled.  “All afternoon.  I practised.  I wanted to do it right,” he explained.

“Stubborn.  Just like your grandfather,” commented Thranduil dryly, and signalled to a waiting elf to begin serving them.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes:  I again owe thanks to Nilmandra for her advice on how far a plaster cast would extend for an injury like Legolas’s.  I also found an old pair of walking sticks in the garage, and practiced walking with them, and up and down steps, to get an idea of what it would feel like to use crutches.  I do hope no-one saw me!

Chapter Twelve – Flirtations

As the meal ended, Legolas moved to the side of the hall.  Tables and chairs towards the centre were moved away, clearing a large space for dancing.   He regretted not being able to take part, but knew it would be some time before he was agile enough for the complex steps and jumps, even after the heavy cast was removed.

He watched as Elladan partnered Arwen in a fast, vigorous dance, while Elrohir danced with Mireth.  He clapped the time, tapping his foot and jeering along with everyone else as one or two couples lost step and retired, defeated.   As a child he had learned this dance, along with many others; just as he had learned to read and write, and to play the flute, the harp and the tambour.

The next dance involved chains of dancers, changing partners in a never-ending procession.  At one point Elrond solemnly danced with a young ellyth who stood no taller than his chest, while Thranduil, faced with an even smaller child, swept her into his arms and laughing, spun her around and around.  Legolas, watching the unending patterns and swirls of colour, looked up in surprise as Arwen sat next to him on the bench.  “I thought you would be dancing.”

Arwen shook her head.  “It looks too exhausting. I thought I would join you, and just watch.”

The ploy was rather transparent, but touching, nonetheless – and he appreciated the company.  “Thank you.”  Legolas sighed.    “I wish I had brought my flute down – I may not be able to take part in the dancing, but I could join in with the musicians.  It feels odd to just sit here.”  At Arwen’s questioning look, he explained further.  “It is difficult to carry anything like this.”  He gestured at the crutches.  “I should have asked one of your brothers to bring it for me.”

“If you tell me where to look, I could get it for you,” Arwen suggested.

“No.  It doesn’t matter.  It is rather interesting watching everyone.  Look at Elrohir.  He is supposed to switch partners like everyone else, but has managed to hang on to Taniquel the whole time!  I thought she was still out on patrol.”

“She got back two days ago.  I know we didn’t see Elrohir at all yesterday!    They went out for the day.”  Arwen smiled.  “I think Elladan was rather put out,” she added.

Legolas laughed.  “Is that why he spent so much time with me?  He just said that Elrohir wasn’t around. Is he jealous?”

“Only because he misses Calorra.  She came to stay with us from Lórien last year.  I don’t know what he’ll do when she goes back.  What about you?”

“There are several ellyth here I am friends with, but no one special.  Ideally, I think my father would like me to bond with someone from Imladris or Lórien, to strengthen the links between the realms, but I cannot think of anyone there either.”  He shrugged.  “There is plenty of time.”

Arwen considered carefully.  “What about Agnessia?  You know her.”

Legolas shook his head.  “She has a silly, high-pitched laugh.”

“True.”  She thought again.  “Rahella?”

“She seemed nice enough when I met her, but she is blonde.  I prefer dark hair,” Legolas explained.

Arwen chuckled.  “Legolas!  You will never marry if you continue to find fault with everyone!”

“I know, but it is not my fault!  Most are more interested in who I am than anything else.  Then they are either put off, and too nervous to say anything,  or pushed into something by their mothers, who would like nothing better than  to see their beloved daughters the next queen of Lasgalen!  I have to …”  he broke off as Arwen put a hand over her mouth and began to giggle helplessly.  “I’m glad you think it’s funny!” he finished with a smile.

“Poor Legolas.  I know what it’s like, Elladan and I have the same problem.  Not Elrohir; it doesn’t seem to bother him – he just makes friends with everyone!  He always has.”

Legolas was about to respond when the twins appeared and sat down, one on each side of them.  They were both laughing and flushed with exertion, and Elladan was teasing his brother.  “El, you keep missing the point!  You are supposed to change partners, and dance with everyone, not keep the same one!”

“Change?  Well, why did no one explain that to me?”  Elrohir affected an air of great innocence.

“I did!  Repeatedly!  You kept pretending you couldn’t hear!”

Arwen had her own contribution to make to the argument.  “He knows the dance perfectly well from home, anyway.  And he keeps doing the same thing there!” she explained to Legolas.  “Perhaps I should tell Taniquel about Athela, or  Súriannë, or Elestirnë?”  she asked her brother daringly.

“She already knows them,”  Elrohir reminded her tranquilly.  “She met all three of them when she came to Imladris that time.  Remember?”

Legolas joined in with the banter.  “Perhaps I should tell Taniquel’s father about you,” he teased Elrohir.  “He is one of my father’s army captains.  He may not be too pleased with you pursuing his daughter!”

“Oh, he already knows about me,”  Elrohir dismissed the concern airily.  “I met him yesterday.  Her parents asked me to stay to tea with them.  He seemed very pleasant.”

Legolas nearly choked.   “Pleasant?  He is one of the novice masters, and has a reputation for being the most fearsome trainer anyone can ever remember!  I was terrified of him when I was in his classes!”

“I told you.  Elrohir makes friends with everyone!” Arwen reminded him.

Laughing, Elrohir pulled Arwen to her feet, dragging her into the next dance, while Elladan intercepted a maiden who was heading towards Legolas.  Left alone, Legolas had no time to regret his solitude before two – no, three – ellyth approached him purposefully.  As Elrohir had predicted, they poured their concern on him, offering to bring food, wine, or anything else he might require, and being suitably sympathetic about his leg.  He basked in their attention, carefully treating them all with the same casual courtesy, and aware of several envious glances being cast their way.  The three scattered however, when his father approached, stepping sideways out of the dance with Celebrían, his current partner.

Thranduil was not one to suffer fools gladly, a category into which he placed fawning, giggling maidens – and they knew it.  He stared after them, his frown turning to a smile as he turned to Legolas.  “Well, elfling, how are you managing?  Still glad that you defied orders to attend tonight?  I recall that Calmacil told you not to overdo it!”

“It has been a wonderful evening!” Legolas protested with a smile.  He began to struggle to his feet to greet Celebrían, but she deftly moved his crutches out of reach.   

“Stay there!  You know you do not need to stand – or sit – on ceremony with me.  I am delighted to see you finally up and about. We were all worried about you.”

Legolas smiled at her. “Thank you.  But I am sorry for taking Lord Elrond away from you while you have been here – I think I took up a lot of his time.   As far as I can remember, every time I woke up – at first, anyway – he was there, as well as Calmacil.”

“They were comparing notes, and he likes to watch other healers at work.  If you can believe it, I think he almost enjoyed it!”

He laughed.  “I am glad someone did!  I do not think ‘enjoyment’ comes anywhere in the list of words I would use to describe the experience.  But I am delighted to be up at last.  I have certainly enjoyed this evening, even though I have been unable to dance.  I hope I will be well enough to partner you before you leave.”

Celebrían smiled.  “I will count that as a promise,” she told him.

“I will be back to talk to you in a moment, elfling,” Thranduil said as he led Celebrían back into the throng of dancers.

Legolas watched them depart and stifled a yawn, frustrated at how easily he tired all the time.  He knew why it was –Elrond and Calmacil had both explained it to him, and so, rather annoyingly, had Elladan.   He supposed it was only to be expected that the twins had picked up so much of their father’s knowledge and skills already, but it was irritating when they behaved like avuncular healers instead of the light-hearted friends he knew so well.  According to all three, his energy was still being expended in healing the various cuts and injuries, and in mending his leg.  However, knowing the medical explanation for his exhaustion did not lessen his sense of frustration about it.

He shifted his position slightly, stretching his leg carefully, and thought with dismay of the stairs he would have to climb to return to his room.  Going down had been straightforward enough, but going back up was a daunting thought.  Somehow, in his determination to escape from the confines of his room, he had overlooked that small detail.   He considered his options.  Glancing around the hall, he spotted a quiet corner of the hall, from where he knew a staircase led upwards.  His slow, painstaking progress would not be noticed from there, but it meant a longer route back to his room.  

Which was it to be?  The slightly shorter route, in full view of everyone who passed by; the longer, quieter way where he could take his time in clambering the stairs, out of the sight of most observers – or should he swallow his pride, and ask for help?  As he was debating with himself, and coming to the inevitable conclusion, his father returned.

“Well, elfling, the evening is almost over.  Are you ready to leave?”  Thranduil’s sharp glance fell on him assessingly.  “Will you be able to manage the stairs?”

Legolas hesitated, then shook his head.  “Probably not,” he admitted.  “I should have thought about that before.”

His father laughed.  “Perhaps.  Never mind, I have already spoken to Elrond.  Can you make it to the door?”   With a nod of his head he indicated the quiet doorway Legolas had already considered. 

“Yes.”  Together, they walked across the hall, bidding goodnight to those who remained.   Thranduil walked slowly at his side, and Legolas moved carefully, unaided, to the foot of the stairs where Elrond waited.   Placing his arms across their shoulders he was lifted, much as he had been carried from his bed previously, and helped up the various flights of stairs to his room.  “I hate this,” he muttered, rather resentfully.

“Remember that we have already seen you at your most vulnerable and helpless,”  Elrond reminded him cheerfully.  “This is nothing.  Do not cling so much to your pride and stubbornness that you decline help when you need it.”

Legolas sighed.  “I know.  Am I really that difficult?” he asked.

Thranduil gave a bark of laughter.  “Aye.  I cannot imagine where you inherited the trait from, either,” he said with an air of innocence that did not fool his son. 

They reached the hallway that led to Legolas’s room, and halted.  “Will you be all right now?” Elrond asked him.

“Yes.  Thank you, Lord Elrond – for everything.”

Elrond waved away his thanks.  “Goodnight, elfling.”  He turned, and disappeared down the stairs again towards the guest quarters.

Thranduil still held the crutches in his free hand, and passed them to Legolas.  “Is there anything you need?” he asked.

“No.  Nothing.  I will see you in the morning.  Goodnight, father.”

Finally alone in his room, Legolas swiftly lit a candle, its soft glow providing all the light he required.  A stiff breeze had sprung up, making the light curtains billow like sails.  He retrieved a few papers that had fluttered to the floor and weighted them down with a heavy book after deciding not to close the shutters.  He recalled a little guiltily that he had done nothing on the rebuilding project that day, but found himself hoping that it would not be too long before he could travel to Esgaroth and see the work for himself.

The tiredness now was overwhelming him.  He stripped off his clothes, washed as quickly and briefly as possible, and lay down wearily, grateful to ease the weight of the cast, trying to move his leg into the most comfortable – or rather, least uncomfortable – position.  He was asleep almost immediately, his dreams filled with bizarre images of Arwen and her brothers hard at work rebuilding the docks, while the men and women of Esgaroth danced slowly past on the walkway above.

To Be Continued

Chapter Thirteen – Wood-Elf

Morning seemed to come much too soon.   The gradually growing light burned away the fog of sleep, rousing him slowly to wakefulness.   Then the brightness was briefly obscured as a shadow passed before the window.  Blinking, Legolas came to full awareness, his eyes focusing on his father who had just seated himself in the chair by the bed.  He seemed very pleased about something.

“Good morning, elfling,” Thranduil greeted him with a smile.  “It is wonderful to see you sleeping normally at long last – I am finally beginning to believe Calmacil when he tells me you are on the mend.  Did you sleep well?”

Legolas pushed himself upright, dragging his injured leg further up the bed.  He returned his father’s greeting with a grin.  “Very well, thank you.”  He glanced at the tiny, untouched, bottle of rusth on the table next to the bed.  “And without any of Calmacil’s drugs, for once!” he added triumphantly.

“Good – that is excellent news.  What about your leg?  Does it pain you?”

Grimacing, Legolas shook his head.  “No.  My leg is fine.”

Concerned, Thranduil glanced at him.  “Then what?”

“My arms hurt!  They have not ached like this since I first lifted a bow.”  He stretched, flexing his arms stiffly and winced, then gave his father a sideways look.  “It is not going to stop me going outside today,” he warned.

Thranduil laughed.  “I never thought for a moment that it would!   It certainly never prevented you from practising.  As I said last night, you are stubborn – like your grandfather.”

Legolas grinned.  “There are some who believe that I inherited that particular characteristic from someone a little closer,” he suggested.

His father looked indignant for a moment, but then nodded slowly.  “They could be right,” he admitted ruefully.  He paused, just for a second, then added, “Your mother could be very determined at times.”

As he rose from the bed and groped for his crutches, Legolas chuckled.  “Oh, I know!”   

When he returned to the bedroom after washing, his father was still there.  “Will you join me for breakfast, or do you plan to go down to the hall?”  Thranduil asked.

Legolas hesitated as he finished dressing.  He was so eager to get outside, into the forest, to be among the trees at last, that he had not intended to have breakfast at all.  Thranduil, though, was of the opinion that it was a vital meal.  “Neither, really.  I just want to get out.  Do you mind?” 

“Does it make any difference?”  Thranduil asked dryly.  “You are grown now, it is your decision.”  He smiled.  “Go, elfling.  I know how you have pined for the trees.  To walk beneath the leaves now will do you more good than anything I could suggest.  But do not venture too far – the ground is still frozen and uneven.  Take care.”

With a promise to be careful, Legolas took a warm cloak from a hook near the door and left the room.  He moved as swiftly as possible along the hallways and down the stairs – rather more quickly than he had been capable of the day before.  He was getting used to this, and was relieved that the stiffness in his arms eased as he moved.  In the lower levels of the palace he met several elves who had not been present the previous evening, and they all greeted him affectionately, with varying degrees of formality.

“Good morning, my Lord!”

“Legolas!  It’s about time we saw you again!”

“It is a joy to see you well again, your highness!”

“I remember the first time you learned to walk, elfling.”

He returned all the greetings warmly, but did not stop to talk.   At the end of the hallway he saw Elladan and Elrohir, who turned back from the dining hall to come to greet him.

“You made it back to your room in one piece, then,” Elladan observed.

Elrohir nodded in agreement.  “We wondered last night if you might need a little help, but your father seemed to have matters under control.  Where are you off to now?”  He eyed Legolas’s cloak.  “Outside?  Did you know it’s snowing again?”

“Is it?  It doesn’t matter, I just need to get out.  I have been confined inside the palace for far too long!”  Now that he was in sight of the main doors, open to the day, he was impatient to be outside and in the forest once more.  He did not even want to stop and talk to the twins.

They seemed to sense this, for they both stepped aside.  “Go on, then.  I expect you would rather be alone.  Go and talk to the trees, or whatever it is you do!”  Elladan grinned.

With a laugh, Legolas continued on his way.  At the door, the guards gave him a startled salute.  “My Lord Legolas!  It is good to see you again.”

“Thank you, Glirhuin, Manthor.  It is good to be out and about again!”  He did not pause, but went out, crossing the bridge and on to the open grassed area between the bridge and the forest.  The grass was now covered in a layer of snow two or three inches deep, faintly crisscrossed with very slight imprints of elven feet, and the runic claw marks of mice, birds and such creatures.

The snow still fell, swirling softly and silently downward in large, thick flakes.  On the fringes of the forest he stopped, lifting his face to the sky, tasting the snow on his tongue and feeling the soft touch of coldness on his skin.  Looking up, the whirling flakes danced dizzily against the grey cloud ceiling, confusing his senses.  He took a deep breath of the cold, ice-tainted air, and another.  It was only now, finally free of the confines of the stone rooms and hallways of the palace, that he realised how oppressive he had found it.  He had been ill and bedridden for what seemed like many long weeks, but he was now well, and the day was again full of promise.

Aware of the curious eyes of the guards on him he did not linger, but moved deeper into the forest, away from the main paths and the river.  Here the trees grew undisturbed.  The ground looked patchy, in places dusted with snow, but here and there bare earth and the last of the autumn’s leaves remained.  He found a low branch, waist-high, and after brushing the snow off eased himself onto it, leaning back against the trunk with his eyes closed.  Stillness and silence surrounded him, and all around he could feel the deep, thoughtful quiet of winter. It had been so long since he had felt the clean air, had sensed the murmur of the trees or heard the soft susurration of their leaves and branches.  The song of welcome he heard now gladdened his heart.  The trees had missed him, just as he had missed them.

It was peaceful here, and Legolas found his thoughts drifting aimlessly for a while as he considered all that had happened during the last few weeks.   He supposed he had been lucky in a way.  True, if he had kept his head and jumped clear when he thought Elrohir was about to fall, his injuries would have been avoided completely, but matters could have been so much more serious.  He could have been killed, he knew – either in the initial rock fall, or as a result of the severity of his injuries.  It was an odd thing to consider.  Yet again, his mind wandered back to the time in the cave and he tried to piece everything together.  It was hard, for his memories were muddled.  Some, like what Arwen had said to him, were vague and hazy, veiled by pain and confusion.  He could recall hearing her voice, soothing and reassuring, but not what she had said.  Other memories – the cold grittiness of the ground, hard and unyielding; the stale smell of the damp, musty air – seemed sharp and vivid.

What was still unclear was what, if anything, he had seen.  Had there really been some unseen creature lurking there?  Or had he just seen reflections of the torchlight glinting off wet stone and embroidered on that?  Or had he seen nothing at all, and it was entirely in his imagination?  He wanted to know which it was, but felt deeply uneasy at the prospect for some reason.  With a sigh, he pushed the memories aside again, and concentrated instead on the song of the forest.

Clearest of all he could hear the deep, distinct voice of the pine he leaned against, its tones sharp and green.  A little fainter was a light, silvery tone from a beech.  Further away, but just as clear, was the slow, deep, ponderous note from one of the oldest oaks, sounding sleepy now in the dormancy of late winter.  The tree cradled him, and tranquil at last, his thoughts merged with the song of the trees as he lost himself in the silent voices of the forest, and the tiny creatures it sheltered.

At length he stirred, rousing himself from contemplation and finding himself cold and stiff.  Someone was approaching, and he carefully dropped the foot or so from his branch to the ground, then turned to look towards the path.  Through the trees he could see one of the twins, who waved and made his way towards Legolas.  “I found him, El!”  Elladan called as he ducked beneath a branch and stopped by the pine.  “Your father was getting worried – it’s getting late.  We came to find you before he sent out search parties.  The snow’s really thick now.”  He shook himself, sending a flurry of snow drifting to the ground from his cloak.

Legolas glanced at the sky, surprised to see that it was darkening towards evening, and still heavy with thickly falling snow.  “I had no idea – I lost track of the time.  I came out before breakfast.”

“Have you been here all this time, talking to the trees?” Elrohir asked in amazement as he joined them, equally snow-covered.

Elladan laughed.  “Wood-elf!”

“Noldor snob!” Legolas retaliated.  He rested one hand against the tree trunk.  “Goodbye, my friends – I will come again.  Soon.” 

“Legolas, they are just trees!”  Elladan protested.  The branch above his head quivered slightly and gently deposited a fresh layer of snow on him, the flakes shining like crystal against his hair. 

Elrohir gave a shout of laughter at Elladan’s dumbfounded expression, but backed hastily away from his twin, out of range of the tree.  “Did you do that?” he asked Legolas curiously.  “I would be careful, El – they may just be trees, but they seem very protective of their wood-elf!”

Slowly, they returned to the palace, both Elladan and Elrohir casting wary glances upward at the trees and back to Legolas, more awed than they wanted to admit.  Thranduil hovered inside the hall as they entered, not quite pacing.  “There you are!!"  he exclaimed.  “I wondered what had happened, especially as the weather worsened.”

“Forgive me, Father,” Legolas apologised.  “I did not realise how late it was, nor how bad the snow was.  It seemed sheltered where I was.  Were you worried?  Elladan and Elrohir said you were about to send out search parties!”

“It was not quite that bad, but I was growing concerned.”  Thranduil looked at Legolas closely.  “You look better, elfling.  Much better.  You seem more at ease than I have seen you for weeks.”

Legolas nodded.  “I feel better.  I feel more relaxed and peaceful than I have for a long time.  I hadn’t realised how much I needed to be outside – and alone.  Thank you for not setting any guards on me!”

“I told you before, I trust you.”  Thranduil glanced at the twins.  “Thank you for retrieving him for me.  Will you join us for tea?”

Elladan shook his head.  “Thank you, but no.  I promised to play chess with Arwen.  El?”

Elrohir also declined.  “I was planning to meet Taniquel,” he explained.

Thranduil’s study was only partly furnished for work.  In addition, there were deep chairs facing the flickering fire, a couch, low tables and stools, and a small cabinet with glasses and flagons of wine.

Legolas took the steaming cup his father gave him, only now realising that his hands were stiff with the cold.  The tea was hot and fragrant, the berry flavour reminding him of summer.

“I asked Tionel to send up something for you to eat.  You missed breakfast and lunch,” Thranduil scolded.

Legolas settled against the cushioned chair by the fire.  “Father, I am not an elfling!  I can last until dinner tonight.”

Thranduil raised one eyebrow.  “Then you will not want any of the cakes Mireth makes with honey, I take it?”

“I told you, I –”  Legolas hesitated.  “Honey cakes?” he repeated hopefully. “Mireth’s honey cakes?  Well, I would hate to disappoint her!”

“Of course not – elfling!”

~~**~~

The next day dawned bright and clear.  The previous day’s snow still lay thickly on the ground, but thawed rapidly in the bright sunlight.  The air was soft with the hint of spring.  Thranduil knew that winter was not yet over, and bitter weather could well return, but the worst was past.   There was beauty in all seasons and phases of the forest, but hunting was scarce in the depths of winter, and many of the smaller creatures suffered.

He walked now through the grounds of Lasgalen with Elrond and Celebrían.  Apart from a few firs and pines, most of the trees here were bare, branches showing starkly dark against the pale sky.   Beside the path the first glimpses of spring could be seen – green-fringed snowdrops pushed through the white coverlet, pale yellow aconites gleamed beneath the trees.  Some distance away, by the river, they could see Legolas and Arwen seated on a fallen tree that had not survived the winter’s storms.  She was explaining something to him, her hands moving expressively as Legolas listened.

“They have become good friends recently,” Thranduil observed.  “I think the experience in the cave has brought them closer together.  I am sorry that Arwen too was injured, yet if she had not been there …”  he paused.  “On the whole, I think we were lucky.  Things could have been a great deal worse.  Legolas could so easily have been killed.”

“Yes.  We all were,”  Celebrían agreed softly.  “Legolas, Arwen, Elrohir – any one of them, or even all three, could have died.  And Elladan – if anything had happened to the others, especially Elrohir, I fear we would have lost him too.  He would have been inconsolable.  I think his grief and guilt would have overwhelmed him.”  She shivered at the possibility.

Elrond placed an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.  “We do not have to dwell on such might-have-beens.  They are safe, all of them.  And Legolas is well now.  Have no fears.”  He kissed her brow gently.  “Have no fears,” he repeated in a whisper.

Thranduil had been considering Celebrían’s words.  “Elladan as well?  I know he and Elrohir are close, but I confess I do not really understand their bond.”

She smiled.  “Few do.  They cannot really explain it themselves – they simply accept it.  When they were very young, they could nor bear to be parted, and had to sleep in a specially-constructed double cot.”  Her smile deepened.  “They do not care to be reminded of the fact now.”

The Elven-king returned her smile.  “Then I will not mention it.  Not to them; nor to Legolas.  I know how sensitive the young can be.”  His gaze strayed again to Arwen and Legolas, now walking slowly beside the river.  “Although they are not so young now – they are growing fast, all of them.”

To Be Continued

Chapter Fourteen – Matchmaking

Spring had now unmistakably arrived in Lasgalen.  The air was soft and warm, and birdsong filled the air.   Butter-yellow primroses blossomed along the banks of the Forest River, and in glades beneath the trees.  The night before there had been a sharp frost, but no trace remained on the grass and leaves, even where the sun had yet to penetrate.

Thranduil and Celebrían walked beneath the trees, savouring the sunlight – the first truly warm day of the year.  Elrond was busy elsewhere, overseeing the preparations for their imminent return to Imladris.  Thranduil stopped by a fallen tree, and spread his cloak across it, waiting until Celebrían turned towards him.  “Lady Celebrían, may I speak with you?” he asked formally.

She looked at him, seeming a little surprised.  “Of course.”

He waited until she sat, then joined her.  For a moment he was silent, listening to the growing murmur of the trees as they slowly awoke from their winter dormancy. “I have been thinking about my son’s future,”  he said at last.  “That one day, he may be king.  And about his future marriage.  Above all else, I want him to be happy – I hope he can find the joy I had with Telparian; that I see between you and Elrond.”

She nodded.  “Of course you do.  I want the same for my own children.  Yet it can be hard – they do not always make the choices we would wish for them.  When I think of the maidens who flock adoringly around Elrohir – most are delightful, but some …”  she shook her head sadly.  “They seem such vapid, silly, empty-headed tattletongues!  Yet he treats them all with the same gentle courtesy.”

“Exactly,”  Thranduil agreed.  “The young need guidance.  And the maidens here – they are all far too aware of Legolas’s position.  Some are daunted by it, while some are attracted by the thought of power.  He finds it difficult to meet any who simply accept him.”

Celebrían regarded him curiously.  “What of you, my lord Thranduil?  What of Telparian?”  She paused.  “Does it pain you to speak of her?”

Thranduil smiled sadly.  “Sometimes.  I still speak of her, though.  I would not have her forgotten.”

She nodded.  “It is good to remember.   So, did you meet and love her from the first, or did your respective parents plan for you to meet?”

He laughed.  “Both!   She arrived from Mithlond on the eve of the Last Alliance.  Her father was a kinsman of Círdan’s.  I glimpsed her across the room, and lost my heart.  We danced, and talked, and walked in the forest beneath the stars.  She wept, saying she could not love me – for she had been brought here to meet the prince, with  a view to a possible alliance between Lasgalen and Mithlond.  Neither of us had even realised I had not given her my name!”

Celebrían smiled.  “She did not even know who you were?  I have never heard that tale!  So you approved of your parents’ choice?”

“Oh, yes.  Although that did not stop me telling my mother that I would not see this maiden from Mithlond she wanted me to meet, for I already loved another.”  He chuckled.   “I did not see why her machinations should appear quite so successful.  After her initial shock, she swallowed her disappointment, gave me her blessing and wished us both joy.  Then I told her who it was I loved.”

Celebrían laughed.  “Thranduil, you wretch!  You deserved to have been disinherited!”

“Probably.”  He sighed.  “Lady Celebrían – there is a maiden of Imladris I know Legolas could love.  She is courageous and beautiful; strong-willed.  She is not awed by his title, but likes him for who he is.  And he likes her.”

She nodded slowly.  “You speak of Arwen.”

“Yes.”  He glanced at her.  “You do not seem surprised.”

“Elrond and I have already discussed this, after we noticed their growing fondness for one another.  We would like to see closer ties than mere friendship between our lands.   An alliance between Imladris and Lasgalen would strengthen both realms.  This would have to be the decision of the younglings, but I would not object.”  Celebrían  smiled.  “I am very fond of Legolas.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement, feeling the pang of sorrow that would never fade.  “As I am fond of Arwen.  If Lissuin had lived …  perhaps, if things had been different, she would have grown to love and marry Elladan or Elrohir.  Who can tell?”  He paused, lost in thoughts of the daughter he had lost, and what may have been.  “Who can tell?” he repeated softly.

“Do not be sad for what has gone,” she urged him.  “Rejoice in what you have.  And let us hope that one day, your son and my daughter will come to love one another as more than friends.”

They resumed their walk, speaking now of  the impending journey back to Imladris; the twins’ coming of age day which would fall near the end of spring; and the forthcoming council to be held in Lórien that summer.

Suddenly, though, the peace of the morning was shattered by shouts and yells, cursing and the unmistakable sounds of fierce combat.  It would have been rather alarming but for the fact that there was much laughter threaded through the commotion.

“Shall we investigate?”  Thranduil enquired, as he turned towards the sounds.

“Should we?”  Celebrían sounded doubtful.  “If we do, we may have to prevent bloodshed.  If we ignore it, they will eventually come to their senses.  They usually do.” 

There was a shriek from Arwen, and a gasping cry from one of the twins. “Stop it, El!  Stop it!  I yield!”

Celebrían sighed.  “Come, then.  I hoped they had outgrown this sort of behaviour!”

Ahead, they could see Legolas, Arwen and the twins.   Elladan and Elrohir were engaged in some sort of tussle, while the other two looked on in amusement.  Legolas balanced easily on his crutches, laughing at the scene before him.  Elladan held his brother by the waist, and was tickling him mercilessly while Elrohir squirmed helplessly, too weak with laughter to break free.  Suddenly a small, rounded stone by their feet was kicked towards a moss-covered boulder, hitting it sharply.  Elladan finally released his brother, grinning in triumph.  “My point!” he declared. 

Elrohir straightened, flushed and dishevelled.  He shot a venomous glare at his twin.  “That was a low trick!  It is foul play to use such tactics!” 

Elladan grinned at him, clearly unrepentant.  “I know your weakness, little brother.  There is nothing in the rules about tickling.”

Elrohir scowled.  “Only because there are no rules!”  He smiled suddenly.  “I will even the score, though!  A rematch?”

At Thranduil’s side, Celebrían coughed pointedly.  All four turned abruptly, sobering very slightly.   Elladan regained his composure first.  “Mother!  King Thranduil!  Forgive me – we did not notice you.”

“Obviously.”  Celebrían gazed at her sons steadily, and Thranduil was astounded to see them both flush and lower their eyes.  “Clearly I am mistaken,” she said at last.  “I was under the impression that on your next begetting day you would come of age.  Yet you are elflings still.” 

Thranduil could see her trying hard not to smile, and controlled his own mirth.  In truth, he was overjoyed to see Legolas so at ease, his eyes still brimming with laughter.  The twins too, and Arwen, had been rather serious lately, all far too aware of the possible consequences of the rock fall.  He waited, and after a moment Celebrían gave in.  “I am delighted to see it.  I feared you were becoming far too serious!  You mentioned a rematch?”

“Aye, a rematch!”  Elladan glanced quickly at Legolas and Arwen, and gestured them to join in.  “Come!  Two on two, this time.  How shall we arrange the teams?”

“Legolas, be careful!”  Thranduil warned automatically.  “I do not think you should take part. Calmacil says he can remove the cast in a day or so.  If you fell now …”  he stopped, trying to quell his anxiety.  He knew he had a tendency to fuss, especially after the accident.

“Father, you worry too much!”  Legolas shook his head, sighing.  “Do not fuss.  I will be fine.  Surely you do not expect me to turn down this challenge?”  He turned to Elladan.  “I accept.  Arwen and I; against the two of you.  Your target is the boulder, ours is …”  he searched for a suitable marker.  “That tree stump.”

The twins nodded, once more in total accord.  Thranduil had observed before that their arguments and disagreements never lasted for long.  “Agreed,”  Elladan announced.  “Fear not, little princeling – we will be gentle with you.  And your father can judge that there is no foul play.”  He gave a sidelong look at Elrohir, then drew him aside. “Come, little brother – we should discuss tactics.”  He lowered his voice to a clearly audible whisper.  “Do you think we should just take his crutches?”

Celebrían sighed.  “Elflings!”  she snorted in disgust.

Thranduil watched anxiously for a moment, resigned to the fact that he could do nothing about this.  He just hoped that the twins would curb their enthusiasm a little, and would, indeed, be  ‘gentle’.

He need not have worried.  Elladan and Elrohir, while cheerfully pushing Arwen aside – and even each other, for all they were supposed to be on the same side – were careful not to jostle Legolas or knock him off balance.  They dodged around him, using his slower speed to their advantage, and impeded his progress easily.  Rules seemed to be few and far between, but fair – the twins led by only one point.  In a final attempt to claim a conclusive victory, Elrohir seized Arwen from behind, pinning her against his body as she giggled and wriggled furiously, kicking back at her brother’s legs.

Celebrían  sighed.  “Where did she learn to fight like that?” she asked in despair.

“El!  I have her.  Now is your chance!”  Elrohir shouted to his brother.  “Quickly, while she cannot stop you!”

As Elladan darted past him,  Legolas struck out with his crutch, catching Elladan on the shin and tripping him.  He stumbled and fell to the ground with an oath, much to the amusement of both his brother and sister.  While he was incapacitated, Legolas took his chance to hit the little stone sharply with the end of the crutch, knocking it into the tree stump.  “My point!”  he called in triumph.  “A tie – three points to each of us.  Do you all agree?”

“A tie!”  Thranduil agreed hastily, before another round of further revenge could be declared.  “I judge the game over.  Well done to all of you.”

Celebrían helped Elladan to his feet.  “You should be ashamed of yourself, Elladan!  Such language!”

He looked a little sheepish.  “Sorry, mother.”  Then he gave a sudden smile.  “But I learnt that word from you!”

To Thranduil’s immense surprise, while Arwen and Legolas stared at her in amazement and her sons laughed at some shared memory, Celebrían blushed scarlet.  “So you did,” she admitted.  “So you did.”

o-o-o

“What is this I hear about a game of sarndal?”  Calmacil asked as he examined Legolas’s injured leg.  “You should know better – if you had fallen, you could have undone all my hard work!  Wriggle your toes.”

Legolas obeyed.  “My father said the same thing – but I did not fall, and have done no damage!  My leg is fine. It does not even ache now.” He sat in Calmacil’s room in the infirmary, his leg outstretched on a bench, hoping fervently that the heavy cast could finally be removed.  “Well?”  he demanded, as Calmacil finished his examination.

“Good.”   Calmacil reached behind him for a knife with a very short, very sharp blade.  “It seems to have healed well – I will remove the plaster, and we will see how things look underneath.  Keep still,”  he warned.

Legolas eyed the knife a little apprehensively.  “I hope you will be careful with that – it looks extremely sharp!”

“I will be careful,”  Calmacil told him serenely.  “That is, if you do not distract me by chattering, elfling!  Hush now.”  He sliced slowly and painstakingly through the cast – two long, careful cuts on each side of the leg – and carefully wrenched the two halves of plaster apart.

Legolas stared at his leg in dismay. A long, jagged scar ran the length of his shin; red and angry looking.  The bruising and swelling had faded,  but now his leg appeared pale against the livid scar.  “I thought it would have healed by now,” he admitted in disappointment.  He had hoped – perhaps foolishly – that with the removal of the cast he would be instantly restored to full health and mobility, but it was clearly not to be.

“It is,”  Calmacil assured him cheerfully.  “It is healing well.  The scar will fade in time, and in a few months you will not even have a limp to remind you of your escapade.  Be patient, youngling.”  He began to massage the leg, kneading the calf muscles carefully.

“A few months?”  Legolas repeated in horror. “A few months?  But – the Lórien council is in a few months!  I have to be well enough to go!”  He hissed slightly at the unexpected pain of Calmacil’s ministrations

Calmacil nodded absently, closing his eyes as he worked.  The pain faded, and was replaced by a gentle warmth.  “Mmm, well, I expect that by summer you will be fine.  We shall see.  But in the meantime, your leg will be weak – the muscles were damaged as well, and will probably not take your weight yet.   I will show you some exercises to strengthen it, but you will still need to use a stick for a while.”

“A walking stick?  Like the old women and greybeards I saw at Esgaroth?”  Legolas took a deep breath and swallowed his disappointment.  “Let me try without it first.  Please.”   He stood, a little unsteadily, and carefully transferred his weight to his injured leg.  At least it no longer hurt.  His balance wavered, and he hastily corrected it as his leg began to shake.  “All right,”  he said tersely.  “All right.  Perhaps I do need it for now – but just for a few days, though.”  He took the stick Calmacil held, limped across the room to the door, then turned.  “Just a few days.”

o-o-o

A few days later,  Legolas finally threw the stick aside and walked across his room unaided.   He still had a pronounced limp – he still could not yet place his full weight on his leg – but he could walk, without the aid of crutches or walking stick.  And today – with the blissful prospect of a few uninterrupted hours ahead – he planned to discover for once and for all the truth of what, if anything, he had seen in the caves.

His father was embroiled in business with Lanatus and other councillors, while Elrond, Celebrían, the twins and Arwen were meeting with messengers from Imladris before their departure in two days time.  It meant that he was free for the morning, without the well-meaning attentions of friends or family to distract or delay him.

Moving slowly along the halls, he passed through the kitchens and storerooms, absently greeting the staff he met on the way.  At the far end of the storerooms, a dark archway led into the deeper tunnels.   He hesitated for a long time, staring along the passageway.  It was very dark, and the light from the dimly illuminated storeroom did not penetrate very far – after a few yards, all was pitch black.  With a deep breath, he took a flickering torch from a sconce on the wall, and stepped into the tunnel.  Then he stopped again, returned to the storeroom, and grabbed a handful of candles from a shelf,  along with a tinderbox, thrusting them deep into a packet.  After a moment’s hesitation, he took another tinderbox and added that.  He remembered with a shiver the darkness of the tunnels and caves, and the utter blackness if a torch went out.  He did not want to be caught in the caves without light.

Finally, telling himself that if he did not move soon he would take root, Legolas stepped into the tunnel.

To Be Continued

Author’s Notes: ‘Sarndal’  is the elvish version of football.  It’s compiled from the Sindarin words for small stone + foot.

Chapter Fifteen – The Heart Of Darkness

As Legolas stepped into the tunnel, the sounds of Lasgalen – the murmur of voices, distant laughter, the thump and clink of boxes and bottles being moved – began to fade behind him.    Soon he was enveloped in total silence.   If it had not been for the flickering, flaring torch; he would have been in total darkness as well.  Tightening his grip on it nervously, he peered forward into the yawning blackness that lay before him, then threw a last swift glance behind.   The storerooms seemed very far away now, and he was alone in the still, dark, silence of the caves.   Taking a deep breath, and drawing on all the determination he had inherited from both his father and grandfather, he turned his back on the welcoming beacon of light and sounds of life that lay behind him.   This was something he had to do, despite his forebodings.

The sense of oppression he felt puzzled him – he had explored these caverns and tunnels many times before, either alone or with friends; but always it had been with a feeling of excitement  and wonder.  Now the air pressed heavily against him, feeling clammy against his skin, and he was aware as never before of the immense weight of rock and stone; of the hill above him.

Something had changed.

With a shudder, he pushed on, ignoring the deep apprehension he felt.  The average temperature in the caverns never seemed to vary – which made them so ideal for storage – yet he was shivering, and not just from the chill  His skin crawled, and prickles of unease ran down his spine.  He found himself casting frequent glances over his shoulder, or stopping to peer into the gloom, searching and listening – for what?

Reaching the end of the tunnel, he hesitated, then turned right. These first caverns were familiar from previous explorations, and despite his odd misgivings now, he could still recall the route.  Soon, though, he hesitated again.  He had reached the labyrinthine maze of  tunnels, passages and fissures where they had got so disastrously lost.

Uncertainly, he pulled from his pocket the map he had taken from the library.  After their original catastrophic expedition, Elrohir had re-drawn and completed the partial map they had made then.  Looking at it now in the flickering torchlight, Legolas studied the route he needed to take to reach the cave where the rockfall had occurred.  There had been talk of having this part of the caverns sealed off, but it had not been done yet.  Before all access was blocked off, he was determined to find out, once and for all, what it was he had seen.

As he drew nearer, his forebodings grew.  There was something eerie about his surroundings, and the air seemed dank and chill.  A stale smell hung about the tunnels, for no breeze ever freshened the air here.  The atmosphere felt very claustrophobic, and it seemed to be getting difficult to breathe.  Memory came back to him, of the crushing weight on his chest, and the searing pain of every single breath.   He shivered again, telling himself that his ribs were healed; and drew a deep breath, forcing air into his lungs.  Despite that, the dead stillness of the air  pressed down on him heavily.  With a shudder of apprehension, he glanced up at the roof cautiously,  searching it for signs of weakness, for cracks or fissures in the rock, then whirled at a sudden sound from behind him.

His heart pounding, he extended the torch ahead of him, his hand shaking, and peered into the darkness.   The sound came again, from another direction this time, and he spun around again.  The sudden movement caused the torch to flicker ominously, and he slowed in sudden fear.  If the torch went out, he would be in utter darkness until he could kindle a flame and relight it.  He edged forward carefully, starting as he heard it again – this time right in front of him.

There was nothing there.  Nothing.  There was just the chill dankness in the air, and a glint of moisture on the ceiling and on the ground beneath his feet. 

Moisture.   Cautiously, he touched the rock wall at his side, feeling the wetness on his fingers.  Something splashed onto the back of his hand, icily cold, as a drop of water fell from the roof of the passage, and he sighed.  The noise he had heard was nothing more than drips of water, echoing off the tunnel walls.   Holding the torch aloft, he saw a thin film of water glistening in the uncertain light, reflecting star-like sparks of fire.  It was just water.  Feeling more than foolish – and relieved that there was no-one to witness his needless alarm – he checked the map again, and continued along the tunnel.

He was drawing near to the cavern now, and stopped to tuck the map back into his pocket, checking his knife as he did so.  It still hung from his belt, and he kept his hand near the hilt, ready to draw it in an instant.  The only sounds he could hear were his own footsteps – a little uneven as he limped along the rough ground – and his breathing, still ragged after his earlier fright.  He still felt a deep unease, and his skin still crawled with vague, unnamed horrors – his disquiet had not been abated in the least by his discovery.

At last – yet far too soon – he reached the great cavern.  There was a faint illumination here, from the opening high up on the wall, but it did little to penetrate the deepest recesses. Legolas paused and listened intently, but there was utter silence all around him.  He stepped out into the open space, slowly turning around and examining the cave as he moved, searching for anything that might lurk there.  He moved back to the entrance again, and from there slowly circumnavigated the cave, studying the walls before him carefully, raising the torch to illuminate the walls high above his head.  There were several dark crevices, and he thrust the torch into them cautiously, lighting the black depths, each time prepared to leap backwards if anything suddenly lunged at him.

He did not know what he expected to find – a spider squatting on a web, a rat scuttling away from the light, a snake slithering into some tiny crack.  Perhaps there was some nameless creature, never before seen, that dwelt in the caverns, or just an unfortunate forest animal that had tumbled through the gap torn by the uprooted tree.  There was no trace.  There were no droppings, no bones, no tracks on the dusty floor.  Oddly, the less evidence he found, the more his fear and anxiety increased.  It seemed the longer he was in the cave, his sense of oppression grew and grew, until all he could think about was the layers and layers of rock, stone and earth above him.  Beyond the circle of flickering torchlight, the darkness pressed in on him relentlessly, full of threat and hidden dangers.

At last he stood beneath the narrow opening and stared upwards to the glimmer of daylight he could see.  Although it was only a hundred feet above his head, he could feel no connection to the forest here – the trees seemed as remote as the distant peaks of the Misty Mountains, and their song was silenced.  He tore his gaze from the sliver of light, and looked down again.  The ground here was littered with the rubble and debris that had fallen from the cave wall when Elrohir climbed it.  A little to one side lay a heavy slab of rock.  Kneeling a little awkwardly – his leg was still rather stiff – he winced as he studied it, and at the dark stain that covered the ground where he knelt.  Gazing up at the cave wall again and the long drop, he shuddered.  He and Elrohir could both so easily have been killed – it was a miracle they had survived.

Legolas shivered again as he got to his feet.  It was time to go back.  There was nothing to see here, nothing but a lingering memory of pain, fear, and darkness.  He turned, surveying the cave one last time, the torch held high. 

Suddenly, the wavering light showed him two gleaming pinpoints shining in the darkness.  Two eyes, just as he had seen before.   He whirled, facing the eyes, heart hammering in his chest, and gave a shout of warning.

“Stay back!”  His voice echoed around the chamber.  Beneath the echo, he could hear a harsh, rasping breathing – the same sound he had heard the last time.  Drawing his knife, he stood in a fighting stance, balanced lightly on his feet, the stiffness of his leg forgotten.

The eyes did not move, returning his gaze steadily and unblinkingly.  They were widely spaced, an indication of the size of the creature – whatever it was.  Nothing more of it could be seen, for it blended into the shadows perfectly.  They stared at one another unwaveringly for several long seconds, then very slowly, very cautiously, Legolas began to edge closer.  As he drew nearer with each careful step, the flame of his torch was reflected in the creature’s eyes, growing larger as he approached. 

Still it did not move.  He stretched his hand out in front of him, expecting at any moment to touch the thing’s head or face.  Instead, his groping hand encountered hard, gritty rock.

Disbelievingly, he raised the torch high, and saw.   The ‘eyes’ were two faceted crystals of quartz, embedded in the rock.  They caught and reflected the light when viewed from the right angle, giving an illusion of life – but there was none there.

In despair, he lowered the torch, and leaned his head against the cave wall with a deep sigh.  The sound was rough and unsteady, and he suddenly understood too the harsh, rasping breathing he had heard before.   There was nothing there.  The monstrous creature that had haunted his nightmares for weeks now, ever since his injury, was born from nothing more than the ubiquitous quartz that studded every wall in Lasgalen, and his own fears and fevered imaginings.  The gentle warnings of his father, Elrond and Calmacil were right.  Elrohir’s straightforward explanation, and Arwen’s startled denial all made sense.  They were all right – there had never been anything there.

Sick at heart – for he would have felt better if he had found something more tangible – he stepped slowly back from the wall, shuddering uncontrollably.  Suddenly desperate to get away, to leave the suffocating darkness far behind and return  to warmth and light and safety, he turned sharply, and  slammed into a solid mass,  lit only by an eerie, flickering glow.   Stepping back, he drew his knife and held it out before him, brandishing the torch as well in a double defence.  “Keep back!”  he warned sharply.  He was shamed by the note of fear and panic in his voice.

A familiar voice called to him out of the shadows and darkness.  “Legolas?  Did you not hear me?  I called to you, elfling.”

Thranduil stood there, gazing at him with concern, the torch he held casting odd shadows across his face.

Legolas’s glance flicked behind his father, and back to his face.  Thranduil was alone.   Releasing a long breath, he lowered his torch, ashamed of his sudden panic, and relieved that there was no-one other than his father to observe it.

“I …”  He stopped and moistened his lips.  “I came to find what it was I had seen down here.”

Thranduil gave a snort of exasperation.  “I feared you would.  When there was no trace of you, I guessed you would be here.  Did you find anything?”

Legolas shook his head.  “Just an illusion.”  He straightened his back, doing his best to banish his lingering fears and doubts, at least temporarily.  “Come.  There is nothing here.  Shall we return?”  Without waiting for his father’s agreement, he turned, suddenly desperate to escape from the deadly darkness and return to the light, life and laughter of Lasgalen.

o-o-o

Thranduil gestured to the chairs set by the window, and turned to a side table where goblets and bottles of wine were set out.  Pouring two glasses of a deep red Dorwinnion, he handed one to Legolas, and settled himself in one of the chairs.  He studied his son from the corner of his eye.  Tension was visibly draining from him, but there remained a shadow about him. 

“You found an illusion, you say?”  he questioned carefully. 

Legolas nodded slowly.  “Yes.  I found the eyes I saw, at any rate.  There was nothing there – not really.  Just two crystals of quartz, set about so far apart,” – he held his hands about a foot apart – “which reflected the light.  That was all.”  He grinned humourlessly.  “That was all.  My imagination did the rest.”  He fell silent again.

“And was that all?”  Thranduil asked.  There was more here, he was sure of it.

There was silence for a moment.  Then at last, Legolas spoke again.  “I found fear,”  he said in a low voice.  “I realised why I had been putting of this investigation for so long, although I wanted to see what was there.  I could have gone as soon as I could walk again, even on crutches – but I did not.  Even with a stick, I delayed.  I told myself that Calmacil was right, I should not take risks – but that was not the reason.  Finally, today, I could not make any more excuses to myself.  But the reason for my reluctance was because I was afraid.”  He dropped his gaze, and looked away.

“That is scarcely surprising, given what happened.  There is no shame in that,”  Thranduil said softly.   “You were afraid – yet your curiosity prevailed.  You were afraid – yet you went into the caves alone.  You were afraid – yet you persevered until you found what you sought.  There is no shame in fear.  There is no cowardice.”  He added the last deliberately, knowing intuitively what troubled his son most.

Legolas’s hand tightened convulsively on the wine goblet.  Then he looked across to Thranduil.  “You knew?”

“I know you,”  Thranduil explained simply.  “We all have fears.  It is how we face them that counts.”  He fell silent, and they sat quietly, watching the sun as it set over the trees, streaking the sky with fiery fingers of pink and gold.

As darkness filled the room, Thranduil stirred, refilling their goblets.  “Do not forget the farewell feast tomorrow evening for Elrond and his family,”  he commented.  “I expect you to be there.”

“Yes, of course,”  Legolas agreed.  “I look forward to it – well, to the feast and dancing at any rate.  Not to them leaving.  I know they have stayed for far longer than they planned, but I will miss them.”

Thranduil nodded.  “You get on well with the twins,”  he observed carefully.

“Yes.  I always have.  With Arwen as well, now.  She was always just Ellahir’s little sister before, but recently …”   Legolas shrugged.   “I like her.  We have much in common.”

“Ah,”  Thranduil murmured softly.  “Good.”

Legolas narrowed his eyes.  “What do you mean, ‘good’?”  he queried suspiciously.  “Are you planning something?” 

Thranduil shook his head.  “Nothing at all, elfling.  Nothing at all,”  he replied serenely.

To Be Concluded

Chapter Sixteen – Epilogue

Legolas surveyed the hall with satisfaction.  It was all but empty now, save for a few servants placing the final touches to one of the tables.   A group of musicians stood in one corner, inspecting their instruments and talking softly – presumably discussing the evening’s entertainment.  Tantalising aromas drifted into the great hall – spices, roasting meats, freshly baked bread.  Candles flickered gently on the tables,  and light flared from torches placed along the walls.

The hall was rarely dressed like this – usually only at mid-winter.  The mid-summer festival, perhaps Lasgalen’s greatest celebration, was always held outside in the forest beneath the sky and stars; and the weekly feasts were nothing like as grand as this.  Tonight, though, in recognition of Elrond’s departure, Thranduil and Legolas had decided to honour him and his family with high ceremony, in gratitude for everything they had done during their much-extended visit. 

Tonight, the hall was decorated in shades of green, pale blue, and yellow – the colours of springtime.  Tapestries hanging from the walls depicted woodland glades; the trees blushed with the pale green of new growth, the forest floor beneath carpeted with a haze of bluebells, primroses or celandines.   Legolas had collected similar woodland flowers earlier that day for his father’s springtime crown, and for the smaller circlet of flowers he himself would wear.

As well as the feasting and ceremony, there would be dancing – some stately and formal, some reserved strictly for married or betrothed couples.   There would be chain dances, where partners changed with dizzying speed.  Other dances would be even wilder and livelier, more a test of endurance than grace, and a matter of who could keep their feet the longest

With a final glance at the hall, Legolas turned.  All was ready.  Now he merely needed to ready himself.

o-o-o

During the course of the meal the musicians played quietly, and a minstrel sang songs and ancient lays of legends and heroes. Then, to lighten to mood for dancing,  the tone changed, and others sang fantastical tales of daring and errantry, and songs of humour and sly wit.

As the feast ended, tables and benches were pushed back against the walls of the hall, leaving room for sitting, and room for dancing. 

Tradition demanded that Thranduil himself should lead the first dance.  With the familiar pang in his heart that it was not Telparian at his side, he bowed to Celebrían, and extended his arm to her.  “Lady Celebrían, may I have the pleasure of this dance?”  he asked very formally.

Her eyes sparkling with mirth, she rose, inclining her head graciously.  “It would be my honour, your majesty.”

Thranduil glanced to her side.  “Elrond, may I borrow your wife?”

Elrond waved a hand dismissively.  “Of course.”

As they began the first measures of the dance, Thranduil looked around his hall.  Events like this were a useful indication of the state of affairs in his realm; the small, personal interests and relationships that official reports neglected – matters that Telparian had always kept him informed about before.  Watching the shifting patterns of dancers, he could see who was courting who; could observe fluctuating friendship groups; and by listening to snippets of conversation here and there could tell the small, day-to-day worries and concerns that never usually reached his ears.   He saw one of Elrond’s sons – it had to be Elrohir – dancing with Taniquel.  Then his gaze strayed to where Legolas stood facing Arwen.  Arwen looked up, laughing as she said something,  her eyes bright with happiness.  Legolas smiled as he glanced down, murmuring something in reply.  Thranduil nudged Celebrían.  “Look,”  he nodded.

She glanced towards them, then looked away quickly.  “Good,” she murmured.  “If they find themselves growing closer without any influence from us, so much the better.”

Thranduil nodded in agreement.   Watching Legolas and Arwen, he was suddenly struck by his son’s maturity.  He was no longer a child.   He had faced the trials of the last few weeks with a courage and determination that would put many older, more experienced elves to shame.  He felt an immense pride in Legolas, and harboured a fierce hope that his son could find the same sort of happiness and joy with Arwen that he himself had found with Telparian – without ever experiencing the terrible grief of loss. 

Legolas glanced his way, and Thranduil turned quickly.  He did not wish to intrude.  But then, as the dance wound to a close, and the dancers bowed or curtsied to each other, applauding the musicians, he saw Legolas move away with Arwen, a hand placed lightly on her waist.

They sat at a small, quiet table, and Legolas poured two goblets of wine.  Arwen turned towards him, murmuring something, and Legolas leaned closer, his head bent towards her.  Thranduil tried not to watch the intense conversation – they deserved privacy in this first, intimate stage of their courtship – but it was hard.  And then Legolas moved closer still, lowering his head towards Arwen’s upturned face as they exchanged a first, gentle kiss.

Thranduil looked swiftly away, catching Celebrían’s eye briefly.  Her small, fierce smile of joy matched his own.  Then Legolas and Arwen broke apart quickly as first Elladan, then Elrohir joined them, and the moment was gone.

o-o-o

As a matter of courtesy, Legolas turned to Arwen for the first dance.  As the daughter of their guests, it was his duty to escort her – but it was no penance, he always enjoyed time spent with her.   During the visit to Lasgalen she had become a very dear friend, and more than ever like a sister to him.

The floor was crowded with couples for this first dance.   Thranduil swirled past with Celebrían, while Elrohir danced – predictably – with Taniquel.  As Legolas linked his arm through Arwen’s and swung her around, he glanced at her flushed, laughing face, and smiled.  “Having fun?”  he asked with a grin.

She nodded, pushing a strand of hair back from her face.  “Oh, yes!  Thank you – you and your father – for arranging this.  It will be a wonderful memory to take home.”

Feeling sharp eyes on him, he turned, but there was no-one behind him apart from his father, deep in conversation with Celebrían as they danced.  With a shrug, he turned back to Arwen.  “I will miss you when you leave – all of you.  Especially you and Ellahir.”

Arwen giggled.  “I like it when you call them Ellahir.  I know they get so fed up when people keep getting their names mixed up – even mother and father get it wrong sometimes, though I think that is just absent-mindedness.  Ellahir is a good compromise.”

“And you? Do you ever get them confused?”

She shook her head.  “No.  Never.   They just …” – she hesitated – “they just feel different.  I can’t explain it any better than that.

Legolas turned as he felt eyes watching him again, but again there was no-one there.  The first dance ended, and the music became livelier; the dancing more energetic.   At last, when the musicians played a final chord – to applause and laughter – he  guided Arwen to a small table and poured them both some wine.   The dancing had been fast and vigorous, and he was thirsty.  The circlet of spring flowers he wore had slipped, and he removed it carefully, placing it on the table at his side.

“Legolas?”  Arwen murmured.  “Why does your father, and my mother, keep looking this way?  I’ve been watching.  They’ve been doing it all evening.”

He watched from the corner of his eye.  Sure enough, every time he said anything to Arwen, they both came under intense scrutiny.  Yet when he glanced in Thranduil’s direction, his father appeared absorbed in something else.  His mind ranged back over the conversation he had had with his father the previous day, and Thranduil’s odd exclamation, ‘Good,’ when he had mentioned his friendship with Arwen.  “Oh, no,”  he breathed.

“Oh no?”  Arwen repeated.  “Why?  What is wrong?”

“Do you remember the conversation we had at the last feast?  About the sort of maiden my father would ideally wish me to bond with?”

She nodded, with a faintly puzzled expression.  “Yes.  Someone from Lórien, or Imladris, because of alliances …”  she broke off suddenly, staring at Legolas in disbelief.  “You can’t be serious!”  she exclaimed.

“No, but I think they are,”  he admitted, with a nod towards their parents.   He moved a little closer to Arwen, watching his father from the corner of his eye.  To his amusement, Thranduil looked immensely pleased with himself.

Legolas sighed.  “Very well.   Now watch,”  he instructed.  “Tell me what happens.”   He leaned very close, his face an inch from hers.  “Now what?” he breathed into her ear.

“They are looking – and smiling!”  she hissed in indignation.

Legolas slid another sideways glance in their direction.  His father wore an expression that could only be described as smug.  He groaned.  “So what do we do now?” he whispered.

Arwen considered.  “Well,”  she began slowly, a grin spreading across her face.  “Why not play their game?”

Legolas matched her smile.  “Let them think their plan is working?  Yes.  It will give us both a respite from the attentions of ambitious parents – especially our own!”  He grimaced.  “We will have to tell Elladan and Elrohir, though.  Your brothers will tear me limb from limb if they think I am playing with your affections!”

Arwen gave a most unladylike snort.  “They think I need protecting.  They would soon realise the truth, anyway – they know us both too well!   But yes, we tell them – I think my brothers will enjoy this game as well.”

She looked up with a smile as Elladan appeared suddenly from the throng.  “Tell us what, little sister?”  he asked as he perched, cat-like, on the edge of the table.  “What game?”

“Wait for Elrohir,”  Arwen said firmly.  “We do not want to have to explain this twice.  Where is he?”

Elladan nodded towards the dancers.   “Need you ask?  He’s doing it again.”

They watched in amusement as the chains of dancers met, swung each other around arm-in-arm, then side-stepped to greet a new partner.    Elrohir still partnered Taniquel.  With an adroit step sideways and backwards, they stayed together, while their potential partners found themselves dancing together, without even realising anything was amiss.

“He does it very subtly,”  Legolas commented.  “Is he serious about her?”

Elladan regarded his twin.  “More serious that he realises, I think,”  he said at last, rather slowly.   “There are small things I have noticed.  Usually, when he thinks he is in love, he writes terrible poetry.  But not now.  And he usually talks non-stop about his latest conquest – but not now.  El insists that Taniquel is just a friend – but I wonder.  There is another thing, too – she always calls me Elladan.”

“Well?  It is your name,”  Legolas reminded him.

Elladan sighed.  “Yes, but what I mean is that she knows I am not Elrohir.  She can tell us apart.  Even people at home, who have known us all our lives, cannot always do that!”    He gave a shrug.  “But tomorrow we go back home – who knows what will happen then?  We shall see.  I think he will miss her, though.”

As the dance ended, Elrohir drew Taniquel to him, gave her a light kiss on the cheek, and finally released her to return to his brother and sister. 

“Legolas and Arwen have something to tell us, little brother,”  Elladan began.  “But they are being very secretive.

“Well?”  Elrohir demanded.

Legolas hesitated.  This was going to be rather more difficult than he realised.  “Well,”  he began.  “My father – and your parents – seem to think it would be a good idea if – if – that is, if …”

“They think it would be a good idea if Legolas and I were betrothed!”  Arwen stated bluntly.

“You?”  echoed Elladan.

“And Legolas?”  Elrohir added.

Inevitably, the next word was spoken simultaneously.  “Bethrothed?” they asked. 

Arwen kicked Elrohir, who was nearest.  “Oh, stop it!” she snapped in exasperation.  “It’s not funny!”

The twins exchanged a glance that showed they thought otherwise.

“What did you say when they announced this?”  Elrohir asked.

“Oh, they have not announced it – not to us,”  Legolas explained.  “But there have been comments made, and sly hints, and knowing looks.  And from their point of view, it makes perfect sense.”

Elladan nodded sagely.  “It does make sense – apart from one thing they seem to have overlooked.  You do not love one another.”  Then he looked startled.  “Do you?”  he questioned warily.

Legolas shook his head.  “Not like that.  However, we have a plan.”

“We are going to let them think that their match-making is working,”  Arwen explained.  “That way, Legolas and I will both be free from unwanted attentions from anyone else.”

“You are going to tell mother and father that you are – shall we say ‘interested’ – in  Legolas?”  Elrohir asked incredulously. 

Arwen shook her head quickly.  “I am not going to tell them anything!  Certainly nothing untrue.  Neither is Legolas.  But,” – she paused for emphasis – “if they are already thinking in that direction - and they make assumptions – or they jump to certain conclusions - it will not be our fault!”

Elladan nodded again.  “Very subtle and cunning,” he said approvingly.  “An excellent idea.”

Legolas picked up the discarded circlet of flowers, carefully untangling one of the blooms from the weave.  “So if you see a few romantic gestures,”  he began, offering the flower to Arwen, then tucking it into her hair, “it means nothing.  It is just an act.”

Elrohir glanced around the hall, and grinned.  “A most convincing one,”  he observed.   “I think you have just broken several hearts.  Speaking of which …”

“If you ever hurt Arwen through this  ‘game’ …”  Elladan told him,

“You will answer to us,”  Elrohir finished.  He smiled, but there was an underlying hint of steel in his voice.

Legolas glanced at them both.   He had forgotten quite how protective the twins could be of their sister; or indeed anyone they loved.   Just for a second, he saw not the friends he had known for so long, but the fierce and formidable warriors they would one day become, guardians of the borders of Imladris.  “I will never hurt her,” he vowed fervently.  “You know that.  You have my word – but who will protect me from her?” he added with a grin.

“A good point,”  Elladan agreed.  “Arwen?  Be nice to him.”

“I will try,”  she assured them sweetly.

o-o-o

At dawn the next day, Elrond’s party left Lasgalen.  Many elves had gathered to bid them farewell, and the forest rang with voices, laughter and the stamping of restless horses, drowning out the early morning birdsong.

Legolas noticed Elrohir standing beneath one of the beeches, bidding a lingering farewell to Taniquel.  He recalled Elladan’s words the night before, and wondered again if anything would ever come of their friendship.  He could not imagine that Elrohir would never leave Imladris – or Elladan – but would Taniquel one day leave Lasgalen to be with Elrohir?  Somehow, she seemed too deeply rooted to the forest.

For the sake of appearances, he drew Arwen to one side.  “Are you quite sure about this?”  he asked softly.  “Do you want to continue with this pretence?  If you want to stop, just say.”

“We are neither of us bound by anything,”  she pointed out.  “And until you, or I, decide otherwise,  this will work well enough.  I will write to you, as well.”

“Love letters?”  Legolas asked, recalling her brothers’ first visit to Lasgalen.  “Scented love letters, like the one Athela  sent to Elrohir once?”

Arwen laughed.  “That might seem a little … excessive.  Scented letters are not like either of us – I think our parents would begin to suspect something.”

“That they are being misled?  You could be right.  Though my father would be far too discreet to ask outright what is in the letters.  But yes, please write.  It is true what I told him the other day – I will miss you.”  His gaze swept the glade before the main gate.  Elrond and Celebrían were already astride their horses, the last of the baggage had been loaded, and the rest of the company was waiting for them.  “I will miss all of you,” he added.

Legolas took Arwen’s hand as she mounted, then stepped back.    “Farewell!”  he called.  “May we meet again soon.”  He bowed, hand on heart, then raised one hand in a final farewell as the party rode beneath the trees.

Watching their departure, he reflected on the visit by Elrond and his family.  It had been a most eventful time – the storm at Esgaroth, the collapse of the caves and his long recovery, the discoveries he had made about himself – and now his ‘courtship’ of Arwen.   He smiled, wondering what the reactions would be when others eventually learned the truth of that.

When the last of the horses had vanished, Legolas turned back towards the doors of Lasgalen.   Behind him, the silence surged softly backward when the plunging hooves were gone.

The End