Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

1. Visitors Arriving

“Have a nice time,” Annael’s nana said and bent to kiss his cheek.

“I will see you tomorrow, Nana.” He put his arms around her neck and then released her and turned to run to where Legolas and Turgon waited for him. She waved to them all and shut the cottage door. They started to walk toward the palace.

“What will we have to eat tonight, Legolas?” Turgon asked, shifting the leather pouch he carried to his left hand so he could use his right to adjust the strap of his pack.

“I do not know,” Legolas confessed. Given how far the palace kitchens were from his family’s living quarters, he almost never knew what the cooks were preparing. Indeed, when he slept over at his friends’ houses, one of the things he enjoyed doing most was watching their mothers cook the evening meal. “But on my last begetting day, we had apple tarts for morning meal, so perhaps we will have those again tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow, you will be twenty, just like us,” Annael said. Legolas glanced at Annael quickly, but he just looked happy for Legolas. Annael was almost always kind, so Legolas assumed he had not meant to remind him that he was younger than both of his friends. After all, it was only by a month or two.

“You will be old enough to carry a knife,” Turgon added, using his free hand to pat the one at his belt. He frowned suddenly. “Your ada does know that, does he not?”

“Yes,” Legolas hastened to assure him. “Ithilden gave Eilian a knife when he turned twenty, and he will give me one too. He said he would.” It was a fair question. Sometimes Legolas’s ada did not realize that he was old enough to do things such as carry a knife or start training to use a blade. But this time, Ada had seemed to know that it was time for both those things to happen. Next week, Legolas would begin spending two mornings a week learning to use knives and a sword, in addition to the two mornings of archery lessons he already had. The idea thrilled him. A sword was a grown-up weapon.

He glanced at Turgon, who had shifted the pouch again. “Do you want me to carry them?”

Turgon promptly handed over the pouch and reached up to slide his thumbs under both pack straps. “The rocks are heavy,” he complained. The pouch twitched gently in Legolas’s grasp.

They crossed the green and approached the bridge leading over the Forest River to the palace.  “Mae govannen, Taramir. Mae govannen, Elviol,” Annael greeted the guards politely. His ada was in the Home Guard, and he knew all of the warriors in it. The guards smiled at the three of them and returned Annael’s greeting. Legolas felt a little rude for not having said mae govannen too, but his brother Ithilden said that he was not supposed to speak to the guards because it might distract them from what they were doing.  He did not think that Annael or Turgon knew that, however. They did not have guards at their houses.

Legolas led his friends across the antechamber to the Great Hall and down the hallway where his family lived to his own chamber. He pushed the door open to find his caretaker, Nimloth, sitting by the fire and sewing little flowers made of ribbon onto the collar of a small gown, probably meant for her granddaughter. “Hello, you three,” she smiled, setting her sewing aside and rising. “Put your packs over there and come and have something to eat to tide you over until evening meal.”

Turgon and Annael dropped their packs next to the wall, and Legolas placed the pouch there too, making sure the drawstring at the top was tightly pulled. The three of them hopped onto the chairs at the small table and began to eat the bread and cheese that had been laid out on plates there.

“I think perhaps I will just keep your knives for you until tomorrow,” Nimloth said pleasantly but firmly. She held out her hand, and Annael obediently unfastened his sheathed knife from his belt and gave it to her. “Turgon,” she prodded, and after another moment of hesitation, he handed over his weapon with a scowl. “Thank you,” she said. She turned to Legolas. “I am going home now, Legolas. If you need anything, Eilian is in the sitting room. He promised to come and get you in time for evening meal. In the meantime, you can play in here. Do not go wandering around.”

“Yes, Nimloth,” he nodded. They had things to do in his room anyway.  Nimloth lifted her cloak from the hook on the wall and left, taking the knives with her.

As soon as she was gone, Turgon got down from the table and, carrying a bit of cheese, went to where their packs and the pouch lay. “Save some of the food,” he admonished the other two, dropping his cheese into the pouch. Legolas stopped himself only just in time from eating the last of his bread. Turgon was right. They would need this food.

He got down and, followed by Annael, went to where Turgon now crouched, peering into the pouch. “How are they?” Legolas asked.

In response, Turgon held up the pouch so that Legolas could look into it. He peeked in and saw the four little brown field mice that he and his friends had caught the day before. They were climbing all over one another in their efforts to escape from the pouch. “I think we need to build their house pretty soon,” Legolas said. “I do not think they like it in the bag.”

The other two studied the mice. “I think you are right,” Annael agreed.

Turgon pulled the drawstring closed again, put the pouch down, opened his pack, and pulled out a rock. “They like to live in cracks between rocks,” he said. Legolas nodded. He had seen mice fleeing into the tiniest of cracks. They did seem to like them. They must have found them cozy. “Where shall we build it, Legolas?” Turgon asked.

Legolas looked around the room for a likely spot to build a rock house for the mice. Annael’s and Turgon’s nanas had both said the little creatures could not live in their cottages, so he had suggested that the mouse house be built in his chamber. He liked the idea of having the mice there. They would be his pets, although he would share them with Annael and Turgon when they came to play of course. He thought it was possible that Nimloth would object to the mice just as his friends’ nanas had, so he had not actually asked her for permission. His room was big, and they planned to throw a towel over the house when they were not there, so perhaps she would not notice them anyway.

“Over there behind the wardrobe,” Legolas decided, pointing to a dusky corner. “It will not be noticeable there.”

Turgon dragged his pack over to the corner Legolas had indicated and dumped the rocks out onto the floor. His clean tunic and leggings and night things fell out too, but he tossed them aside. They landed on the floor, and Legolas picked them up and put them on the bed to get them out of the way. He smiled happily at the sight of his bed. When Legolas spent the night at his friends’ cottages, he slept on a pallet pulled out from under Turgon’s or Annael’s narrow bed, but his bed was big enough to hold all three of them, and talking together in bed at night was one of the nicest parts of the visit.

He dropped to his knees between Turgon and Annael and began helping to stack the rocks into a semicircle that would block off the corner. He eyed the construction. “We need to fit the rocks closely together,” he admonished, “or the mice will get out.” They fiddled with the stones for a little while until all the visible gaps were gone.

They stood and stared at the results of their handiwork. “They might climb over the wall,” Annael said doubtfully.

Legolas bit his lip. Annael was right. “We can put the towel over the top when I am not here to watch them,” he finally suggested, and the other two nodded in satisfaction. He ran to his bathing chamber and brought back one of the towels.

“Put the food in, and I will get the mice,” Turgon directed. Legolas and Annael fetched the saved bits of cheese and bread and placed them in the middle of the mouse house, and when they had finished, Turgon opened the pouch, gently lifted the mice out, one by one, and put them in their new home. To Legolas’s disappointment, as Turgon released each mouse, it darted into the stone wall they had built.

Turgon sniffed at the empty leather pouch and wrinkled his nose. “I think one of them must have peed in there.”

Legolas frowned at the walled off space they had made for the mice. “We should get some straw from the stable to make them a bed like the horses have,” he suggested. “Then we could muck it out.”

“Can we get it now?” Turgon asked.

Legolas shook his head. “Nimloth said to stay here. I can get it tomorrow.”

“I think they are still a little afraid,” Annael said unhappily, looking at the untouched food. Legolas could only agree. He and his friends had been petting and talking to the mice since they found them, and the animals had calmed down considerably, but being carried around in the pouch had apparently alarmed them again.

Legolas picked up a morsel of the cheese and held it out toward a tiny quivering nose that was just visible in a crevice between the rocks. “Look,” he crooned. “We have food for you. We will not hurt you. It is just me and Turgon and Annael.”  He watched with bated breath as the mouse edged further out of its hiding place, darted forward to brush against his fingers and snatch the food, and then ran back into the rocks again. At that moment, a second mouse scurried boldly into view and began attacking a hunk of bread.

“Look how brave he is!” Annael cried. “I think that one is mine.” They had each claimed one of the mice as their own and agreed to share the fourth one equally.

“You cannot possibly tell that,” Turgon protested. “They all look alike.”

“I can tell,” Annael said defensively. “Mine is browner than the others.”

Legolas sighed. “Turgon is right. We need some way to mark them so we can tell them apart.” He looked around his room, hoping for inspiration, and his eyes lit on Nimloth’s sewing basket, sitting open on the floor next to her chair. A rainbow of ribbons lay curled in the tray on the top. “Look!” he crowed, jumping to his feet and running toward the basket. He picked up a length of blue ribbon. “We can tie it to their tails!”

Annael’s eyes lit up, and he rose and came trotting over. “Can I use the green ribbon for mine?”

Legolas pulled out the green ribbon and handed it to Annael to hold while he took Nimloth’s scissors and carefully cut a length of it. Turgon approached and grasped the red ribbon and held it out to be cut, and then Legolas cut a length of the blue and one of the brown. He went back to where Annael had already picked up the mouse that had been nibbling on the bread and Turgon was trying to coax another one into sight using the cheese again. Legolas held Annael’s mouse while he tied the green ribbon to its tail. The warm little creature trembled slightly in his light grasp but did not try to bolt. “You like Legolas. Is that not so, Green-y?” Annael cooed. He took the mouse back and set it down in the penned-in area where it promptly disappeared into the rock wall.

For the next half hour, they worked industriously, luring the mice from the wall and tying the ribbons to their tails. By the time they were through, Legolas’s mouse had grown bold enough to remain in the center of the mouse house, eating as much of the bread as he could stuff into his mouth. “Blue-y is hungry,” he laughed, reaching out a tentative finger to stroke the mouse’s back. To his delight, the animal did not flinch away.

A knock sounded at the door. Blue-y scurried out of sight, and Eilian came into the room, making them all jump away from the corner. He had arranged his leave from his warrior patrol so he could be home for Legolas’s begetting day, and Legolas was glad, but at the moment, he was less than happy to see his brother. Legolas hastily seized the towel and threw it over the mouse house. “It is time for evening meal,” Eilian told them. He eyed the shrouded space in the corner and then scanned them, with his head cocked to one side and his eyebrows raised. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” they chorused.

A smile spread slowly over Eilian’s face. “Is this the kind of nothing it is better for Adar not to know about?”

“We are not doing anything wrong,” Legolas insisted, feeling his face grow warm. “And after you knock, you should wait to come in until I tell you that you may.”

Eilian laughed. “Whatever you say, brat. Go and wash your hands and then come and eat. I will wait for you out in the hall so you can deal with the nothing.” He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Legolas immediately ran to lift a corner of the towel and check on the mice. All four of them were out gnawing at the bread, but they fled into hiding when he lifted their sheltering roof. He dropped the towel again. “They are eating,” he announced. “We should try to bring them more food from our evening meals.”

“Good idea,” Annael agreed, and the three of them went into the bathing chamber to wash their hands.

“Will your brother tell your ada we were doing something?” Turgon asked, splashing his hands in the hot water.

Without hesitation, Legolas shook his head. “Eilian will not tell. He is grown up, but not all the way, my ada says. Besides, we are not doing anything wrong. Nobody told us not to bring the mice in here.”

Both Turgon and Annael turned to look at him. “That is true,” Annael said, obviously pleased. Annael did not like getting into trouble.

Turgon shrugged. “If he does not tell, then I do not see how anyone will know they are here anyway. Your room is really big. No one will notice them.” He reached for a towel to dry his hands and the three of them went out to meet the waiting Eilian.

***

“I got a dispatch from the northern border patrol just before I came home, Adar,” Ithilden said. “The last few days have been quiet there.”

“Good,” Thranduil responded and then looked toward the door of the small dining room through which a smiling Eilian was escorting Legolas, Turgon, and Annael. Legolas ran to take his place on Thranduil’s left, and Annael lowered his eyes and smiled shyly as he took the chair next to Legolas. Turgon seemed unintimidated by dining with his king, however, and his eyes darted curiously around the room as he slid into the chair Eilian pointed to at the foot of the table. Thranduil watched him in exasperation. The child was simply too bold for his own good, and more to the point, too bold for Legolas’s good. He wondered yet again if he should try to prevent Legolas from spending so much time in Turgon’s company and decided yet again that the effort would be pointless. The community in which they lived was simply too small. Legolas would see Turgon every day no matter what Thranduil did. Moreover, he knew that his son was fond of the other child, and he did not want to tempt Legolas into disobedience. He sighed.

Eilian took his seat too and a servant moved around the table, offering a platter of roast fowl with new potatoes. “May I have a little more?” Legolas asked, and Thranduil smiled approvingly at his good appetite. The servant left, and Turgon stretched his arm toward the center of the table and took an extra piece of bread. They must have played hard, Thranduil thought, although Annael seemed less hungry than the other two, for he had pushed a part of his meal into a little pile on one side of his plate and was eating only the rest.

“Did you do anything at all today, Eilian?” Ithilden teased. “You were still in bed when I left this morning.”

“And I stayed there a good long time,” Eilian answered promptly. “So the answer to your question is yes, I did do something today. I enjoyed my leave!”

Thranduil smiled at him. He was glad to see Eilian enjoying himself. Most of the time, Eilian served as the lieutenant of the patrol that hunted in the dangerous southern parts of the forest. Every time he came home, Thranduil rejoiced in his safe return and tried not to think of how soon it would be before he went back to the fight.

A sudden movement from Legolas caught the corner of Thranduil’s eye, and he turned to look at his youngest son, who promptly picked up a forkful of pheasant and began nibbling on it with his eyes on his plate. Thranduil frowned. He could have sworn that Legolas had just put a potato in his lap, but that was absurd. He must have been mistaken.

“So, brat, tomorrow is another begetting day,” Eilian said to Legolas. “You are getting to be quite an old thing.”

“Why is it called a begetting day?” Turgon asked, setting his piece of bread carefully on the edge of the table. “What does ‘begetting’ mean?” Much to Thranduil’s dismay, the child looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer. Indeed, as he glanced around the table, he found the three elflings and his two older sons all looking at him with interest. The three little ones all looked serious, but Ithilden had his hand over his mouth to cover its twitching, and Eilian’s eyes were dancing.

“That is a very good question, Turgon,” Eilian said. Thranduil threw him a repressive look, and he actually snorted with poorly suppressed laughter.  Thranduil decided that he had not wanted Eilian to enjoy himself quite this much. He drew himself erect and turned to face Turgon. If Eilian and Ithilden thought this simple question was going throw him, they were wrong. He had answered this question before.

“When an ada and nana want a child to love, they ask Ilúvatar to grant that a baby be sent to live and grow with them, and the day on which Ilúvatar grants their request is the baby’s begetting day.”

“See?” Legolas crowed to Turgon. “I told you it was the day my parents knew they would be getting me and not what you said at all.”

Eilian and Ithilden both burst into guffaws, and Legolas scowled at them. “Why are you laughing?” he cried. “Ada just said that was what it was!”

“We are sorry, Legolas,” Ithilden apologized, obviously struggling to suppress his mirth.

Thranduil made a mental note to talk to Legolas about whatever it was Turgon had told him, and then, as the talk flowed around him, he found himself caught by a vivid memory of that day nearly twenty years ago when Lorellin had led him into the woods and at last had her way. She had wanted another child for years, but Thranduil had been reluctant to bring a child into his realm to which the Shadow had returned only a further twenty years earlier. They had two sons living their lives as warriors, and he did not know if he could bear to watch a third child’s life be misshapen by sorrow and danger. But Lorellin had been so sure that this was what they should do. “Think about it, my love!” she had wheedled. “There can be no better way to defy the Shadow than to have a baby.” Sitting at the table now, with the small, blond figure of Legolas on his left, Thranduil could not help smiling wistfully to himself. He had never been able to deny Lorellin anything she really wanted.

And then, nineteen years ago tomorrow, he had awakened at dawn to find her pacing the room, caressing her swollen belly and murmuring softly to their soon-to-be-born son. “We have chosen a good name for you, have we not, Legolas? You love the trees already, I can tell. But of course, you were conceived among them, although I do not suppose you remember that.”

Experienced father that Thranduil was, he had sat up without alarm. “Shall I send for the midwife?”

“Not yet,” she had answered, turning to him with her face glowing with excitement. “Let it be just us for a while.” He had risen, picked up her shawl from the back of a chair, and draped it over her shoulders. Then he had dressed, readied himself for what he knew would be a long day, and returned to put his arm around her when she stopped moving and grasped the mantle piece as a contraction swept over her. “Soon,” she had panted. “Soon we will have a baby again, someone to watch grow and gain strength as his brothers did.” Then the contraction had passed, and she had straightened and turned an anxious face to him. “Has Eilian come yet?”

They had expected Eilian home the previous evening, in time for the birth of his little brother, but he had not arrived. Although Thranduil tried not to show it, he felt as worried as Lorellin looked. Eilian would have been coming from where he served in the realm’s dangerous south, and he would have had to cross potentially perilous territory. “I will find out,” Thranduil had said and gone out to seek word of Eilian, worrying yet again over whether he and Lorellin were doing the right thing. It is a little too late to be fretting about that now, he had told himself wryly.

The door to the dining room opened, and a servant entered, bringing Thranduil out of his reverie and back into the present where Turgon appeared to be storing pieces of bread inside his tunic, for what purpose Thranduil could not imagine. “A messenger has come for Lord Ithilden,” the servant announced.

Ithilden grimaced but rose immediately. He commanded the realm’s troops and was often called out in the evening to deal with one emergency or another. “By your leave, Adar,” he said, and at Thranduil’s nod, he left the room, only to return in a very short time. “Some of the eastern border patrol warriors are escorting three Men this way, Adar. The Men were apparently on their way to see you when the warriors found them. They should be here shortly. I left instructions for them to be brought to one of the small reception rooms.”

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “Very well,” he said, rising to accompany Ithilden. “Eilian, you keep an eye on Legolas and his friends until I am free.”

Eilian looked dismayed. “I have plans to see Amelith tonight, Adar!”

Thranduil shrugged. “Send someone to bring her back here. You may go elsewhere if you like once I am finished with the Men.” He started toward the door, caressing Legolas’s head as he passed, and ignoring the grimace Eilian gave. It would not hurt Eilian to be the responsible one for a change. As Thranduil pulled the door shut behind him, he caught a quick, startling glimpse of Annael spooning bits of roast pheasant into a little bundle in his napkin. What in Arda were the elflings up to? he wondered with some amusement.

TBC

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

*******

2. Escape

Eilian looked with dismay at the three alert faces sending calculated gazes his way. He had planned to spend the next day with Legolas, whom Thranduil had freed from all lessons because it was his begetting day. Thranduil and Ithilden would not be able to spend time with him because their duties could not easily be set aside, and anyway, Eilian enjoyed playing with Legolas. But tonight he had been hoping to engage in play of a different kind.

“You do not have to watch us, Eilian,” said Legolas. “We will just stay in my room.” Turgon and Annael brightened and nodded in agreement.

Eilian stiffened as memory of the little scene in Legolas’s room flashed into his head. Legolas and his friends were plainly engaged in some project for which they wanted privacy, and that meant trouble. Eilian never objected to getting into a little entertaining trouble himself, but he did not like to see Legolas in trouble. Moreover, if these three got into mischief while Eilian was supposed to be watching them, then Thranduil would blame him, not them, and Eilian objected very much to that. He needed to think of something for the elflings to do that would keep them both out of his way and out of trouble.

In his mind’s eye, he suddenly saw his mother smiling down at him and his friends Gelmir and Celuwen. Several of his mother’s friends were behind her, seated at a table, drinking tea. “How about a treasure hunt?” she asked.

He grinned at the three elflings. “How would you like to have a treasure hunt?”

They blinked uncertainly. “A treasure hunt?” Legolas asked.

“Yes. I will hide some things and give you clues to find them. If you find them all, you win!”

“What do we win?” Turgon asked, plainly interested.

Eilian cast about for something these three would value. “I will take you all to the waterfall to swim tomorrow.” Legolas’s face lit up, as Eilian had expected it would. He loved the waterfall.

“We have sword training and lessons,” Annael said doubtfully.

“I am sure I can get Thelion to release you from the sword training session,” Eilian said, “and I will speak to your parents about the lessons. If you cannot get out of those, we will go early and be back by the time you need to be at them.”

Annael’s and Turgon’s eyes widened, and then their faces split into big grins. “No lessons!” Turgon cried.

“I will try,” Eilian cautioned, but the three of them were already wiggling in their chairs with excitement. He sighed and fervently hoped he could talk their parents and tutors into letting them off for a day. Surely Turgon’s tutor at least would be only too glad to allow it. “Go and wait in Legolas’s room while I get the treasure hunt ready,” he instructed. “I will come and get you when it is time.”

They jumped to their feet and ran toward the door. Then, at the last minute, Annael turned, ran back to the table, and grabbed his wadded up napkin. He threw an apologetic smile to the startled Eilian, and then followed Legolas and Turgon out into the hall, where Eilian could hear them squealing with glee as they ran toward Legolas’s room. For a moment or two, Eilian puzzled about what Annael might be planning to do with the napkin, but then he shrugged the incident off as one of the inexplicable things elflings did and went to send a servant to escort Amelith to the palace. He wondered if she would be annoyed at their change of plans. She had been set on going to sing with some of her friends who were planning to spend the evening near the river. Ah, well. He could do nothing about that. Then he turned to the business of the hunt. Now what shall I use for treasure? he asked himself.

***

Legolas pushed open the door to his room and ran in, heading straight for the shrouded mouse house. He dropped to his knees, lifted the towel, and was disappointed to find that none of the mice was in sight. “They must have heard us coming,” Annael said, crouching down beside him. “We should put food out for them.”

“Good idea,” Legolas agreed, and the three of them pulled out all the various bits of food they had brought and piled them into the middle of the walled-in area. They sat back on their heels to watch for the mice.

“Maybe they are sleeping,” Legolas said after a while. He leaned forward to peer into the crevices in the wall. “Here, Blue-y!” he called. Nothing happened, and after a moment, Turgon picked up one of the rocks on top of the wall and banged it onto the one below it. Legolas watched eagerly, expecting the mice to come scurrying into sight, but still nothing happened. A horrible thought suddenly struck him. “Could they have run away?” he demanded.

He looked at his friends and saw their faces crumple in dismay. Hastily, Turgon turned to the mouse house and began pulling stones off the wall. Legolas and Annael rushed to help. They dug down through the stones until they had pulled the house completely apart, and the conclusion was inescapable: The mice were not there. “Where could they be?” Legolas cried, jumping to his feet and looking frantically around his room.

Turgon ran toward the bed and squatted down to peer under it. “Here, Red-y!” Legolas crawled toward the nearby wardrobe, scanning its dusty underside, and Annael ran to paw through Nimloth’s sewing basket, but none of them found what they sought.

“There are so many places in your room where they could be!” Turgon moaned.

“We have to keep the door shut,” Legolas declared and darted toward where it stood ajar to close it firmly. “Keep looking.” They bent to their task again.

***

Eilian sang softly to himself as he wandered down the corridor, looking for a likely place to hide the “treasure” he carried. A trip to the waterfall tomorrow would be pleasant, he thought contentedly, and the elflings would amuse him, assuming he could keep them from drowning themselves.

He smiled suddenly as he realized that nineteen years ago this day, he had been sheltering behind a waterfall.  When he had left his patrol to make the two-day trip home for Legolas’s birth, Maltanaur, his bodyguard, had for once not had to remind him that they were supposed to avoid trouble on the way. He was worried about his mother, and he wanted to be home when the baby came. The first day of travel had been uneventful. He and Maltanaur had ridden with their bows in hand, but they had seen no danger until most of the way through the first night, well into Eilian’s half of the watch.

~*~*~

Nineteen years and about seventeen hours earlier

Eilian leaned back against the trunk of the oak in which he was perched, his eyes on the stars he could glimpse through leaves that clustered thickly overhead. The trees were noticeably healthier here than in his patrol’s territory, he thought a little wistfully. Since coming of age ten years ago, he had spent almost all of his time fighting in the south. He liked the excitement of constant battle, but he missed hearing the sleepy nighttime murmur of flourishing trees. The position of the stars told him that it would be several hours yet before dawn would break and they could safely continue their journey. He wondered how his mother was doing. She had been exceedingly tired when he had last been home on leave. He knew she was thrilled about this pregnancy, but he was not sure it was good for her.

Suddenly, the tree in which he sat seemed to stir, and a whisper of something different slid into its song. He stiffened, listened, and then sniffed the night air. There! What was that? From somewhere not too far away came the sound of tramping feet. Instantly, he was on the ground, rousing Maltanaur with his hand over his bodyguard’s mouth. With the ease of an experienced warrior, Maltanaur came alert, his eyes focused on Eilian’s and his hand reaching for his bow. Eilian pointed in the direction from which the noise came, and Maltanaur listened and then nodded. They had kept any belongings they were not using in their packs and had not lit a fire, so in less than thirty seconds, they were up into the trees with everything they owned. Except for their horses, of course, but there was nothing they could do about them, and the horses were smart enough to fend for themselves if they had to.

Side by side, they crouched in the oak and waited. The pounding of Eilian’s heart sounded loud in his own ears, and then it was drowned out as first one, then another, and then a steady stream of Orcs began flowing through the forest beneath them. Eilian’s fingers tightened on his bow, but Maltanaur put a restraining hand on his arm, and he loosened them again. Maltanaur was right. The two of them would be no match for the sixty or seventy Orcs in this band. He would have to tell Ithilden about them as soon as he got home and let his brother send troops to hunt them down.

Still, he could not help but wonder where they were going. They had the look of a patrol on the hunt. As the number of Orcs beneath them began to dwindle again, Eilian glanced at Maltanaur and then pointed in the direction in which the Orcs were traveling. Not surprisingly, Maltanaur frowned and shook his head. He was responsible for Eilian’s safety and was not inclined to take risks with it, a fact that sometimes frustrated Eilian no end. He liked Maltanaur and had to admit he had learned much from him, but he could not understand why his father was so protective of him that he had to have a bodyguard. He leaned close and spoke in Maltanaur’s ear. “We need to see what they are up to. We will not engage them, but we have to know what to tell Ithilden.”

Maltanaur hesitated, plainly torn between considerations of Eilian’s safety and the duty they both had as warriors. With obvious reluctance, he finally nodded, and before he could change his mind, Eilian started through the treetops, following along behind the Orc band. He and Maltanaur kept the Orcs in sight easily, moving between the branches far more quickly than the Orcs could move on the ground. After half an hour or so, Eilian realized that the band was veering north from their original heading, as if they had a specific destination. He tried to remember everything that he knew lay in this part of his father’s realm, and a chilling thought occurred to him. There was a small settlement about five miles north of where they were, and the Orcs were traveling straight toward it.

He stopped in the branch of a birch tree, knowing that Maltanaur was watching him closely enough that he would need no signal in order to stop too. His minder leapt from a nearby branch to the one on which Eilian stood. “The settlement,” Eilian murmured.

Maltanaur nodded grimly. “I know.” He bit his lip and stared in the direction the Orcs had taken.

Eilian hesitated. They needed to do something to protect the settlement, he resolved, and Maltanaur was not going to prevent it in the name of protecting him. “We need to stop them.”

To Eilian’s surprise, Maltanaur nodded again. He turned to look at Eilian with his face set, and Eilian suddenly recalled all the years that Maltanaur had been a warrior, long before Eilian was even born. Maltanaur knew exactly what Orcs would do to the settlement.

Eilian drew a deep breath. What could the two of them do against so many Orcs? He tried to think of what might be most useful. It would be easy enough for him and Maltanaur to get ahead of the Orcs and warn the settlement, but while the settlers might have a few former warriors among them, they would not have enough to stop a band this size, even with Eilian and Maltanaur’s help.

Maltanaur had evidently been pondering some of the same options Eilian had, because he turned to Eilian and said, “We need to divert them, to lead them away from the settlement.” Now it was Eilian’s turn to nod. Diverting the Orcs was the only plausible solution and he was grateful that Maltanaur had decided that, despite his youth and his status as Thranduil’s son, he was a warrior first, and Maltanaur’s charge second. It was a decision that his minder did not always easily make.

Now that Maltanaur had decided that, however, he drew on his considerable experience to suggest a course of action. “We need to be tempting targets. What is more, we need to be targets they think they can hit. They are not going to turn aside for two warriors who can easily outstrip them in a flight through the trees.” He thought for a moment. “We need to get ahead of them and pretend to be a group of settlers who are out in the woods at night. Then we need to lead them away.”

Eilian’s heart quickened at this suggestion. Putting it into action was likely to be dangerous but exciting. “What about our weapons? Shall we leave them?”

“No!” Maltanaur was shocked. “Just before we leave the trees, we will conceal them under our cloaks as best we can. From a distance, they will not be able to tell. And, Eilian,” he caught Eilian’s gaze and held it. “We will stay at a distance. Do you understand?”

Eilian smiled faintly at him. “Are you implying I might do something foolish?” Maltanaur snorted. Eilian laughed quietly and then turned and set off after the Orcs, moving as quickly as he could. The further the Orcs were from the settlement when they found them, the happier he would be. They soon caught up the band and, taking no chances, circled around them rather than going over their heads to reach a position not far in front of them. They paused, removed their bows, quivers, and cloaks, and then replaced the bows and quivers and draped their cloaks over them.

“If you have to shoot, just get rid of the cloak,” Maltanaur said, and Eilian nodded. The thought that he was about to jump to the ground in front of approaching Orcs with no weapons in his hands made his stomach flutter. In all truth, he could hardly believe that Maltanaur was allowing it. But then, as he had realized earlier, his keeper had been a warrior for a long time; he had seen the results of more Orc attacks than Eilian could imagine. Or wanted to imagine, he corrected soberly. The heavy tramping of Orc feet came drifting on the night breeze. “Now,” said Maltanaur, and the two of them swung down from the sheltering trees.

Maltanaur immediately began running in a zigzag pattern, leaving as wide a trail as he could. And to Eilian’s surprise, he also began to sing, praising the beauty of the woods at night in a pleasant, melodic baritone. Eilian suppressed a laugh and jumped to follow him, trying to leave a trail that would suggest he was at least ten Elves and singing to make sure the Orcs noticed them. For a moment, the noise of the Orcs’ approach became confused, as if those in the lead had stopped or were no longer sure which direction to take. Then the steady tramp started up again, faster this time, and coming in their direction.

For a few breathless moments, he and Maltanaur ran from side to side but stayed more or less where they were, waiting for the Orcs to draw close enough that they could lead them away. As the noise the band was making told them it was approaching, Eilian tensed and found himself clutching the bow that he held concealed under his cloak. How odd it felt not to be getting ready to shoot. Suddenly, a black-fletched arrow whistled past his head and the chase was on in earnest.

For the next stretch of time, he darted in and out among the trees, letting himself be seen and then concealing himself again, aware always of the sound and brief glimpses of Maltanaur doing the same thing. His keeper must be frantic at the idea that he was far enough away from Eilian that he could not shield him, Eilian thought with a certain grim enjoyment. He jumped into a tree, moved a short distance ahead, and then jumped to the ground, shouting as if in fear and hoping that the Orcs would think he was a different Elf than the one they had just glimpsed. He ducked behind a tree, and an arrow thunked into it. An Orc howled in frustration.

“Get them!” came a guttural shout. “They cannot be allowed to warn the others.”

A noise off to his right caught his attention, and he became aware that for some time now he had heard Orcs to either side of them and not just behind them. They needed to move a little more quickly; it would not do to let the Orcs actually catch them, he thought with a shudder. And then, abruptly, he also realized that the Orcs to their right were pressing closer while those to the left were giving way so that he and Maltanaur and their imaginary companions were gradually being driven in one direction. What was there? he wondered frantically, trying to recall what he knew about this part of the woods.

He pictured the settlement and the territory around it. He had once been here on a camping trip with his novice group. There was a stream in that direction he thought. It flowed out of a rocky ravine and ran away to the ForestRiver in the north. And even as he remembered the stream, he thought, the ravine! They are trying to drive us into the ravine where we will not be able to hide among the trees or escape into them.

And then, to his left, he caught a glimpse of someone falling. For a second, the world stopped and he froze. An arrow sailed past him so close that it tore his cloak. Then he drew in a long breath and ran toward the crumpled figure of Maltanaur. Arrows flew past him, accompanied by Orcish shouts, but he ignored them all. He had to get to Maltanaur before the pursuing Orcs did. He arrived just as his keeper was trying to pull himself upright again, but Eilian could see the blood flowing from the wound in his thigh and knew that Maltanaur was not going to be able to walk on his own. The only saving grace was that the arrow had not lodged in the wound but had apparently slid along the thigh, cutting it deeply. Eilian glanced back and saw the Orcs closing in, and without a second’s hesitation, he flung off his cloak, seized his bow, and sent half a dozen arrows into their pursuers, who suddenly halted and scrambled for cover.

“Get out of here, you fool!” Maltanaur admonished, but Eilian ignored him, shouldered his bow, caught Maltanaur up in his arms, and set off running. For a second, he wondered if he could get into the treetops and travel that way, even carrying Maltanaur, but he dismissed the idea. Reaching for handhold would be just too difficult, even if he flung his keeper over his shoulder, and the chance of falling or dropping Maltanaur would be just too great. He settled for seeking a path where the trees were thickest, as arrows began to whistle past them again.

But he also realized that they were still being driven toward the ravine, and they would not have the shelter of the trees for much longer. Moreover, Maltanaur’s wound was bleeding and Orcs could follow the scent of blood better than any creatures Eilian had ever seen. What could he do? he wondered frantically. He could hear the sound of rushing water and knew they must be approaching the stream, which was swollen from the spring rains and snow melt. And suddenly, an idea struck him, and he pushed himself to run even faster, drawing out a lead on the Orcs and, he hoped, making them lose sight of him, at least for a few moments. The noise the Orcs made told him they were still in pursuit, however, for now that they had scented blood, they were unlikely to surrender their prey. Panting for breath, he splashed into the icy water, with Maltanaur still conscious and still scolding him. “Eilian, put me down and get into the trees!”

Eilian ignored him and ran up the stream toward the ravine, for he had remembered something about this stream’s origin, and he hoped that the water would hide the scent of their passing and especially the scent of Maltanaur’s blood. Ahead of him, he could see the trees dwindling away where the ground became rocky. He strained his ears and then he heard the sound he had been seeking: the roar of a waterfall tumbling over the rocks. His arms straining with his burden and his legs and lungs straining from his run, he tore forward, hoping that the sound of the waterfall would hide the noise of him splashing along. The trees disappeared and, still in the stream, he ran into the ravine and toward the waterfall. He could hear Orcs behind him, but he thought that he and Maltanaur were hidden from sight among the rocks of the ravine. He had to get them into hiding before the Orcs approached.

He ran through the falling water, flinching at its icy touch, set Maltanaur down on the narrow ledge behind the falls, and then scrambled up onto the slippery shelf of rock. Maltanaur’s face was chalk white, and he clutched at his leg. Being moved must have been agonizing, Eilian thought, and felt for the emergency healing kit at his belt. But he dropped his hand from the kit and seized his bow again, because now he could hear Orcs pouring into the ravine, scattering among the rocks and seeking them. He held absolutely still, scarcely daring to breathe, and Maltanaur bit his lip, suppressing any sound of pain he might otherwise have made. He could not see the Orcs through the water and trusted that the Orcs could not see them.

“We lost 'em,” an Orc growled from about six feet away, making Eilian jump. He brought his bowstring to a full draw and stood over Maltanaur, straining to catch any glimpse of an Orc penetrating their hiding place. A second Orc cursed, and then the first one, who seemed to be an officer, said, “We might as well spend the day in the caves we found the last time we were here. The sun is about to come up, curse it.”

Eilian suppressed a gasp of dismay. If the Orcs spent the day in this ravine, he and Maltanaur would be trapped. Most of the Orcs would sleep, but they would post sentries at the mouths of their dens, and it would be all but impossible to get past them. But maybe they could, he thought.  And then they could make a run for it. The Orcs would not follow them in broad daylight.

From the other side of the cascading water, he could hear the Orcs snapping and snarling at one another as they sought shelter in the many small caves that dotted the edge of this ravine. He relaxed his draw, crouched down next to Maltanaur, and pulled out his healing kit. Maltanaur was leaning back with his eyes closed, but Eilian thought he was still conscious, and indeed, Maltanaur let out a soft hiss as Eilian began cleaning and binding the wound on his leg. They needed to be ready to move as soon as they could.

***

Eilian knocked on the door of Legolas’s room and then, remembering his little brother’s admonition, he waited to be given permission to enter. He grinned to himself again, wondering just what the elflings had been up to. The door opened about six inches, and Legolas peered through the gap, with his feet jammed between the door and the frame. Eilian blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Legolas declared firmly.

Eilian could not help laughing. Watching Legolas, he now understood why his parents had always reacted so suspiciously to that answer. “The treasure hunt is ready.”

Legolas hesitated. “We have something to do first.”

Eilian frowned. “I think perhaps you had better come and do the treasure hunt,” he said. Letting Legolas and his friends pursue their own ends in the privacy of Legolas’s room seemed unwise to him.

“My lord,” one of the servants spoke and Eilian turned.

“Yes?”

“Mistress Amelith is here. She is waiting for you in the sitting room.”

Eilian nodded, dismissing the servant, and then turned back to Legolas. “I have to go and greet my guest now, brat. You can have five minutes. Then I want to see all three of you in the sitting room.”

“Very well,” Legolas conceded reluctantly. He closed the door. Eilian stared at it for a moment, wondering what was happening on the other side. Then he turned to go toward the sitting room. A swift motion caught his eye, and he looked quickly toward the chest that stood in the hall. He blinked and shook his head. He must be seeing things. He could have sworn a mouse with a brown ribbon on its tail had just run behind the chest.

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

******

3. Lost

“Maybe they are lost,” Annael worried.

Legolas was beginning to feel rather desperate. “We cannot look any longer. Eilian will come and get us if we do not go now.”

“Maybe we should tell him,” Turgon suggested. “He might help us look.”

Legolas shook his head. “A maiden is visiting him. He will not want to help us now, and he will be unhappy to be interrupted.” He had seen his brother with maidens often enough to know that gaining any part of Eilian’s attention would be difficult. “We can leave the door shut and look again tonight when we are supposed to be sleeping.”

Turgon rose from where he had been searching the fireplace and rubbed his filthy hands on his tunic. “Very well,” he said. “Maybe while we are gone, they will come back to get the food we left.” Annael brightened at that suggestion, and Legolas felt a little better too. He did not like the idea of their pets being lost. When he had been smaller, he had once lost track of his father and brothers when they were in the forest with some Elves he did not know because they came from a settlement, and he knew how scary it was to find yourself unexpectedly alone with no one to take care of you. He hoped that Blue-y was not frightened.

He opened the door to his room to make a narrow space they each squeezed quickly through, and then he shut it again and led the way to the sitting room. As he had expected, Eilian sat on the padded bench near the fireplace with his arm around a maiden who sat very close to him. Legolas eyed the maiden skeptically. He had never seen Eilian with her before. She looked annoyed, Legolas thought, and Eilian looked as if he thought they were interrupting. No, this would not be a good time to ask him to help look for the mice.

“Amelith, do you know my brother Legolas and his friends Turgon and Annael?” Eilian asked. Amelith smiled at Legolas, but he did not think she was really glad to see him. He decided he did not like her.

“Listen now,” Eilian admonished the three of them, “I am going to give you your first clue. When you have the thing you think I am asking for, bring it back here.” A sudden thought struck Legolas. Maybe they could go back to his room and continue looking for the mice.  As if reading his mind, Eilian frowned at him. “If you take too long, I will come looking for you,” he warned. Legolas doubted that, but you never knew. He sighed. They would look tonight, as he had suggested earlier.

“Here is the clue,” Eilian said:

“Go down to the place that tickles your nose,
and down to the place where barrels rest;
bring up a skin of liquid fruit,
and you will have passed your opening test.”

Legolas frowned in concentration. A riddle. He liked riddles and was usually good at them.

Amelith suddenly laughed. “Did you make that up? That is clever. I hope you elflings hurry.”

Legolas wrinkled his nose. He was irritated that Amelith had guessed the riddle before he had, and he did not like the way she laughed. But Eilian smiled at her and then turned to Legolas. “Go,” he ordered.

“We are going! You do not have to be so bossy,” Legolas declared and marched out of the room, ignoring the frown that Eilian threw his way.

“A place that tickles your nose,” Annael said thoughtfully, as they gathered in the hallway. “It must be a place that smells good.”

“Or smells bad,” Turgon said.

“Tickling is good,” Annael insisted.

“And we have to go down,” Legolas mused. An idea suddenly struck him. “I know! We should go to the kitchens. They are downstairs and they smell good.”

“Good idea!” Annael cried. “How do we get there? I have never been to the kitchen here.”

Legolas led them quickly out the door of the royal family’s quarters and down another short hallway to cross the antechamber in front of the Great Hall. They could hear Elves singing in the Hall. Sometimes when his family was busy in the evenings, Legolas liked to read on a bench in the Hall and listen to the singing. He was not allowed out of the palace at night without an adult, but he was allowed to go places in the palace, as long as he kept out of trouble. After all, guards and servants were everywhere and they kept an eye on him, he knew. He led his friends across the antechamber to a corridor that led to other branching corridors and eventually to the stairway down to the kitchens. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, they knew that they had indeed found a place that smelled good. The aroma of baking apples drifted up the stairwell.

***

Ithilden stood next to his father’s chair in one of the small reception rooms.  The door opened and the guard escorted three Men into the room. They each dropped a knee to the floor. All of them wore blue tunics with the symbol of the lake over the left breast, and Ithilden recognized the one in front as a captain in Esgaroth’s guard. He had met the Man several years before when thieves had attacked one of the rafts bearing goods from Esgaroth to Thranduil’s stronghold. He groped for the Man’s name. Hiran: that was it.

Thranduil waved them to their feet. “You have sought an audience with us?”

“Aye, my lord,” Hiran said. “We have come to tell you of something that has befallen us and to ask for whatever help you might be willing to render us.” Ithilden studied the Man. He was pale and grimmer looking than Ithilden remembered him being.

Thranduil raised an eyebrow. “You may continue,” he said coolly. Hiran’s face hardened a little, and while Ithilden kept his own face neutral, he could not help regretting his father’s tone. He knew that Thranduil would never wish evil on the Men of the lake but was disinclined to become involved in their affairs. And the Men probably knew that too, Ithilden thought, which meant that whatever had happened must have been serious indeed to drive them to ask for Thranduil’s help.

Hiran took up his tale. “Two days ago, three of our people entered the woods to clear fallen trees in accord with the agreement reached between our Master and you, my lord.” He paused and Thranduil nodded. As Ithilden recalled, Thranduil had traded the right to gather the timber for shipments of grain. Hiran took a deep breath. “They have not returned, although one of the draft horses they took with them did. When the horse came back without them, we went in search of them and found traces of spider webs in the area where they were supposed to be working.”

Ithilden stiffened. The area Hiran was talking about was in the territory of the eastern border patrol, and Ithilden had had no reports of spider activity from them. He needed to send them word to find out just what they thought they were doing and to make sure they cleared the creatures away from inhabited areas.

Hiran looked from Thranduil to Ithilden and back again, with something resembling pleading in his face. “Have you heard anything of Men being found in the woods, my lords?”

Thranduil flicked a glance at Ithilden, who shook his head. “We have heard nothing,” Thranduil told Hiran.

Hiran drew a deep breath, as if to steady himself. Then he pulled a parchment out of his belt and handed it to Thranduil. “I also bring a message from the Master of Laketown. He wishes to know what measures you will take to protect our people when they are in your woods by your permission.” His tone was controlled but Ithilden could hear the anger under the surface. He glanced at his father, whose eyes were glittering dangerously at the implied criticism in the Master’s message.

“We will answer the Master’s message with all speed,” Thranduil said coolly. “If you will wait, you may carry our reply back to him.”

“I beg you to excuse us from this duty, my lord,” Hiran said. “We wish to continue searching.”

Thranduil nodded. “We too will send patrols out to search for your missing people.” Hiran blinked. He had obviously not expected Thranduil to take this action, and Ithilden could not help smiling to himself. His father was not always an easy neighbor to the Men, but surely they should know by now that he would not allow anyone to suffer if he could prevent it. “See to it, Ithilden,” Thranduil ordered.

Ithilden put his hand over his heart and bowed. “Yes, my lord. With your leave, I will go at once.” Thranduil nodded.

“With your permission, we too will leave now,” Hiran said. Again Thranduil nodded, and the Men bowed and followed Ithilden out of the room and down the hall toward Great Doors, which stood open in the soft spring evening.

At the top of the steps leading out of the palace, Ithilden paused and turned to Hiran. “I assure you we will do everything in our power to find your missing people, Captain,” he said, although privately he thought it unlikely that any of the missing Men would be found alive.

“Thank you, my lord,” Hiran said. “I would be grateful for your help in any case, but I confess that this hunt is particularly important to me because one of those missing is my brother.” His voice was steady, but Ithilden could hear the tightness that fear gave it.

“We will start searching immediately,” Ithilden assured him. Hiran nodded and the Men went down the steps to where their horses waited on the green. They mounted and rode off into the night, apparently unwilling to cease their efforts even when the woods were most likely to be astir with danger.

Ithilden started down the path that led to his headquarters. He needed to send a message to the border patrol and start some of the Home Guard searching to the east. As he walked, he thought about Hiran’s story. A brother missing. A horse returned alone. Ah yes. Ithilden knew about the terror that could come from those things. He remembered that afternoon when Eilian’s horse had come home riderless -- the afternoon before the day on which Legolas had been born in fact, nineteen years ago this very day.

~*~*~

Nineteen years and about five hours earlier

“My lord?”

Ithilden looked up from the papers on his desk to find his aide standing in the doorway with his face unreadable. “Yes, Calith?”

“Deler is here with a report I think you should hear right away.”

Ithilden’s pulse quickened a little. If the captain of the Home Guard had a report that pressing, then something was the matter. “Send him in.” Calith withdrew, and Deler came striding into the room and saluted.

“What is it?” Ithilden asked, wasting no time on niceties.

“My lord, a warrior from one of my patrols rode in a few minutes ago leading a horse. He and his companions had found the animal about two leagues west of here, evidently on its way home.” Deler paused, grimacing slightly, and Ithilden braced himself.

“Out with it,” he demanded.

“The horse is Lord Eilian’s,” Deler said, and for a second, Ithilden’s heart stopped. He had been expecting word of Eilian’s arrival all afternoon. Their new brother was to be born the next day, and Eilian had been given special leave to be present for the occasion. What could have happened that his horse came home without him?

“Send warriors to search the route Eilian is likely to have been taking,” he ordered, hearing how breathless his own voice sounded. “Send everyone you can spare.”

“I have already done so,” Deler said.

“Maltanaur would have been with him. Was his horse found? Were there wounds or marks of any kind on Eilian’s horse?”

“No, my lord. The patrol found only the one horse, and it is unharmed.”

Ithilden drew a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “Thank you, Deler. Let me know as soon as you hear anything. And one other thing, Deler.”  The Home Guard captain looked at him inquiringly. “Try to keep word of the search confined to those involved. The king and queen have enough on their minds with the baby’s arrival. They do not need to be alarmed about Eilian too.”

“Yes, my lord.” Looking sympathetic, Deler went to coordinate the search.

Ithilden sat for a moment, gripping the arms of his chair. Had he been right to decide to keep the news from his parents? He was not sure. But he was sure that his mother’s state of mind would affect her labor, and he intended to shelter her as much as he could at least until the baby was born.

He stared at the papers on his desk. He should finish the duty rosters for the next two days so that he would be free on the morrow in case his parents needed him. And if Eilian did not reach home by morning, they would be looking for his assurance that his brother was all right. He felt a sudden despair. What was he going to tell them? He had no way to assure Eilian’s safety, and now there would be this new baby too. It was another son, his parents had told him. Another brother to send off to face the Shadow, Ithilden thought bitterly, and I will not be able to assure his safety either. For a moment, his breast boiled with anger at his parents for putting him in this position again.

He closed his eyes and deliberately relaxed his muscles. He had to complete his work, and then he had to go home and act unconcerned about Eilian in front of his parents. Wasting his energy on useless emotions would not help him to do either thing. He opened his eyes and bent to his tasks, and at the proper time, he rose, donned his cloak, and bid good evening to his sympathetic looking aide. “Send me word at the palace if you hear anything,” he instructed, and Calith nodded.

He found his parents sitting on the padded bench near the fire in the family’s sitting room. His mother leaned back against his father, evidently seeking a position that would ease the discomfort stemming from her unaccustomed bulk. Her face brightened on seeing him, and he bent to kiss her forehead. “How are you, Naneth?”

“I am so eager for this child to make his appearance that I can hardly stand it,” she laughed. “Surely I have been pregnant for at least a yen.”  He forced himself to laugh at her joke. “Is Eilian here yet?” she asked.

“No, but I am sure he will be here soon,” Ithilden said steadily, turning his back on her and Thranduil and pouring himself some wine. He turned back to find his father regarding him with slightly narrowed eyes, and he smiled as reassuringly as he could. Thranduil’s look did not change, but he said nothing.

Lorellin chatted gaily, apparently oblivious to the undercurrent. “All day today, I have been remembering your birth, Ithilden. Eilian’s too, but yours even more. I do not suppose any parent ever experiences anything like the birth of a first child. We were so excited, but we did not really know what to expect, and then, there you were, crying and waving your little fists. You were the most beautiful creature I had ever seen, and my heart has not been the same since.” She smiled at him, and suddenly his eyes stung.

“And of course,” she went on, “like this little one, you were born in a time of danger. I was afraid for you, I confess, but although it is perhaps selfish of me, and although I might wish your life were easier, Ithilden, I have never for a second regretted having you.”

He stared at her. Perhaps she was not as oblivious to undercurrents as he had thought. He looked at his father, who smiled faintly and tightened his arm around the contented-looking Lorellin.

~*~*~

Ithilden walked into the Home Guard headquarters, and Deler turned in surprise from where he was conferring with his lieutenant. “My lord! Did you want something?”

“Yes. Two days ago, three Men went missing in the eastern part of the forest. I want you to send as many warriors as you can to look for them.”

Deler blinked. “Of course, my lord. Exactly where were they last seen?”

Ithilden walked over to the map on the wall, and together, he and Deler began planning the search for the lost Men.

***

With his friends right behind him, Legolas skipped lightly down the stairs to emerge in the cavernous space where the cooks prepared the food for everyone who lived or worked in the palace. Three huge fireplaces lined one wall, with spits large enough to hold a roasting deer or wild boar. Pots and pans and other cooking utensils hung from hooks and stood in racks on the tables that ran down the middle of the room. And even now, in the evening, cooks were at work. One leaned over a fire, stirring a stew that was presumably intended to feed the guards and other workers on night duty. But what caught Legolas’s attention was the sight of the head cook setting out rows of apple tarts to cool on racks.

“Are those for morning meal?” he asked eagerly.

Cook looked up from his task and smiled. “Legolas! How nice to see you! Yes, these are for your morning meal, but perhaps you and your friends would each like one now, just as an early begetting day celebration?”

“Yes, please,” the three of them chorused and ran to climb on stools that were ranged around the table.

Cook reached for three plates, put a tart on each, and then set them in front of them. “Let them cool for a minute, or you will burn yourself,” he admonished. Legolas drew his hand back from the tart for which he had been reaching. Cook eyed Turgon’s filthy hands and then reached for a wet rag and began wiping them. “What are you doing down here?” Cook asked.

“We are on a treasure hunt,” Legolas said. “Eilian gave us a clue, and we have to find something and take it back to him.”

“Did Eilian hide anything here?” Turgon asked. Legolas gave him a reproving look. They were supposed to solve the riddle. It seemed like cheating to just ask if Eilian had hidden something.

“I have not seen Lord Eilian at all this evening,” Cook said, much to Legolas’s disappointment. They would have to think of some other good-smelling place. “The tarts are probably cool enough to eat now,” Cook said and laughed when they all immediately grabbed at the pastry.  “Why do you not tell me the clue your brother gave you, and I will see if I can help you decipher it?” Cook invited, seating himself on another stool.

Legolas recited the clue:

“Go down to the place that tickles your nose
and down to the place where barrels rest;
bring up a skin of liquid fruit,
and you will have passed your opening test.”

He looked hopefully at Cook. This did not seem like cheating because they were still trying to solve the clue. Cook looked at them with a wry expression on his face, and the under-cook who was stirring the stew laughed out loud. “You should give them a skin of cider to take to Lord Eilian, Cook,” he said.

Cook laughed too. “He would not like that much, would he?”

“Do you know what it means?” Turgon asked, snaking his hand toward the rack of tarts.

“Yes, I do,” Cook said, moving the rack to the other end of the table. “We did not see Lord Eilian hiding anything because what he is asking for is not hidden. I believe he wants you to go down the next set of steps to the cellar and get him a skin of wine.”

Legolas blinked. Of course! He had occasionally accompanied Nimloth to the store rooms below, and he had seen the barrels of wine and other goods brought up the river from Esgaroth. “Come,” he cried, jumping off his stool and starting for the cellar steps.

“Wait,” Cook said. “My assistant will get the skin for you. I do not like the idea of you three running around in the storerooms.”  The under-cook smiled at Legolas and went off to fetch the wine.

Suddenly, Turgon gasped. “Red-y!” Legolas whirled to look where Turgon was pointing and saw a mouse with a red ribbon standing on top of one of the apple tarts still cooling on the rack. Cook gaped at the creature, and then, with a roar, jumped off his stool. Red-y scrambled off the table and scurried toward the other end of the room with Cook in pursuit, brandishing a broom he had snatched up.

Legolas had been frozen in surprise by the unexpected sight of Red-y outside of his bedroom. But now he ran after Cook, followed closely by Turgon and Annael. “Do not hurt him!” cried Annael.

Red-y darted between stacks of pans stored on a low shelf, and Cook swiped at them with his broom, sending them crashing to one side and revealing the cowering Red-y, who squeaked and then ran madly off the edge of the shelf and through the cracked-open door of what was probably a cupboard. Turgon flung himself against the door, slamming it shut, and then turned to face Cook with his arms spread wide to defend it. The assistant burst into the room, panting from having run up the stairs from the store rooms. He froze, wine skin in hand, at the sight of Cook apparently threatening Turgon with a broom. “What happened?” he asked.

“There is a mouse in the cupboard,” Cook snapped. “It was on the table and all over the tarts.”

“I think you imagined that mouse,” Turgon declared.

Cook stared at him, open-mouthed. “I most certainly did not! There was a mouse!” His eyes narrowed. “And it had a red ribbon tied to its tail.” The assistant laughed out loud but stopped when Cook glared at him. “Do you three know anything about this mouse?”

“He is our pet,” Annael said. Legolas thought Annael might be going to cry, so he moved to stand very close to his friend.

Cook looked from Turgon to them and lowered his broom. “You cannot have a mouse for a pet,” he said, more gently. “Mice are very good at getting through the smallest of openings, and then they get into the food. I am going to have to throw those tarts away and make more if you are to have any for morning meal. I do not think you would want to eat the ones the mouse was on, would you?”

Legolas bit his lip. “No,” he admitted. He looked pleadingly at Cook. “But you will not hurt him, will you?”

Cook smiled slightly. “No. I will just put it back outside.”

“But that is my special mouse!” Turgon cried.

“Come, Turgon,” Legolas urged, going to pluck at Turgon’s tunic. “We can talk about this later.” Turgon scowled but allowed himself to be led toward the stairs. Legolas stopped in front of the assistant, who still looked inclined to laugh. “May I please have the wine skin to take to Eilian?” Legolas asked.

The assistant handed it to him. “Come and visit us again some time,” he said. Cook gave a short laugh.

Legolas ran up the stairs with Turgon and Annael right behind. He paused at the top. “We still have the other three mice, Turgon,” he murmured comfortingly. “You can have Brown-y as your special mouse.”

“I liked Red-y,” Turgon mourned. He sighed. “But Brown-y is nice too, and maybe Red-y will like it better outside.”

“Come,” Legolas said. “We have the treasure for Eilian. He will be waiting for us, and then he can give us our next clue.” They started back toward the sitting room.

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

******

4. A Chattering Pest

Legolas pushed open the door of the sitting room and ran in. “We have a skin of wine! That is what the riddle was about, is it not?” he cried and then skidded to a stop as he saw Eilian pull his mouth away from Amelith’s and jerk away from her. Annael stopped next to Legolas, and Turgon ran into him from behind. Legolas hoped that his friends had not seen Eilian kissing Amelith’s mouth. He could not understand why Eilian liked to do that with maidens, but he did. To Legolas, kissing on the mouth looked like a really embarrassing thing to do.

Eilian cleared his throat. “Yes. Good for you. Wine was the treasure you were supposed to bring back this time.” He put out his hand, and Legolas walked toward him and gave him the wine skin. Eilian opened it, poured wine into two goblets that stood ready on a nearby small table, and handed one of the goblets to Amelith, who took a sip and then smiled.

“You three are so sweet to bring us this,” she chirped.

“We are not ‘sweet,’” Turgon scowled. “We have archery lessons and sword lessons.”

Amelith laughed. “That is so cute,” she said.

Legolas could see Turgon opening his mouth, but Eilian spoke quickly before Turgon could say anything. “Are you ready for your next clue?”

“Yes,” said Annael, his face brightening. Legolas thought Annael was enjoying the treasure hunt. Legolas was enjoying it too, but he did not like leaving Eilian alone with Amelith. She smiled too much.

“Listen then,” said Eilian. “Here it is:

“Find flowers blooming overhead
and on the head of a chattering pest;
pick the flowers and bring them back,
and you will have passed your second test.”

Amelith frowned. “That one is hard,” she said. “What is the answer?” Legolas wrinkled his nose in disgust. She apparently did not even know that you were supposed to solve the riddle, not ask for the answer.

“How can we find flowers at night?” Turgon asked. “The ones in the meadow will be closed up.”

“No going outside,” Eilian said hastily. “You have to find the treasure in the caves.” Legolas bit his lip. He did not like to agree with Amelith, but she was right. This riddle was hard. “Go,” Eilian told them. “Come back when you have the treasure.” He leaned back on the bench and put his arm around Amelith, who nestled up against him and giggled. Legolas made a disgusted noise and turned and marched out of the room.

“Where are we going to find flowers?” Annael asked, as they stood uncertainly in the hallway.

Suddenly, Turgon gave a whoop, ran toward a table that stood against the wall, and grabbed at vase of lilacs that stood on it.  He pulled the flowers out of the vase and shook the dripping bouquet at Legolas and Annael. “Here they are!” he cried. “Eilian was trying to fool us. They were right here!”

Legolas could not help laughing. Turgon was really very clever sometimes. “Come!” he urged and turned to open the sitting room door again and run into the room, only to see Eilian yanking his mouth away from Amelith’s neck.

“Legolas, why are you back so soon?” Eilian cried. He dropped his head against the back of the bench and drew a deep breath.

Legolas frowned. He knew that Eilian was busy with Amelith, but his feelings were hurt anyway. Eilian had sounded very unhappy to have Legolas even be around. “We found the treasure,” he said stiffly, grabbing the lilacs from Turgon and holding them out for his brother’s inspection.

Eilian’s grey eyes focused on Legolas, and for a long moment, they looked at one another. Then Eilian made a face, took his arm away from Amelith, and leaned forward a little. “I am sorry I was impatient, brat. You were right to come back if you thought you had the treasure. But that is not it, I am afraid.”

Legolas regarded him steadily and, for a moment, considered withholding forgiveness. Eilian really had sounded rather mean. But half to his regret, he found that he could not do it. “We did find flowers,” he said, offering the lilacs again.

“I see that,” Eilian said, “but those are not the flowers you are looking for. Think about the rest of the riddle. The flowers will be ‘blooming overhead,’ and they will be ‘on the head of a chattering pest.’”

“You should think about it out in the hall,” Amelith put in, and to Legolas’s delight, Eilian frowned at her.

“Perhaps we will not play this game any more,” he said carefully, watching Eilian’s face.

His brother grimaced a little, but then he sighed and said, “You may stay here with us if you like.”

“No!” protested Turgon. “I want to win the game so we can go to the waterfall tomorrow.”

Legolas smiled at Eilian. “Very well. We can go look for flowers that are high up.” Eilian suddenly smiled back at him, and Legolas turned and led the way out of the room again, feeling inexplicably happy. He jammed the lilacs back in the vase and put the vase back on the table, wiping up spilled water with the sleeve of his tunic.

“What would a ‘chattering pest’ be?” Turgon wondered.

“It sounds like you, Turgon,” Legolas said, and they all laughed, even Turgon.

“We should look in every room and see if there are flowers overhead,” Annael suggested. Unable to think of a better idea, Legolas led them down the hall of the family quarters to start by looking in all the rooms there.

***

Thranduil paused for a moment, listening to the music next door in the Great Hall and trying to think of the right phrasing for what he wanted to convey in his letter to the Master of Esgaroth. He wanted to make it clear that the area where the Men were collecting wood was under his absolute control, and he certainly did not want the soldiers of Esgaroth patrolling the area nor did he want the Master questioning the competency of Ithilden’s warriors. On the other hand, the three Men had indeed come to harm while in Thranduil’s woods, and that had to be acknowledged and set right.

And Thranduil had no doubt at all that it would be set right. He had seen the look on Ithilden’s face when Hiran told them about the missing Men and the spiders. The captain of the Eastern Border Patrol was undoubtedly about to receive a dispatch that would set his hair on fire. Ithilden was not one to accept a less than stellar performance from one of his subordinates without pointing out the hapless underling’s failings in the most stinging words he could find.

Of course, Thranduil also suspected that the report of the horse returning alone had brought other memories to Ithilden’s mind, just as it had to Thranduil’s, particularly given that this was the anniversary of the day on which Eilian’s horse had returned that way. In the sitting room that evening nineteen years ago, Thranduil had known something was wrong, simply from the tension in the muscles in Ithilden’s back as he poured himself wine.

And of course, Lorellin had probably known too, although she had not asked Ithilden for any explanation. She had been distracted by Legolas’s imminent arrival, no doubt, but Thranduil had seen her worry for Eilian too. She had not asked Ithilden about him, though, because she had also seen that her oldest son was already tense enough. Thranduil smiled to himself rather wistfully. Lorellin had always been perceptive about the needs of those she loved.

Thranduil had been less scrupulous than his wife and had gotten the truth out of Ithilden before he had followed Lorellin to bed that night. “I have every warrior I can find out looking for him and Maltanaur,” Ithilden had finished by telling him, his mouth grimly set and his brow furrowed in anxiety.

“I am sure you are doing everything anyone could do,” Thranduil had said, squeezing Ithilden’s shoulder. Then he had gone to his apartment to find that Lorellin was, not surprisingly, already asleep, despite her anxiety about Eilian. The pregnancy was exhausting her, and she had been sleeping for more and more hours of the day. As a matter of fact, Thranduil too was more tired than usual, for he had tried to support Lorellin as much as he could by giving her his own strength through their bond. Ah well, he had thought, tomorrow it will be over. And then the next morning, he had awakened to find her in labor, and her true fear for Eilian had become obvious when she had sent Thranduil to find out if he was home yet.

~*~*~

The morning of Legolas’s birth, nineteen years ago

Thranduil knocked on the door to Ithilden’s room and, when he got no answer, opened the door anyway. Ithilden was not there, and Thranduil had not really expected him to be. He thought there was a good chance that his oldest son had not been to bed at all but had stayed up all night, hoping to hear that Eilian had been found and trying to resist the temptation to interfere in Deler’s command and direct the search himself.

Thranduil went on to the dining chamber to find Ithilden just scraping up the last of a bowl of porridge and already half risen in preparation for leaving. It took him a moment to realize that Thranduil had entered the room, for his mind was evidently far afield with those carrying out the search.

“Good morning, iôn-nín,” Thranduil said. “Have you had word of Eilian yet?”

“Not yet, Adar. I would have come and told you immediately if I had. How is Naneth?”

Thranduil smiled faintly. “She is in labor, and at the moment she is pacing about the room as if she were keyed up for battle, which I suppose she is. Come and see her before you go off for the day.”

Ithilden hesitated, clearly eager to be back at the warrior fields, but then he gave in and followed Thranduil back to his parents’ apartment. They found Lorellin sitting in the rocking chair near the fireplace, panting and tracing her fingertips in small light circles over the swell of her pregnancy. Recognizing that she was dealing with a contraction, Thranduil halted in the doorway, and Ithilden waited too. Then she seemed to relax and notice them.

“Good morning, Ithilden,” she smiled. “Legolas is on his way, but I think it will be some hours before we see him yet. He has decided that he likes it right where he is, and I have not yet persuaded him that good things await him.” She reached a hand out to Ithilden, and he approached and kissed her forehead.

“Tell Legolas that he should hurry because he is a fortunate baby who will have a beautiful nana to love him,” he said. “I must go and attend to some matters now, Naneth. Be well and do what the midwife tells you.” He left the room, closing the door behind him.

Lorellin looked at the door for a moment. “He is worried,” she murmured. She looked at Thranduil. “Has something happened to Eilian?” Her voice was steady, but he could see that her hands were clenched tightly in her lap.

“He is late arriving,” Thranduil told her, “so, of course, Ithilden frets.” She did not need to know about the riderless horse, Thranduil decided. “I am certain that Eilian is simply delayed. My bond to him feels undisturbed, and surely yours is the same.”

She nodded. “Yes, but Eilian is very good at concealing some of his adventures from us.” She scanned his face, which he tried to keep as placid as possible, but then her own face puckered and her hands flew to her belly again.

He hurried toward her and crouched next to her to put his hands over hers. “Relax, my love. There is no point in fighting labor.”

“I know,” she panted, “but I cannot help it, and I would like to see you try to relax while giving birth.” He laughed at the image, although he privately thought that if Lorellin had not been worried about Eilian, she probably would have been more able to let some of the tension go. The contraction eased, and Lorellin leaned back limply in the rocking chair and then struggled to her feet to begin pacing the room again. Thranduil bit back a protest, put his arm around her to support her, and paced along with her.

“Eilian is indeed good at concealing his adventures,” Thranduil said, and then added dryly, “although not always as good as he would have liked to be.”

Lorellin smiled. “Do you remember the time he took the pot of raspberry jam from the tea tray and spooned it into my Aunt Glilan’s fur-lined boots?” They both laughed. “How old would he have been?”

Thranduil tried to recall. “Eight perhaps. Fortunately, Glilan was tolerant, but, small as he was, he should have known better. I seem to recall scolding him soundly and putting him in his room. I still do not understand why he did that, and I do not think he does either, and some days, I would swear he has not changed a bit.”

Lorellin reached out a hand to him. “He just wanted to see what would happen. He is imaginative and playful. He is, in short, a Wood-elf, my poor Sindar love.” Thranduil rolled his eyes and kissed her fingertips, and then she sucked in her breath as another contraction began. For half a minute or so, all of their concentration was on the wave of painful effort that she and the baby were making. When it was over, she sagged against him a little, and he smoothed her hair back from her forehead and kissed it.

“I think Eilian was a shock to you because he was so different from Ithilden,” Lorellin finally said, taking up their conversation as if there had been no interruption.

Thranduil laughed. “That he was, although Ithilden had his moments too.”

Lorellin smiled. “Indeed. I think he was about ten when one of the stable masters caught him trying to steal a horse so he could ride off and help you defeat the enemy. You were commanding the troops yourself then and were often away and he was worried about you. As I recall, he was carrying a wooden sword that you had given him as a begetting day present.”

Thranduil smiled and rubbed his cheek in her hair. “He was a worrier even then and much too inclined to think that everyone else’s safety was his responsibility. He needs a nice elleth. Is that not what you always say?”

“He does,” she insisted and then stopped in her tracks to struggle with another contraction. They were becoming longer and coming closer together, Thranduil noted. When the contraction had ended, she turned toward the bedroom. “I think perhaps I want to lie down now,” she admitted.

He helped her into bed. “I will send for the midwife,” he said and knew the time was right when she did not protest.

~*~*~

Legolas stopped in the antechamber and scanned the various hallways leading off it, trying to decide where he and Turgon and Annael should look next. Lively music sailed out the open doors to the Great Hall, and he could glimpse Elves dancing.

“I still think we should look in your brothers’ and ada’s rooms,” Turgon grumbled.

“I am not allowed to go in those rooms when they are not there,” Legolas insisted. “Eilian would not have hidden the treasure there.”

Suddenly Annael gasped, grabbed Legolas’s arm, and pointed. Legolas looked in the direction he indicated, and there, scampering around the very edge of the doorway, was Green-y, just entering the Great Hall. Annael darted after him, with Legolas and Turgon close behind. Legolas narrowly avoided running into Annael when he stopped just inside the room.

“Where is he?” Annael cried. “I do not see him!”

Legolas scanned the room. Three musicians stood on a raised platform on one side, playing a drum, a horn, and a lute.  The tune was lively and loud, and most of the Elves in the room had joined in a dance to celebrate it. The males leaped and the maidens spun, with their skirts swirling out around them in brightly colored arcs. A servant snaked along the edge of the room, bearing a tray of wine and fruit and occasionally skipping out of the path of a dancer.

“Someone will step on Green-y and squish him,” Annael agonized.

Legolas’s heart sank. He was very much afraid that Annael was right. Suddenly, a maiden’s skirt twitched aside, and Legolas caught a quick glimpse of a bright green ribbon that disappeared again. “There he is,” he gasped to Annael and Turgon, “by the lady in the pink gown.” The three of them dashed into the shifting mass of dancers.

Legolas dropped to his knees near the lady in the pink gown, pushing a froth of skirt aside. “Look out!” cried the lady, as an Elf backed into him and went sprawling.  Legolas grunted and put his hands up to protect his head.  The Elf who had fallen over him was heavy!

From about twenty feet away, a maiden’s voice cried, “What was that?” Legolas looked up and, through the legs of the dancers, he caught a glimpse of Green-y scurrying toward the edge of the room. The servant did a quick, shuffling move to avoid stepping on him and his tray slid out of his hands. Goblets of wine crashed to the floor, shattering and sending sprays of purple everywhere. A dancer tried to jump out of the way, stepped on a bunch of grapes, and slid with his arms churning wildly before he landed on his backside. Another dancer tripped over him and, in trying to save himself, snatched at the nearest upright surface, which happened to be the leg of the drum player on the nearby platform. The musician screeched and disappeared into the churning mass of Elves.

Legolas crawled frantically toward where he had last seen Green-y.  The mouse dashed past, not ten feet away but still much too far for Legolas to reach, and ran out the Great Hall again. Someone tripped over Legolas, knocking him over onto his back. He lay for a dazed moment, gazing up at the carvings around the top of the wall. And suddenly he saw it. There, dangling from the ear of a carved squirrel, was his father’s spring crown of woodland flowers.

***

Thranduil brought himself resolutely back to the present. He had a task to complete and indulging himself in pain for his lost wife would not help him get it done. He was bending over his letter again when suddenly he became aware that music no longer sounded in the Great Hall and that some sort of commotion was underway there. With alarm sweeping through him, he seized the dagger in his boot – the only weapon he was carrying – and hastened out of the room.

He relaxed and sheathed his dagger almost immediately because the guards outside the Great Hall had been joined by those from the Doors, and they were all standing still, looking in with their mouths hanging open, looking astonished rather than alarmed. A sudden motion near the Great Doors caught Thranduil’s eye, but when he turned, he saw only a tiny flash of green as something skittered out of the palace. He hesitated for a second, wondering if he should go and investigate, but then he heard a loud crash from inside the Great Hall and Legolas’s voice crying, “I see it! I see it!”

He rushed to the entry of the Hall. Suddenly aware of his presence, the guards scattered. Those who should have been at the Great Doors faded away, and those on duty at the Hall snapped to attention. For the moment, Thranduil ignored them in favor of trying to take in the scene before him. Most of the Elves in the room were craning their necks to see what was happening near the musicians’ platform. As it happened, Thranduil had a clear view through a gap in the crowd. Broken glass, wine, smeared grapes, and fallen Elves were scattered in the area in front of the platform. The drum player was shouting at someone who had put his foot through the drumskin. And at the top of a carved pillar, reaching out to grasp something colorful, was his youngest son, with Turgon and Annael cheering him on from below.

Afraid to startle the child, Thranduil darted through the crowd, which parted before him and grew silent as its members recognized him. “Legolas!” he called from the foot of the pillar with his heart in his mouth.

Legolas looked down at him. “Look, Ada!” he cried. “I have your crown.” And he began scrambling nimbly down the pillar. Thranduil caught at him as soon as he was in reach and set him firmly on his feet. The other Elves in the room moved away from them, and someone came running with a broom to start clearing up the glass.

“Are you all right, Legolas?” Thranduil demanded. His hands still shook a little.

“Yes,” Legolas answered. “I am not hurt.”

“What are you three doing in here? Where is Eilian?” If Eilian had left the elflings on their own, Thranduil would have his hide.

“He made a treasure hunt for us,” Turgon said, “and we were looking for flowers and these are the right flowers because Eilian said they were on the head of a chattering pest.” He took Thranduil’s crown from Legolas and held it up.

Thranduil narrowed his eyes at the child.

“It was the squirrel, Ada,” Legolas put in, pointing at the carving, and Thranduil relaxed a little.

“Did you three cause this mess?” he demanded.

“There was a mouse, my lord,” said a servant who was passing with a mop for the spilled wine. “The dancers did not want to step on it, and things just got out of hand.” Thranduil glanced at the Elf. He was smiling broadly, as were most of the others in the room. Evidently they saw the episode as a good joke, now that the confusion had ceased.

Thranduil turned back to the elflings. “Take your treasure to Eilian then. I am through with it for today, and you might as well have it. Tell Eilian I will be busy for a little while yet, but then I will come so that he can leave if he likes.” The three children trotted out of the room.

“But where did Green-y go?” Annael asked Legolas as they left.

Thranduil blinked, tried to make sense of the question, and then shrugged and went back to writing his letter, rehearsing in his mind just what he intended to say to Eilian about putting his crown to such a use. Really, Eilian had no sense of propriety at times! He seated himself at the table and began to write again.

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

******

5. Home Truths

Legolas paused in opening the sitting room door. “What is the matter?” Turgon demanded. “We have the flowers. Go in!”

Legolas hesitated and then called loudly, “We are back, Eilian!” He shoved the door open, and, followed by his friends, he trotted into the room to find Eilian casually sipping his wine with Amelith a few inches away from him on the bench, patting her hair into place.

“We have it!” cried Turgon, running forward to hand the crown to Eilian.

“Good for you. That is, indeed, the treasure,” Eilian said.

“Ada says he will be here soon,” Legolas added.

Eilian stared at him and then looked down at the crown he now held. “Ada saw you?”

Legolas nodded. “He came into the Great Hall when the dancers fell down.”

Eilian blinked. “The dancers fell?”

“Yes, but they were not hurt,” Turgon said impatiently. “What is our next clue?”

“Why did the dancers fall?” Amelith put in, looking amused. Legolas scowled at her. She was nosy.

“We do not know,” Turgon said glibly. Legolas turned to stare at him and found Annael staring too and starting to open his mouth. “They were not hurt,” Turgon repeated hastily, “and we need our next clue.” He looked at Annael. “No lessons tomorrow,” he said emphatically. Annael shut his mouth but looked unhappy.

Eilian sat frowning for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Very well. Here is your next clue:

“Go to the place where an elfling toils
and look to the lost lands of the west;
bring back the filmy, pretty thing,
and you will have passed your third and last test.”

“This is the last clue?” Turgon asked excitedly. Eilian laughed and nodded, and Turgon whooped and ran from the room. Legolas followed, with Annael at his heels. “This one is easy,” Turgon bubbled when they were all in the hall. “Where do you have your lessons, Legolas?”

Legolas looked at Turgon and then laughed in delight. Turgon really was clever. “In the library,” he said and started to run in the direction of the library. They burst into the room.

“Look west,” Annael ordered, and all three of them turned to face west. Shelves of book confronted them, with the rolled up ends of scrolls showing in the little cubbyholes beneath.

“We need to find a ‘pretty, filmy thing,’” said Turgon.

“The books are pretty colors,” Legolas said doubtfully, “but none of them is filmy.”

“Could one of the scrolls be filmy?” Turgon asked.

“Maybe,” Legolas said. The parchment of some of the scrolls was a little thin. He dropped to his knees next to the rows of scrolls, pulled one out, and then hesitated. “Wait,” he said to Turgon, who was untying a scroll he had seized. Turgon stopped and Annael paused, with his hand on a scroll. “You are supposed to be careful with scrolls. My tutor usually makes me wash my hands and then open a scroll on the table, and I have to put it away again before I can open another one.”

“That will take too long,” Turgon protested.

Suddenly, Annael stood up. “Look!” he cried. Legolas turned to look where Annael was pointing. On the blank wall on the south side of the room, Legolas’s tutor had hung maps, and on the map of Numenor was pinned a white, lace-trimmed garment that looked like a very short, very thin gown. Pink flowers were embroidered around the hem.

“That must be it!” crowed Turgon and ran to tug on the garment. When it would not come loose, he seized a chair, dragged it toward the map, and climbed up to inspect the pins.

“What is it?” Legolas asked curiously.

His friends both turned to look at him. “It is a chemise,” Turgon said and went back to trying to detach it.

“A lady’s thing,” Annael added helpfully. “Like an undertunic.”

Legolas looked back at the garment, which Turgon was now pulling free. Any lady wearing this undertunic would get cold, Legolas thought, eyeing the star-shaped form of Numenor, plainly visible through the garment. Legolas could read the names of the cities. Nimloth would have thrown away any undertunic of his that had become that thin.

“I have it!” Turgon cried and jumped down from the chair, holding the chemise. He led them out of the library and back to the sitting room. “We found it, Eilian!” he called before he even had the door open.  He rushed into the room, with Legolas and Annael following him. Legolas skidded to a stop beside him as he offered the chemise to Eilian.

“What is that?” Amelith asked, her brows drawing together.

“It is a chemise,” Legolas told her, wondering if his friends had been wrong in identifying the garment. If it was something ladies wore, then surely Amelith would have known what it was.

She turned to look at Eilian, and this time she was not smiling at all. He put up his hands in protest, laughing a little. “It came back from the palace laundry mixed with some of my things,” he said.

Amelith did not laugh though. Indeed, Legolas thought she looked a little suspicious, like Ada looked when he thought Legolas had not been quite truthful.

The door opened, and Thranduil walked into the room, drawing Eilian and Amelith to their feet. “Good evening, Adar,” Eilian said.

“Good evening,” said Thranduil. “Good evening, Amelith. How nice to see you.”

“We won the game, Ada!” Legolas cried. “We found the last treasure.” He pointed to the chemise that was still in Turgon’s hand.

Turgon held it up for the king’s inspection. “Eilian is going to get Annael and me out of lessons for tomorrow and take us to the waterfall with Legolas,” he said gleefully.

Thranduil’s eyes went from the chemise to Eilian, whose face was getting quite red, Legolas noticed. “The chemise came back from the laundry with some of my clean clothes, Adar,” he said.

“Indeed?” Thranduil asked coolly. “How interesting. And how were you proposing to get Turgon’s and Annael’s parents and tutors to excuse them from lessons?”

“I said I would ask them,” Eilian answered. Legolas frowned. Eilian was apparently in some sort of trouble. Legolas’s stomach tightened. He hated it when Eilian and their father were at odds.

“They will listen to Eilian, will they not?” asked Turgon anxiously, addressing his question to Thranduil, whom he apparently recognized as a higher authority than Eilian on the behavior of parents and tutors.

“It is for my begetting day, Ada,” Legolas said worriedly. “They would understand that, do you not think?” He really hoped his friends could go with him and Eilian the next day.

His father’s eyes met his. And after a moment, Thranduil said, “I will send messages asking that your friends be freed from lessons tomorrow. I think their parents will understand.”

Turgon and Annael cheered, and Legolas flung his arms around his father’s waist and cried, “Thank you, Ada!”

Thranduil ran his hand gently over Legolas’s head. “You are welcome, my heart.”

Suddenly, Amelith shrieked and jumped. “Something just ran over my foot!” she cried. “Oh, it did it again!” She lifted her skirts, shook them, and pranced aside, and out from under them ran a mouse with a blue ribbon on its tail.

“Blue-y!” Legolas cried and dove after him.  Blue-y scurried into a corner and then poked frantically at the wall, looking for an exit, and Legolas darted out his hand and captured him. “Blue-y,” he crooned, “do not be afraid. No one is going to hurt you.” The warm little creature trembled in his hand. Turgon and Annael crowded around him, looking at the mouse.

“It clawed my stocking,” Amelith cried in vexation. She scowled at Legolas. “Is the little beast yours? You should not be allowed to let it run around loose damaging things like that.”

Legolas glared at her and cradled Blue-y to his breast. “It was an accident. He did not mean to tear your stocking. He got afraid when you squealed. And you are talking too loudly and scaring him now too.”

“Legolas, be polite,” Thranduil admonished firmly.

Legolas pressed his mouth together and then, grudgingly, said, “I am sorry I was rude.” He wished that Blue-y had bitten her ankle.

Thranduil smiled at Amelith. “How kind of you to give advice on what my son should be ‘allowed’ to do,” he said in a voice that sounded nice but Legolas knew from past experience was probably not. He looked curiously at his father and then at Amelith.

For a moment, she did nothing. Then she flushed and snatched up her cloak from the back of a chair. “It grows late, Eilian. I really must be going.” Eilian hastened to hold her cloak for her and put it around her shoulders, but she jerked away from his touch, and he lifted his hands away quickly, looking exasperated. “You do not have to accompany me,” she sniffed. “By your leave, my lord.”

“Of course, my dear,” said Thranduil. “But we cannot allow you to walk home alone. Eilian, see to it that a guard accompanies our guest.”

“Yes, Adar.” Eilian hurried out of the room after Amelith.

Legolas scowled after her. He tipped his hand a little away from his chest so he could see Blue-y. “The bad lady is gone,” he murmured. He looked up to find Thranduil watching him with a half smile on his face. His father approached and peered over Turgon’s and Annael’s heads at Blue-y, still quivering in Legolas’s hand.

“Did you bring the mouse inside, Legolas?”

“Yes. Can I keep him, Ada?” He looked anxiously at Thranduil.

His father looked at Blue-y thoughtfully. “You need to ask the mouse if he wants to be kept. He belongs to himself, not to you or to me.”

Legolas looked at Blue-y. “I do not understand his mouse talk,” he admitted.

“Perhaps you can tell how he feels from how he looks. Do you think he is happy being a pet?” Thranduil asked. “He looks a little frightened to me. And I wonder if he might not miss the forest.”

Legolas looked down at Blue-y. He did still look afraid, even though Legolas had tried to make him feel safe. Tears suddenly stung Legolas’s eyes, but he blinked them away. “The forest would be a nice place to live,” he admitted. He bit his lip so that it would not tremble.

“Cook is putting Red-y back outside,” Annael said, patting Legolas’s arm. “And maybe Green-y ran out the Doors when he left the Hall. If you put Blue-y out too, they could play together.”

Legolas looked up at his father and made his decision. “We should let him go,” he said bravely.

Thranduil smiled. “I think that would be a very kind thing to do. Shall I come with you?” Legolas nodded, and with Annael and Turgon following them, Thranduil led the way out the door. They met Eilian in the hallway. “Wait for me in the sitting room, Eilian,” Thranduil said. “I wish to speak with you.” Eilian grimaced, nodded, and went on his way.

Thranduil put a comforting hand on Legolas’s shoulder and kept it there until they got to the Great Doors. The guards stiffened and saluted Thranduil, who led them all down the steps and across the bridge. As sad as he felt, Legolas could not help rejoicing in the beauty of the stars and the night songs of the trees and the river.

“Shall we let him go in the garden?” Thranduil asked, and Legolas nodded. The garden was nice, and maybe Blue-y would stay there and Legolas would see him again. Thranduil opened the gate to the garden, and all of them trooped in.

“You should choose a good spot, Legolas,” Thranduil said, and Legolas had to think for only a moment before he knew where he wanted to let Blue-y go. He trotted along the gravel path until he reached the place where the roses grew. He had been told that this was his mother’s garden, but he had been too little when she died to remember her in it. Still, he liked the roses, and the fact that this was his mother’s place was comforting too. Perhaps Blue-y would feel safe here.

He crouched near a rose bush and then opened his hands. For a second, Blue-y hesitated. Then he flew out of Legolas’s grasp and disappeared among the bushes, with a flash of blue ribbon.

Feeling bereft, Legolas rose. His father put his arm around him and then bent to kiss the top of his head. “That was a brave and generous thing to do, Legolas.” Legolas nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Can we stay out for a while?” Turgon asked.

“No,” said Thranduil. “It grows late. You three should get ready for bed.”

“Will you come and read us a story, Ada?”

“Yes. I will come in a little while. I need to speak to Eilian first. You three get washed up and put your night clothes on and get into bed. I will be there soon.” He led them back into the palace and sent them off to Legolas’s room while he turned toward the sitting room.

***

Eilian poured himself some more wine and flung himself onto the padded bench. He blew out his breath in a long sigh. The evening had been pleasant enough, he supposed, but it was not ending well. His father was not happy with him and was going to demand some sort of explanation. Ah well. He had enough experience explaining himself to be able to manage.

He grinned as a sudden vision of Legolas glaring at Amelith rose before him. His little brother had looked so fierce defending that mouse. And, of course, Amelith really had not behaved well. She was one of many maidens, but Legolas was his baby brother and she should not have been so short with him. Whatever would he do without the brat to amuse him? Eilian wondered fondly.

His thoughts drifted to the day of Legolas’s birth. What would he have been doing nineteen years ago tonight? The answer to that was easy: He and Maltanaur would have been on their way home.

~*~*~

Nineteen years and about six hours earlier

“We should go now while they are all asleep,” Eilian urged. He kept his voice low, although the noise of the waterfall almost made it impossible for the sleeping Orcs to hear any sound he and Maltanaur made.

“No,” Maltanaur said, without bothering to open his eyes.

“They will not follow us in broad sunlight!”

“You know as well as I do that they have sentries just inside the mouths of all those caves, and sunlight is not going to stop their arrows. We will wait until they leave tonight.” Maltanaur shifted restlessly, and Eilian suddenly felt guilty.

“Is your leg bothering you?” he asked. He had stitched and bandaged the wound on Maltanaur’s leg, and it was already beginning to heal, but it must have been painful. In truth, Maltanaur’s injured leg was the reason Eilian was not protesting more forcefully against spending the day behind the waterfall. His minder was not going to be able to move very quickly for a while, and a slow-moving Elf made an excellent target for Orc arrows. Eilian only hoped that Maltanaur would be more agile by the time night came.

“My leg will be fine,” Maltanaur said. Eilian sighed and leaned back against the damp stone behind him. Maltanaur cracked one eye open. “You should relax while you can.”

Eilian grimaced. “We need to warn Ithilden about these Orcs, so he can send a patrol to clear them out.”

“We will tell him as soon as we get home.”

Eilian thought but did not say that that might be too late for the settlement if the Orcs decided to try to attack it. He deliberately turned his mind to other matters. “I do not want to miss the baby’s birth,” he murmured.

“You may be home in time yet, depending on what time of day he is born. We would have traveled all day today to reach home by the evening before the birth; now we will just travel all night to reach home on the morning of the day.”

Eilian pulled his dagger from his boot and began tossing it and catching it again. Maltanaur opened both eyes and focused on him. “What is the matter?”

Eilian made a face. He should have known that Maltanaur would be able to read his mood. His minder was supposed to see to his physical safety, but Maltanaur tended to see guarding Eilian’s state of mind as part of his charge too. “I am worried about my naneth.”

“Why?”

Eilian blinked. Surely it was obvious why he would be worried about his mother giving birth. “She was exhausted the last time I was home.”

Maltanaur shrugged. “The queen is strong and will have your adar’s support and that of the midwife. She will be fine.” He cocked his head. “You do not seem very happy about this baby, Eilian. Why is that?”

Eilian frowned irritably. “I just told you I am worried about my naneth.”

“But just what is it you worry about?” Maltanaur persisted. “You have friends who have become parents, so you know as well as I do that your naneth’s fatigue is normal.” He paused, and when Eilian did not reply, he went on thoughtfully, “Of course, you have never seen a new baby in your own family. I wonder if you are really worried less about the birth itself than about what changes might happen after the baby is born.”

Eilian missed catching his dagger, and it landed with a loud clatter on the rocky ledge. He only just managed to grab it before it spun off the ledge and into the pool below them. He and Maltanaur both froze, listening for the Orcs to react to the metallic clang. After a few moments, however, they both relaxed slightly. The noise of the waterfall was evidently still protecting them.

They leaned back to wait, and Maltanaur did not bring up the topic of the baby again, but Eilian could not stop thinking about what his keeper had said. Was he worried about the baby’s birth changing things at home somehow? With an honesty that had been trained into him from earliest childhood, he had to admit that was possible.

He had always been closer to his mother than to his father. As a youth, he had watched the interactions of Thranduil and Ithilden, who had commanded the realm’s troops for years before Eilian was born, and he had gradually come to recognize that his father and brother shared a common view of the world that he would never understand. But he and his mother had always understood one another. Like his father, she had sometimes disapproved of Eilian’s actions, but she had always seemed to grasp why he did what he did, and she had helped him to understand himself better too.

So was it possible that he was jealous of his soon-to-be-born baby brother? He hated to think so, because the emotion seemed both childish and distasteful, but he had to admit that he might very well be worried that the baby would supplant him in his mother’s affection, especially now that he was away so much. He sighed, leaned his head back against the rocks, and closed his eyes. Neither he nor Maltanaur should sleep with Orcs so near, but they should both try to rest. Maltanaur had been right about that as he was about so many things.

Disclaimer:  I borrow characters and settings from Tolkien but they belong to him.  I gain no profit from their use other than the enriched imaginative life that I assume he intended me to gain.

Many thanks to Nilmandra for beta reading this chapter.

******

6. Of Mice and Elves

About nineteen years earlier

“Time to move, you lazy lumps,” snarled an Orc, and Eilian snapped to attention. Light had gradually faded on the other side of the waterfall, and dusk had deepened now, so that the Orcs were once again stirring. Next to Eilian, Maltanaur climbed to his feet and shifted his weight from leg to leg, testing what the wounded one would bear. He suddenly pressed his mouth into thin line and leaned against the rock wall, and Eilian grimaced. He and his keeper were evidently not going to be running anywhere. They might be able to go through the trees though, once they had reached them. Maltanaur could use his arms more there, and Eilian would stay at his side to support him if he needed it. Alternatively, he supposed he could carry Maltanaur, but that would mean slow going, and they would be easy prey for Orcs on the prowl. Eilian stood too, stretching his legs and tightening his quiver strap.

On the other side of the waterfall, the rumbling of Orcs grew louder by the minute, and suddenly the voice of the leader came, as close to them as it had been on the previous dawn. There must be a rock or ledge upon which the leader stood to direct his followers, Eilian realized. “Tonight we need a successful hunt, or we’re going to  be out of fresh meat.” A low grumble met this statement. “So we’re going after that settlement again, but since you were all so effing  useless last night, the Elves we were chasing had plenty of time to get back there and warn the rest of ‘em. So we can’t just go rushing in there and surprise ‘em. We’ll have to send the scouts to see what kind of defense they’re putting up and then make our plans from there.”

Eilian looked at Maltanaur, who was still leaning against the rocks. With the Orc so close, they dared not speak, but the look on Maltanaur’s face told Eilian that his keeper was just as dismayed by the Orcs’ plans as he was. And yet Eilian did not see what either of them could do about it.

“Too bad we wasted so much time chasing those stinking Elves last night,” said another nearby Orc.

“They would’ve made a good meal if we’d caught ‘em,” the leader said. “And one of ‘em was hurt. I could smell it. We might still find him lying about somewhere.”

Eilian glanced at Maltanaur’s leg. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle after Eilian had stitched the wound, and it had stopped altogether about mid-day. He breathed a soft sigh of relief that at least the Orcs would not be able to detect them that way.

“I hope we find ‘im,” the other Orc said. “We’d’ve torn through that settlement last night if they hadn’t led us on such a merry chase.”

The leader apparently gave some sort of signal to move out, because the noise outside the waterfall changed, and the sound of heavy creatures milling about changed to the more regular noise of tramping feet on the move. The leader must have left too, because Eilian heard no more conversation. Gradually, the sound diminished.

Eilian turned to Maltanaur. “I have an idea.”

Maltanaur rolled his eyes. “Why does that not surprise me?”

“We will get to the trees, and I will leave you there and go and lure the Orcs to come after me. Then I will rejoin you, and we will go through the trees and head for home.”

Maltanaur gave a short laugh. “Could you possibly think of something more dangerous?”

“We need to do something,” Eilian urged. “Luring them away worked last night, and it can work again. They are angry at us and we will be slow enough to attract them, and the closer we take them to home, the more likely we are to run into a patrol. And they will turn back before we get too close, for fear of that very thing happening. If we buy the settlement just one more day, Ithilden can send help.”

Maltanaur looked away and then back again. “Very well,” he said resignedly. “But I swear I will beat you silly if you take a single unnecessary risk, Eilian.”

Eilian grinned. “Never,” he said virtuously. “Come.” The two of them moved to the edge of the waterfall. “Wait,” Eilian commanded. He drew a deep breath, and then, clutching his sword, he plunged through the water, landing knee deep in the stream. In a rapid whirl, he scanned the area, and then, seeing no Orcs, he sheathed his sword and ducked back through the water to take Maltanaur’s arm over his shoulders and help him through the falls and out of the stream.

With Maltanaur leaning on him, they limped their way out of the ravine toward where they could see the tops of trees outlined against the starry sky. Eilian felt the tension in his diaphragm easing once they were among them again. Their song was uneasy, for the passage of the Orcs had evidently disturbed them, but its beauty still soothed him as it always did when he returned from the twisted forests of the south.

He climbed into an oak and then reached down to help Maltanaur up after him but found that his keeper was already pulling himself up with arms made strong by years of using a bow. Good, Eilian thought. As he had hoped, they should be able to move through the trees more quickly and easily than they could move on the ground with Maltanaur’s wound. They swung their way through the branches until they were some distance from the ravine.

“I will go and find our friends the Orcs,” Eilian finally said, halting their progress. “You keep moving toward home. I will find you again easily enough.”

“I should come with you,” Maltanaur worried.

“You would slow me down,” Eilian told him. He watched as his keeper wrestled himself into accepting the fact that, this time at least, Eilian would be safer without him. Finally, Maltanaur sighed, and Eilian knew he had won his point.

“Be careful,” Maltanaur admonished one last time, and then he started slowly off through the branches.

Eilian wasted no time starting in the direction the Orcs had taken, listening to the trees as he went so that he would pick up any tiny disturbance that would tell him where the troop was.  No more than twenty minutes passed before a foul odor drifted to him on the night breeze, and when he turned toward it, he moved only a short distance before he caught the sound of heavy feet trampling through the woods. He accelerated and soon caught sight of blacker shapes in the inky dark beneath the trees.

Moving swiftly and silently, he swung into a position about a quarter of the way up their line and fitted an arrow to his bowstrings. It was too bad their leader was not in sight, he thought regretfully, but he should be able to get their attention anyway. Drawing a deep breath to steady himself, he ran his eyes over the Orcs moving below him, picked out one carrying a bow, and loosed a shot that landed squarely between the Orc’s eyes. The Orc stopped, as if in surprise, and then crumpled to the ground. His companions turned to him startled, and then, seeing Eilian’s arrow, gave a shout, but not before he had loosed three more arrows, taking out three more archers.

Orcs were now scattering below him, seizing their own bows, and scanning the trees for him as they sought for some sort of shelter. Those Orcs who had been ahead had turned and started running back, drawn by the commotion. Now, he thought, and taking his courage in hand, he made a long leap across a small clearing to a tree further away from the Orcs.

“There he is!” shouted a harsh voice, and three black-fletched arrows sailed past his shoulders, narrowly missing him on either side. For a second, he quailed at how easily he would have been wounded had he been only slightly to one side or the other, but then he pushed that thought from his mind and jumped forward again, listening with satisfaction as Orcs came running after him.

Eilian now settled down to playing the dangerous game he had decided would be most likely to draw the whole troop after him. With his heart pounding, he moved out onto a branch, allowed himself to be silhouetted against the sky, and waited until a shout and an arrow whistling toward him told him that the Orcs had seen him. Then he dodged the arrow, ducked back into the leafy canopy and moved swiftly away. He slid to one side and stopped long enough to shoot another Orc, and then moved again, making sure he could be glimpsed as he sailed from one tree to another.

“You maggots!” shouted a voice Eilian recognized as the Orc leader’s. “If you can’t shoot better than that, you deserve to have the stinking Elf put his arrow in your arse!” Eilian wished he could take time to look for the leader, but his only safety lay in constant movement. For a second, he worried about what would happen after he found Maltanaur. With his keeper in tow, he might actually be slow enough for the Orcs to catch unless he and Maltanaur were very clever about moving in and out of sight.

An owl hooted from ahead of him and just to his left, startling him enough that he nearly missed grasping the branch toward which he had just jumped. Again the owl called, and this time, Eilian knew he had not been mistaken. He put his hand to his mouth and echoed the signal, and then with exhilaration flooding his system, he began to fly as fast as he could in the direction from which it had come.

“Here, Eilian!” called Maltanaur, and he veered toward his keeper’s voice to find him sitting in beech tree, leaning back against the trunk, with a Home Guard warrior standing over him.

“How many of you are there?” Eilian demanded immediately. “About fifty Orcs are coming this way.”

The warrior nodded. “So Maltanaur said. A dozen or so of us are here now, and the signals we are sending should bring more. The entire Home Guard is out looking for you, Eilian.”

Eilian grinned. “Then we should have an entertaining night.”

“Not you, you fool,” Maltanaur said. “You and I are going home. Your little brother is about to be born, remember?” Eilian looked at him in dismay.

The Home Guard warrior nodded. “We will take care of things here. There are horses about half a mile north of here. You and Maltanaur should take two and go to let Ithilden know what is happening.” He smiled wryly. “I cannot understand why but he seemed quite worried about you.”

For a moment, Eilian was torn, but then he looked at the wounded Maltanaur and thought about what was to happen the next day -- no this day -- at the palace. “Very well,” he conceded reluctantly and reached to support Maltanaur, who was struggling to his feet.

They made their way toward the horses. “Did you enjoy yourself?” Maltanaur asked dryly, and Eilian laughed.

“I am afraid I did,” he admitted, and then climbed down to where the horses waited.

~*~*~

The door to the sitting room opened, and Thranduil came in. Eilian got to his feet, bracing himself for what was almost certainly going to be a lecture. His father crossed to the table, poured himself some wine, seated himself, and only then nodded his permission for Eilian to sit too.

He swirled the wine in his glass and took a sip. “Eilian,” he said, “do I really need to tell you that your use of my crown was disrespectful or that a chemise is an inappropriate ‘treasure’ to put in the hands of Legolas and his friends?”

Eilian looked down at his own glass. In all truth, he thought his father was overreacting, but he did not think it would be wise to say so. “No, Adar.” He looked up to find Thranduil studying him.

“Are you sure?” Thranduil asked coolly. “It strikes me as possible that you found both things amusing.”

Eilian grimaced. “I suppose I did, but I promise you, Adar, I will leave the crown and any other symbols of the realm alone, and you know I would cut off my right arm before I would harm Legolas in any way.”

His father eyed him and then nodded, apparently accepting his promise as sufficient. “In truth, I am more concerned about Amelith,” Thranduil said.

Eilian blinked. “What do you mean?” he asked uncertainly. “She was not harmed, only upset, and really, she was silly to be so disturbed by a mouse.”

“I agree. So why was she here? You do not seem to have much respect or affection for her.”

Eilian could feel heat rising into his face. Why had Amelith been there?  Well, he knew the answer to that question, although he did not want to have to give it to his father, who undoubtedly knew it too.

“I know that you are capable of appreciating a maiden of worth when you find one, Eilian,” Thranduil said. “I hope you will not let self-indulgence lead you into folly. I know from experience that marrying the right maiden is the single most important thing an Elf can do to promote his own happiness. I would wish that kind of happiness for you.”

Eilian bit his lip and looked down at his hands, holding the goblet of wine. “I will try to remember that, Adar.”

The door opened and Ithilden came in. Welcoming the interruption, Eilian turned to him. “Is there any word about the missing Men?”

Ithilden shook his head. “Not yet, but I still have patrols out looking.” He looked tired and worried. Of course, thought Eilian with some sympathy, Ithilden looked that way all too frequently.

“Sit down and have some wine,” Thranduil said, rising himself but indicating that Eilian should keep his seat. “I must go and read a story to the three elflings.” Eilian smiled at the thought of his little brother and his friends all tucked into Legolas’s bed, and he could see Ithilden and Thranduil smiling too. How lucky we are to have the brat, Eilian thought with a flood of warmth.

***

Knowing that he would probably have to return soon to tell the elflings to settle down, Thranduil stepped out into the hall and closed the door to Legolas’s room. How much energy those three had! he thought and smiled at the memory of their three heads crowded around him to peer at the pictures in the book from which he had read to them. Even Turgon had looked sweet and innocent, Thranduil thought wryly.

But his mind lingered most on Legolas, his baby, whose twentieth begetting day was now only an hour or two away. Of course, he had not actually been born until late morning. Only after Ithilden had brought word of Eilian’s safe arrival had Lorellin’s labor begun to move swiftly, as if she and Legolas had been waiting for their missing one before they had agreed to get on with things. After that, it had been only a matter of an hour or so before the midwife had cried out in triumph, caught their tiny, wailing son, and lifted him up for their inspection.

~*~*~

About nineteen years earlier

“Look how beautiful he is, my lady!” the midwife cried, and Lorellin gazed at her son and laughed in pure delight. Thranduil already had his arms wrapped around her, for he had been supporting her during the last stage of labor, and now he tightened his grasp.

“Well done, my love,” he murmured. The midwife cut the cord and then was busy for a moment or two wiping off the signs of Legolas’s hard struggle to be born before she placed the baby in Lorellin’s waiting arms. Legolas had been protesting noisily but quieted as soon as his mother’s embrace closed around him and she began to speak to him. He turned a solemn gaze on her and seemed to listen attentively.

“Hello, my sweet one,” she murmured. “Hush now. Ada and I want to have a good look at you, and then we will send for your big brothers. Would you like that?”

Thranduil stared at the newborn infant lying at his mother’s breast and reached out in wonder to touch the downy blond hair that stood up like a bird’s plumage on the top of the tiny head.  Lorellin turned her tired, joyous face toward him.  “He will look like you, my love,” she crowed.  He smiled down at her and kissed her sweaty hair and thought that she had never looked more beautiful.

How could he ever have doubted the wisdom of having this baby? he wondered. Lorellin had been right: What better way could they have chosen to defy the Shadow? But even as he thought that, he felt the helpless fear he had experienced when Ithilden and Eilian were born too. He had given another hostage to love, and he knew only too well how short were the time and distance over which his protection could extend. Eilian’s narrow escape had reminded him of that just an hour or so ago.

“You go and get something to eat, my lord, while I help the queen change her gown,” the midwife said.

“Do go, my love,” Lorellin said. “And could you have a meal sent for me too, please? I am starving!”

Thranduil laughed and kissed her again. “You have been working hard.” He slipped out from behind her, propped pillows behind her back, and went in search of food and his older sons.

***

Ithilden took the feather-light bundle from his father and pushed the flap of blanket back to reveal a round, little face, with lids half-lowered over dreamy blue eyes. The baby’s hand was flung up next to his face, and his fingers were curled over. Ithilden was struck by how trusting babies were. He could not imagine being so serene that he would continue sleeping while someone picked him up.

And suddenly, his heart lifted and he laughed. It made no sense, but instead of feeling heavier, his burden of worries actually felt lighter because this sweet, hopeful little creature now dwelt in the world.

***

“How are you, Naneth?” Eilian asked, bending to kiss his mother’s brow.

“I am wonderful,” she boasted. “I have just done something amazing.”

He laughed and glanced over to where Ithilden was holding Legolas, looking at the baby with a dazed expression that Eilian could not resist smiling at, annoyed as he still was at Ithilden. Both his older brother and his father had fussed at him in a most irritating way when he and Maltanaur had ridden out of the woods and into the warrior training fields an hour or two ago. He could understand that they might have been worried when he was late returning home, but sometimes they acted as if he could not take care of himself at all and needed the two of them to protect him. He had held his tongue because there was no point to annoying his father or his troop commander, but he knew they had still been aware of his resentment, and his father had finally let out an exasperated sigh and gone back to their laboring mother.

Ithilden lowered Legolas gently into his cradle and came over to kiss their mother too. “You are amazing,” he agreed.

Eilian moved out of his way and edged over to the cradle to peek at Legolas. Just as he drew near, the baby began to cry, making noises that sounded more like a cat mewing than any sound Eilian had expected to hear. He froze and stared at Legolas’s rapidly reddening face.

“Pick him up, Eilian,” Thranduil urged. “See if you can tell what he wants.”

Eilian glanced at his father in astonishment and was nettled to see him grinning. He slid his hands under his baby brother and lifted him to nestle in the crook of his arm. Immediately, Legolas stopped crying and regarded Eilian with huge blue eyes, seemingly curious about who had hold of him now. Then he solemnly hiccupped, startling Eilian and everyone else into laughter.

He is so tiny, Eilian thought, and his arm tightened around this scrap of new life.

“If he is happy, you can put him back down again if you like,” Thranduil said, but Eilian shook his head. What if Legolas felt lonely in his cradle? He thought he would just keep an eye on the little one for a while.

“What a lucky baby Legolas is,” Lorellin said contentedly. “He will have people who love him looking after him at every turn.”

Eilian looked at her and saw the love in her eyes as she looked back at him and Legolas, and suddenly, his eyes stung with tears. Legolas was not the only lucky one, he thought and began to jiggle his little brother and croon to him.

***

Legolas lifted the first package off the small pile of gifts. “That is from me,” Eilian told him. Legolas pulled off the brightly colored paper to find a box with a fitted lid. He lifted the lid, and Annael and Turgon crowded in from either side of him to see what lay within.

“Warriors!” Legolas cried. He lifted out one of the carved wooden warriors and was delighted to realize that the bow could be slipped off the warrior’s shoulder and the tiny arrows came out of the quiver.

“You can see I have not painted the last two yet,” Eilian told him, smiling at his delight, “but I can do it before I go back to my patrol or you may want to do it yourself.”

“Thank you,” Legolas beamed at him and reached for the next package.

“That is my gift,” said his father. The gift rattled, and Legolas shook it experimentally to listen to the sound again. Again, he found a box when he slid the paper off. This time, when he lifted the lid he found a pile of wooden pieces, cut in odd shapes and having paint on one side. Legolas picked up one of the pieces and turned it over in his hand. “It is a puzzle,” Thranduil told him. “You put the pieces together and make a picture.”

“Can I help?” Annael asked. “Unless you want to do it all yourself, Legolas,” he added hastily.

“It would be good to do it together,” Legolas decided. “Thank you, Ada.”  He picked up the last package, the smallest of the lot, and looked at Ithilden, who was watching him with what seemed almost like a sad expression.

Legolas pried the paper open and found just what he expected: The elegantly carved hilt of a knife was visible at the top of an embossed leather sheath, made to be buckled onto a belt. He drew the knife reverently from its holder. The blade gleamed in the light of the lanterns on the wall. “Thank you, Ithilden,” he breathed.

“You are welcome, Legolas,” Ithilden said. “I hope you never have to use it for any purpose other than woodcraft.”

Legolas glanced at him in surprise and then scanned his father’s and Eilian’s faces too. They all looked sad, he thought. What was the matter?

The door opened and a beaming servant came into the room bearing a tray that smelled enticingly of apple tarts. “Cook says to tell you that these are freshly made, Legolas,” she said.  She took a platter off the tray and set it on the table in front of Thranduil, whose serious face dissolved into a smile as he put three apple tarts on a plate and passed it to Legolas.

“Happy begetting day, Legolas,” he said. “May the stars shine upon you.”

“Thank you, Ada,” Legolas grinned.

Across the table, Ithilden rose to his feet. “By your leave, Adar, I must go and see about the search for the missing Men.”

Legolas blinked at him. “You have not had any tarts!” he cried. “We will save you some,” he added firmly.

Ithilden smiled at him. “Thank you, Legolas.  That is very generous of you.” And he went out the door to his day’s work.

***

Magnificence scurried along through the soggy leaves, eager to get back to the burrow and enjoy the acorn he had just found and now carried in his jaws. He supposed that Splendor and Brilliance would want some share of his haul, but Splendor had shared the berries he had found and Brilliance had been generous with the soft root, so Magnificence had to concede that sharing the acorn seemed fair. Besides, there were plenty more where this nut had come from, and it wasn’t as if he hadn’t already gorged on them where they lay.

Suddenly, the ground shook a little, and he realized that a low, rumbling noise had been growing louder. The Clumsy Ones were back, he thought in exasperation. Magnificence hated the Clumsy Ones. They upset the trees, and they were not careful at all about where they stepped. The only good thing to be said for them was that, two days ago, before Magnificence and his companions had made their surprise trip into the Singers’ house, the Clumsy Ones had scared away the Many-Legged Black Ones. The Black Ones were even worse than the Clumsy Ones because they would actually eat mice if they were hungry enough.

A huge, smelly foot appeared out of nowhere, and Magnificence dropped the acorn and dove into the hole, to find that Brilliance was there already, twitching his green clad tail. Like all their ribbons, Brilliance’s was beginning to look a little bedraggled. Being dragged through wet leaves and thorn bushes was apparently hard on ribbons. Magnificence hated to think about getting rid of his blue one. The young Singer who had given it to him had been terrifying in his gigantic size, but he had been gentle, and Magnificence had rather liked him. Moreover, Magnificence thought the ribbon added to his imposing presence.

Splendor tumbled through the entrance to the burrow, his red-trimmed tail quivering in fury. “I dropped the berry I was carrying,” he said in vexation, “and I just know one of the Clumsy Ones will step on it.”

And indeed, just outside the burrow, two Clumsy Ones could now be heard whispering to one another. “There they are! I told you the spiders had left three of them to dry. One of them is wriggling a bit though, so I’ll bet the meat is still fresh.”

“We need to get them out of here before the cursed Elves find us. That bunch we just saw is getting too close!”

Splendor was peering out the entrance, and now he gave a sudden squawk. “My berry!” He darted out of the burrow to retrieve his prize before it was flattened.

“Get my acorn too,” Magnificence hissed from the entry, and Splendor scurried over to where the acorn lay and tried to fit it into his jaws along with the berry.

“Sauron’s snot!” shouted one of the Clumsy Ones. “What was that?” Splendor darted under some leaves.

The other one turned around and clouted him on the head. “Shut up, you fool!” he hissed. “Do you want the Elves to hear us?”

“There was a mouse with a red ribbon on its tail!” the first one said, clutching his ear.

The other one smacked him again. “Have you been drinking on duty again?”

An arrow suddenly flew out of the trees and thudded into the arm of one of the Clumsy Ones. With a cry, he and his companion took to their heels.

“Look there!” cried a Singer. “Hanging from the branch? Could those be the three missing Men?” Singers flew through the trees overhead, and Splendor came hustling out from under the leaves and scrambled into the hole carrying both the acorn and the berry. He spit them out.

“That was close,” Splendor said.

The three of them converged on the berry and the nut. “You can have the berry, Splendor,” said Magnificence. “You were the one who found it. Brilliance and I will share the acorn.” They settled down to their meal.

After a while, Brilliance looked up. “I wonder where Precious is,” he said.

***

Precious took the piece of paper between her sharp teeth and hurried off the desk and back into the snug hole she had found near the fireplace in the room belonging to the Singer in charge. She liked this room. Few people came into it, and the Singer to whom it belonged usually worked quietly. She had heard him make his voice menacing, but he did not seem to find it necessary to shout. Precious approved of that.

Back in her refuge, she set about shredding the paper to add yet another soft layer to her nest. She snuggled down in it to see how comfortable it was. It was almost right, she thought, but not quite. Now what else could she use? As she turned, her eye was caught by the brown ribbon still tied to her tail. She liked the ribbon and thought she looked quite beautiful in it, but she was willing to sacrifice her own vanity in such a good cause, so she spent a few minutes nibbling at the ribbon and soon had it off. She nosed it into the nest and tested the bed’s comfort again. Yes, she thought approvingly. That was perfect. And soon the time of waiting would be over. She would be very happy here, and so would her babies.

The End